Chapter Text

Different Darknesses

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

Paul gave Rumple an incredulous look. Then he guffawed. "Well, good luck with that!" he exclaimed.

Rumple gripped the edge of the table with both hands. "I assure you," he said testily, "it's no joking matter. The threat is quite real."

Paul was still shaking his head, as he got up from out his chair and made his way to the kitchen window. The sun was up by now, but Paul pulled the shade down, blocking out the morning rays. Then he walked to the counter, opened one of the drawers beneath it, and pulled out something that the others couldn't see from where they were sitting. Instead of coming back to them at once, he crossed to the far wall and hit the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. "Now," he ordered, "pay attention, you lot."

A moment later, a steady beam of light issued forth from the flashlight in his hand.

Paul laughed again. "Darkness can't snuff out light," he said cheerfully, as though trying to get an eight-year-old to spot the flaw in their logic. "No matter how thick it seems, the light always shines through."

"It's not that sort of Darkness, dearie," Rumple snapped, as Paul hit the light switch once more.

"Never known a darkness to behave otherwise," Paul retorted.

Rumple made a scoffing sound. "Well, I'd say that's going to change rather soon."

Tia held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Is there any more milk?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

Whatever angry comeback Paul might have made died on his lips and he gave Tia a tight smile. "Course there is," he said. "What sort of host d'you take me for?" He headed for the fridge, shaking his head slightly.

Rumple clenched his teeth, but he did settle back down.

Emma gave him a sympathetic smile. Paul definitely seemed to be pressing his buttons—something he didn't need right now. All the same, though, she wasn't entirely sure Paul's assertions should be dismissed out of hand. Something told her that he might have touched on something important—though what, she couldn't say. And going from Gold's reaction, it wasn't anything she'd be able to discuss with him for the foreseeable future, either.

The cell wasn't very large and it wasn't particularly clean, but then it wasn't particularly filthy either. A bit of a sweep and a mop and…

Don't go asking for them, Belle told herself firmly. For all you know, once she sees you at it, she'll put you to work sweeping and mopping every room in this place. If not worse. Instead of thinking about how to make your prison more pleasant, maybe you ought to think about how to escape from it! She had no idea what the Black Fairy wanted with her. Her captor hadn't said a word since abducting her from Robin's motel room. One moment, Belle had been a fraction of her regular size and trapped in a glass lantern, the next she'd found herself surrounded by stone walls and barred windows and back to her full—if still diminutive—height. Lyncoln wasn't with her. Belle hoped she was all right. The Black Fairy might steal babies away from their families, but surely she wouldn't actually harm them? Would she?

She surveyed her surroundings once more, pressing her hands to the cold stones, testing the straw-tick mattress, checking to see whether the heavy door was actually locked (it was), and the view outside her lone window (even if she could get the bars off somehow, it was far too narrow to wiggle through. She doubted a child Roland's size could have managed it). She'd had to stand on tiptoes just to see over the sill. And then, all she'd been able to make out had been a ridgepole, sloping shingles, and either a wall or another tower blocking any further view of the horizon.

She sank back down to the straw-tick. As cells went, it was a bit more comfortable than her quarters had been in Rumple's castle—at least, at first. She wasn't chained—at least, not yet—which placed it a notch above the tower cell in Regina's castle. Not quite as comfortable as the secure wing at Storybrooke Hospital… She rubbed her forehead irritably. She should be trying to think of a way out, not ranking her past and current jail cells!

Something the Black Fairy had said earlier niggled at her. Belle frowned. The fairy had told Emma that she might release Belle in nine months. Why… then? Belle's heart thundered in her chest as an obvious answer suggested itself. Nine months. Was she pregnant? "I'm going to be a mother?" she whispered. She lunged off of the cot and tried the door again, even though she knew it was foolish. There was no knob or handle on her side, but she tugged at the bars for all she was worth, before sinking to the floor with a groan of frustration.

There had to be a way out and she had to find it. She didn't know what the Black Fairy wanted with her or any child she might be carrying, but she had no intention of waiting nine months to find out!

Once the breakfast dishes had been washed, Paul approached them once more. "Can I… see it?" he asked.

"It?" Emma repeated.

"The knob," Paul said testily. "I tried to be polite and not badger you for it, but I've been waiting over seventy years for another look and I've not gotten any younger, yet, though I believe that might be changing shortly. However, in the interim, if you'll oblige me?"

Rumple hesitated for a moment. Then he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and drew out the brass sphere.

Even though he'd asked for it, Paul's eyes widened behind his gold-rimmed spectacles and he brushed his fingers against the knob's surface with something akin to reverence before he took hold of it. He turned it upside down and traced the irregular scratches of his etched initials. "Seventy-one years ago, and I remember it like it was yesterday," he murmured. And then he looked up with a scowl. "And I'm not senile, in case you were wondering!" he snapped.

"We know that," Tia said, smiling. "At least, I do. Better than any test."

Paul's scowl relaxed into a smile. "Delighted to hear it," he said, and they all caught the note of relief in his voice, as they followed him into the living room. He shook his head. "You know," he mused, "it's been a lifetime since I sent Miss Price into the past. More than seven decades. And I can't say I've had a miserable time since. I grew up, finished school, got a decent job," his smile saddened and his gaze flickered to a photograph on a round wooden end table. "Met the love of my life…" he added a bit wistfully. "We had fifty-four blessed years together before she passed last year. And there's two fine daughters grown and with families of their own, now. I've even a great-grandson, going on three years. I know how blessed I am. Truly. And yet," he sighed, "it's a hard thing to go through your life thinking that you already did the most exciting things you'll ever do before you hit your ninth birthday."

He shook his head sadly. Then he looked up and smiled once more. "Sorry to lay this all on you. My brother and sister, they…" He sighed. "They found it easier to pretend the whole thing was a game we made up or a dream. And by now, they might even believe it. Sometimes," he admitted, "I think even I do. Less risk of being thought barmy, that way. And now, here you are, offering me the sort of adventure I didn't expect I'd be privileged to undertake again. Maybe you can see why I'm looking forward."

He shuffled his feet apologetically on the carpet. "I didn't mean any offense earlier," he added. "Maybe your kind of darkness is different from any I've experienced, maybe it isn't, but I suppose it doesn't much matter. That place we're heading, this Black Fairy we're facing… Maybe I'm ignorant about a few things, but I'm hardly daft enough to think we're going on holiday. Or that this is some lark for you. I don't need to understand the stakes to realize that they're high. I just want to be clear on that." Rumple nodded quickly and Paul smiled, relief plain on his face. "Well," he said briskly, the sooner we get back to that town of yours, the sooner I'll be in the proper form to help you. But first," he said, smile broadening, "I don't like going off into the unknown without provisions. Both my daughters were involved with Girlguiding," he added. "I don't think they'll mind if we borrow their old camping and climbing gear now. And if they do?" He gave a slight shrug. "Was me paid for it all in the first place. I think I'm entitled to it, hey?" He smirked. "One of you, come upstairs with me and help me gather it all. The other two?" He opened a lower cabinet and took out four reusable shopping bags. "Start loading non-perishables into these. And mind," he pulled open a drawer—the same one he'd taken the flashlight from earlier—and held up a can opener, "you don't forget to slip this in, too, or we'll be in real trouble."

"I'll come with you," Tia nodded. "If that stuff turns out to be heavier than you think, my mind is stronger than both our arms."

"Handy," Paul nodded. "If a bit naff."

"Naff or not, it'll save a few trips up and down your attic stairs," Tia retorted, taking no offense, as Paul passed two bags apiece to Emma and Rumple.

"That's so," Paul agreed. "Right. Well, I'll leave you two to it, then."

Emma and Rumple looked at each other. "I… guess we'd better start raiding the cupboards," she said uncertainly.

Rumple nodded.

Zelena could well understand why Rumple had once blasted a fairy to a sparkly heap of dust. It was all she could do not to repeat the performance when Merryweather's cell phone went off, shattering her concentration and drawing forth form her lips an oath that might have impressed any member of the pirate's crew had they been present.

The fairy reached into her pocket for the phone and frowned. "I really must take this," she said, withdrawing from the huddle and crossing over to an unoccupied corner of the workroom.

Regina shook her head with some measure of irritation. "Of all the ringtones…" she muttered. "Why do they always pick the insipid ones?" Trust a fairy to choose a song from one of those animated travesties! And did it have to be 'Once upon a Dream'?

"It got away from me again," Zelena muttered. "Thanks to her…"

"And will again, I'm afraid," Merryweather said, drawing closer to them. "At least, if I understand how this time-traveling bedknob works."

"What?"

The fairy shrugged. "It's just half-past one, now. Rumple and the others left right around midnight and mean to return just about then, correct? Well then," she continued, barely acknowledging their nods, "that will rewind everything that's transpired here in the last hour and a half. So, that call I just got from the hospital? I'll get it again when the timeline resets." She shook her head. "Not that I'll remember any of this, so I fear I won't have the decency to take myself out of the workroom in advance." A pained smile came to the fairy's face. "I suppose I ought to apologize, but you won't remember that either."

"And if you set it to vibrate…" Zelena suggested with a sour expression that said she'd already guessed the answer.

"Well, I'll do that now, just in case. But no, I can't set it retroactively."

The witch sighed heavily. "Well, that's certainly irritating."

"What did the hospital want?" Regina asked.

Merryweather shook her head. "Nothing you need concern yourself with. Or me either, I suppose, not right now. When they call again, it might be another matter." She shrugged. "Or it might not. Really, I'm beginning to understand why time travel spells have been so discouraged. It's a wonder anyone would do anything if they thought it might be undone at the twist of a knob."

"Don't say it," Regina warned her sister as the fairy bustled off to join the others.

Zelena contented herself with glowering at Merryweather's back. Then, shaking her head, she went back to the spell-model and tried to find the thread she'd nearly managed to untangle before she'd lost her focus.

It took less than half an hour to load up the bags. Going by the pantry contents, Paul seemed to be fond of canned beans and meats, sardines, crackers, biscuits, and powdered milk. "Those too," Rumple motioned to a canister on high shelf labeled 'porridge oats', as he added a Tesco package of dried apricots (the label read 'soft apricots') to his own bag.

"Wonder if he has any gorp," Emma murmured.

"Pardon?"

"Good Old Raisins and Peanuts," she explained with a slight smile.

"Doubtless we can procure some in Storybrooke," Rumple replied. "If you're that partial to them."

"Speaking of Storybrooke," Emma said, "maybe I should check in. I mean, I know it doesn't really matter, assuming we get back when we plan to, but right now... My parents are probably worried."

Rumple nodded. "Actually…" He pulled out his own phone. A faint smile came to his face, followed almost at once by a wince.

"Trouble?"

"Of my own making," Rumple replied wryly. "I'd texted Booth before we left, apprising him of the situation. He's… well, let's just say he's mildly annoyed that we went off without him."

"Oh." She fought to hide a smile.

"If you are calling your parents, find out from them whether anyone else has arrived and at what time," he added. "If we are to involve others in this adventure, it would be helpful to know when to expect them."

Emma nodded. "It doesn't suck, does it?" she asked then, softly. And when Rumple frowned at her, she added, "Knowing that people want to be there for you, not because they want you to owe them, but just because… they want to…" She hesitated, seeing his expression harden, "…help," she finished awkwardly.

Rumple turned away abruptly, one hand on his cane, the other gripping the metal support of one of the industrial shelves.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, realizing that his emotional control was far more tenuous than she'd thought. She took a step toward him, her hand outstretched. "I didn't mean to…"

He took his own hand off the shelf support long enough to wave her to silence. "Don't," he said heavily. "Don't hug. Don't talk. Don't touch. Just… don't."

Emma lowered her hand at once and nodded, even though she knew that, turned away from her as he was, he wouldn't see it. He hadn't told her not to stay, she noticed. So, stay she did, staring at the pantry shelves instead of at Gold's trembling shoulders as he struggled to regain his composure, pretending that she was deciding whether to add another can of tuna or bag of rice to her already full bag.

The silence stretched, going from awkward into uncomfortable. Finally, just when Emma was debating whether to give him more space and go to see what Paul and Tia were up to, she realized that he'd turned toward her once more, his face set in its usual mask. Then his eyes met hers and the pain she saw glistening in them made her flinch. "Call your parents," he reminded her.

"Uh… yeah. If they ask about you, what do you want me to tell them?"

Rumple exhaled. "That I'm bearing up as well as might be expected under the circumstances. And Emma?" He lowered his eyes. "If they do ask, please… thank them for their concern?"

"Of course."

She dug into her pocket for her phone. Gold wasn't finished.

"And to answer your earlier question," he said softly, "No. Indeed, it does not."

This time, when Emma reached out to him, he didn't try to stop her.

During the time it took Emma to call her parents, Rumple got another text message, one that filled him with equal measures of irritation and trepidation. He swallowed hard before replacing his phone in his pocket. Emma had moved into the living room to talk privately and he debated with himself for a moment before heading in that direction, leaving the shopping bags on the pantry closet floor near where Emma had left hers.

He was halfway across the kitchen when she re-entered.

"Sorry," she said at once. "I didn't mean to be on that long."

"You weren't," he said. "But…" He caught himself. "First, what did they have to say?"

Emma smiled ruefully. "I guess we were both expecting Robin to show up. I mean, it's his daughter. And he did. But so did August and Killian."

"And I suppose that they both wish to join us."

Emma nodded. "You don't sound surprised."

"About Booth? I had some advance warning. And if you're heading into danger, well, it's hardly reaching to think that the captain might be inclined to follow."

Emma frowned. "Just how big is that bed, anyway? I mean, if it's a single or a twin, it's going to be a little crowded."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "I've yet to lay eyes on it. But, so long as it's of a size to carry the four of us home, making it larger shouldn't be difficult." He raised his other eyebrow. "You know," he said slowly, "if the captain does mean to come along, I wonder whether the bed might not be able to bring his ship with it, if we tethered it to the deck. Or the mast. Or, well, to some part of the vessel that's nailed down." He shrugged. "All magic does come with a price. There's no point in paying a higher cost if we can avoid it."

Emma nodded, taking out her phone once more. Then she stopped. "I keep forgetting: there's no point in calling back to tell them any of this when we'll just have to tell them again when we get there." She exhaled noisily. "I almost think it was easier in the Enchanted Forest when Killian and I knew we were on our own until we go back and couldn't check in."

"One day," Rumple said, "you'll have to tell me what happened then. Besides your bringing the witch back to Storybrooke, I mean."

Emma winced. "You had to remind me."

"You couldn't have known," Rumple allowed. He shook his head. "At any rate, I had another call while you were occupied."

"From August?" Emma guessed.

Rumple shook his head once more. "From Merryweather. She thought I might appreciate some advance warning."

"For…?"

Although he tried to appear nonchalant, his worry was evident. "The hospital contacted her some thirty minutes ago. It seems that the Blue Fairy has requested to see me." He rolled his eyes. "I don't think I need to tell you how unusual a situation that is."

No. He didn't. "What could she want?" Emma wondered aloud.

Rumple sighed. "I don't… well. I suppose I might have the faintest idea, but I'd rather not speculate at this point. I imagine we'll find out soon enough."

Belle suspected that the Black Fairy was watching her. Or, at best, that she had some sort of minions doing the watching. After all, why go to the trouble of kidnapping her and locking her up if only to chuck her in a cell and forget about her? If the Black Fairy wanted the child Belle was now sure she was carrying, then why not wait until the baby was actually born? It wasn't as though anyone in Storybrooke had any inkling that she was planning anything. Why make her move now?

Maybe Rumple's the real threat and she thinks abducting me will throw him off his game. She had to admit that the notion was plausible, if a bit humiliating. She was more than just a-a pawn or a bargaining chip!

Wasn't she? Or was that all she'd ever really been? A game-piece to be traded away for something more valuable, whether it was military aid, or non-interference, or a magic gauntlet that could lead a person to someone else's greatest weakness. Nobody had ever valued her for herself, but only for what they might exchange her for.

…Except Rumple. Oh, it had started that way, of course, but in time, he had come to love her. And she, him.

And now, she was carrying his child. And the Black Fairy wanted… wanted… Well, Belle wasn't sure exactly what she wanted. But clearly, nothing good.

Belle clenched her teeth. Maybe she was a pawn, but pawns could become queens. And if the Black Fairy meant to threaten either Rumple or the child she was carrying, then Belle swore that that… monster would live to regret it.

It was a single bed with a brass-and-iron frame that stood a little less than five feet high at the head and perhaps, twelve inches lower at the foot. A cotton chenille coverlet was draped neatly over it, with a pair of pillows in cases of the identical fabric. While long enough for an adult's body, it wouldn't have been out of place in a child's room.

Paul walked up to the foot of the bed and, with silent reverence, unscrewed the brass knob from the post nearest the wall. "I had to have a replacement ordered," he said softly. "My grandkids didn't appreciate my excitement at procuring the very bed I'd once slept in when I was about their age. Acted much put out that I was thinking for one of them to sleep in, I quote, 'a broken bed' when they holidayed with me." He regarded the knob critically for a moment. "It's a fair substitute, I'll admit," he said. "But," he drew out the one Rumple had handed him earlier, "it's good to have the real one back."

Tia smiled. Then she turned to Emma and Rumple. "Tony and I've been talking to each other since I got here," she said, making air quotes with her fingers as she said the word, 'talking'. "He's been keeping me up to date. They've figured out how to manage the realm portal end of things. But Regina and Zelena are having a harder time picking through the existing spells and straightening them out."

Paul smiled a bit at that. "Miss Price generally did try to do things all methodical-like," he said. "And then, as my brother Charles has been wont to say, there'd be times where she'd chuck everything in a pot and call it stew—even if she'd been meaning for it to be cake."

Rumple nodded. "Impatience has been the downfall of many a talented novice. If they're fortunate enough not to kill themselves in the process, frustration often sets in and many do give up the study."

"Sounds about right," Paul nodded. He turned back to Tia. "So, will they need more time, d'you think?"

Tia closed her eyes for a moment. "Uncle Bené thinks not," she said, opening them again. "It's not as if we need to get the enchantments all combed out and laid flat; we just need a gap where we can weave the new spell in. If they haven't found one yet, they're close enough."

Rumple smiled. "Well. I'll send the text then, and examine their progress."

"Meanwhile," Paul said, holding up a coil of blue-and-white polypropylene rope, "let's set about fastening our gear," he waved at the assortment of bags and bundles grouped by the headboard. "If I'm remembering right, this is going to be a bit of a bumpy ride, and if anything should fall off, I can't think how we'll retrieve it."

"I could probably hold it all in place my way," Tia offered, but she was already reaching for the cord.

"Probably isn't definitely," Paul retorted, handing it over and then stooping to set a sleeping bag on the coverlet. He reached down for another. "We'll just tie it down and then, if you want to make sure the knots hold 'your way,' I'll not refuse."

The answering text came nearly ten minutes later. By then, most of the provisions were carefully secured. Some things were tied to the posts and the barred head- and foot-rest and would have to trail behind, but it couldn't be helped if all four of them were to have room to sit.

Rumple perused the reply carefully, but when he looked up again, it was with obvious relief. "They've done better than I'd hoped," he said. "I could probably advise them how to complete the task from here, even, but there's no point in doing that."

Paul grinned. "Right, then. Find a place on the bed—anywhere but by that empty post, mind—that's my spot. And someone give me the exact directions. The bed's known enough in the past not to land us in any tree branches or ponds, but let's not make it work harder than it has to."

Tia reached into her purse. "I've got the address right here. And as to the time…"

Paul wiped his hands on his slacks. Then he carefully sat down on the bed and slid down to the vacant post. "Here goes," he said, his voice suddenly husky, as he screwed the knob loosely into place. He took the folded slip of paper from Tia, opened it and peered at it carefully for a moment. And then, he said clearly, "I wish to be at number 1940 Paul Dukas Way, Storybrooke, Maine, 04861 at twelve-oh-five AM this morning, Greenwich Mean Time minus five, please."

"Please?" Emma echoed.

Paul shrugged. "Never hurts to be polite," he said, as he gave the knob a quick twist.

The bed gave a lurch. Emma yelped as Tia slammed into her. Rumple's fingers found purchase in the coverlet as he clung to it for all he was worth, as Paul clutched at the foot-rail.

And then, with a savage jerk and a horrid grinding sound, the bed—and everyone and everything on it—disappeared.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

When Emma had lived in Tallahassee, she'd found an occasion to drive the four-plus hours to the Orlando-Kissimmee area to visit the theme parks she'd never had the chance to as a kid. The bed she was on right now felt like a mash-up between Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey, the Rock 'n' Roller Coaster, and the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. Scenery flew past, too quickly for them to take in anything but vague kaleidoscopic impressions, as the bed bucked and spun. Winds roared about them, buffeting them from all directions. Like the eye of a hurricane, Emma thought. Maybe that's why we haven't fallen off: for every wind blowing us in one direction, there's another one blowing us back. Except that I thought the eye was supposed to be quiet!

It was anything but quiet. Emma stole a glance at Gold and winced. His eyes were screwed tightly shut, his face was pale, and there was no mistaking the grimace of sheer terror twisting his lips. Carefully, making sure her own grip on the bedclothes was secure, she dared to unclench one hand from the coverlet to grip his upper arm. "I have you!" she shouted, hoping he could hear her above the wind. She felt another hand clutch her ankle and turned her head to see an almost-equally white-faced Tia gripping it, looking nearly as rattled as Gold. "I have you," she repeated. "Both of you."

Maybe she only imagined their nods; with all the shaking and pitching and rolling, it was hard to say whether either was intentional, or if each could be chalked up the jolts and jars of the journey.

And then, they seemed to skid to an abrupt halt and a familiar voice exclaimed disbelievingly, "Emma?!"

Emma turned in the voice's direction, noting almost in passing that they'd reappeared in the middle of the Apprentice's living room. "Hi, Mom."

By the time they'd introduced Paul and filled in what blanks they could, Robin and Killian had arrived—followed quickly by August—which meant rehashing things yet again. Tia was almost finished doing so, when Rumple started heading for the Apprentice's work room.

"I suppose," he muttered, "someone ought to tell the acting head insect to set her phone to vibrate, lest she interrupt our dear mayor." He sighed. "And the witch."

Just then, an electronic rendition of 'Once upon a Dream' sounded loud and clear from the other side of the door and Rumple shook his head. "I take it, nobody thought to ensure that all timepieces were synchronized?" he asked rhetorically. "Well. No matter. After I show them what they already managed to do once, I suppose I'll head off to the hospital." At the blank looks from those who hadn't arrived on the bed, a wry smile came to his face. "It's a rare occasion when the Reul Ghorm seeks an audience with me. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about the reason for it."

"Want some company?" August asked.

Rumple considered. "While I'll admit it might be welcome, I did arrive here in the savior's vehicle. And with all due respect, now that I've lost my immortality, I'm somewhat leery of sharing your mode of conveyance."

"Even after that bed trip?" Emma exclaimed.

"Especially after that bed trip," Rumple said with feeling.

Emma fought down a smile. It wasn't funny. Well, not very funny, anyway. "I'll drive you," she relented. "Both of you." She picked up a clean teacup. "Just let me grab a cup of camomile while you're in the other room. I think I'm still a little shaken up myself."

Rumple hadn't been inside the workroom for more than a moment when the door opened again, and Regina emerged. "Mr. Wilson?" she asked, walking directly toward the old man.

Paul blinked. "It's just Paul, if you don't mind. And you're that voice I heard over the speaker when Tia called earlier, aren't you?"

"One of them, yes," Regina nodded. "I'd like to fulfill my end of our bargain, now, if you're ready."

Paul smiled. "And this spell of yours will do more than just take away the years, I hope? Because I'll be a sight less useful to you lot if I'm still dealing with the osteoarthritis and a back what goes out from time to time, no matter how young you make me."

Regina nodded. "The spell will give you the body you had at a given point in your life. That specific point," she added. "So, if you were in worse physical shape at twenty than you were at thirty-five, you'd best advise me before I cast the spell."

"I understand," Paul said. "Well, I was quite the active sort when I was younger, so no fear on that point. Let's say early twenties," he decided. "I was at Loughborough then, and I was a fair rugby player, even I do say so meself," he said, his London accent losing a bit of its polish as his voice grew folksy. "Yeah, If I had to pick a point when I was in me prime, that'd be it."

"So, twenty-one, then?" Regina suggested.

Paul smiled. "That's right. Your legal drinking age comes three years later than ours, doesn't it? Yeah, assuming I come back safe and sound from this jaunt, I'm definitely going to want a pint of something. Twenty-one. Wait." He frowned. "I wasn't joking about the rugby. It's a rough sport and I had my fair share of injuries before a torn hamstring took me out of it for good a few years later. How does this work? I mean, do you pick a specific date and set my clock back to then? Because if that's the case, you'd better pick one in the off-season."

Regina smiled back. "It's not quite that exacting," she reassured him. "The spell gives you the body you had at twenty-one, but unless you sustained permanent damage that year, there's no cause for worry. How long have you needed that cane?" she asked, her voice suddenly a bit more serious.

Paul shrugged. "Ten, twelve years, I guess. Why?"

"Because after a decade or more," Regina said slowly, "it's safe to say you've gotten used to it. Once I cast the spell, you may find yourself a bit off-balance, until you get used to not needing it anymore."

"How long?" Paul asked. "I mean… am I looking at days? Weeks?"

Regina frowned. "Well, the last time I tried anything remotely like this, it was the reverse: I aged a nine-year-old into his mid-thirties." She glanced quickly at August, who was deep in conversation with the pirate. "It took him less than two hours to get accustomed to his new body," she continued. "While that might not have any relevance in your case, I really doubt we'll be looking at weeks." She sighed. "And, if we are, there are things that we can do to speed up that timetable, though I hope they won't be necessary." She regarded Paul seriously. "All magic comes with a price, and something tells me that visiting the Black Fairy's realm is going to be somewhat… expensive. I'd rather not deplete our accounts too much before we even get there."

Paul swallowed hard. "Well. There's no help for it. You can't get there without the bed. You can't use the bed without me. And I can't pull my weight without your magic. So, let's just do what wants doing and if it doesn't come out quite right, we can fix what wants fixing afterwards."

"Sensible," Regina nodded. "All right. Let me just make sure that the others won't need me for a bit, and then I'll make my preparations. They shouldn't take very long," she added, as the door to the workroom opened again, and Rumple stepped out.

He looked around the room at each in turn, and motioned to August and Emma to come with him. "We'll be back directly," he said. Then he squared his shoulders and made his way toward the vestibule, looking rather like a soldier on his way to a court martial.

Emma and August followed on his heels.

Rumple knew the way to the Blue Fairy's cell, though he hadn't had occasion to visit the area before. Had he known that Belle was incarcerated there during the First Curse he'd have—well, for the first twenty-eight years, he'd have done nothing, of course, but once Emma had come to town and he'd remembered who he was, he'd have… No, at that time, he'd thought Belle long dead. And in the time that had passed since then, he'd certainly had no interest in calling upon Sidney Glass or the former king George. And as for Zelena, well! He'd scarcely been rushing to see her. He was still wrapping his head around the fact that she'd be tagging along on the current mission—not that he faulted her for it. But he did hope that they'd be able to bring the captain's ship along; the farther away from her he could be, the better for everyone concerned.

"I believe," he said, looking from Emma to August, "you two had best wait here. I may need you afterwards, but I think that I'd prefer to hear what she has to say in private."

August nodded. "I have to admit, I'm not really in a hurry to see her again," he said. "But if you wanted me there…"

He meant it, Rumple realized, still not quite able to hide his shock. Oh, he knew August was his friend, though it still made him pause to realize he had one—actually, more than one, which was even more astounding. But it was one thing to extend oneself for another when the emotional cost of doing so was relatively low. And Rumple probably knew better than anyone that such was not the case, now. And yet, here Booth was offering to do so, and not just for politeness's sake.

Rumple still shook his head in the negative, but his smile was warmer than courtesy required, when he said, "Perhaps another time, but thank you, just the same."

He was about to embark on a journey on which he would have to confront the mother who had abandoned him when he'd been an infant and nearly choked him at their only meeting since. He was not looking forward to this new encounter. In fact, there was a very large part of him that wanted nothing more than to hide in his room and let Emma and the other heroes handle this for him. But his mother had taken Belle. He had to find the courage to see this through. And if he couldn't even face the blue insect on his own…

…Then the odds of his being able to face his mother were miniscule indeed.

"It worked fine with the model," Zelena muttered in irritation. "I think that trip they just took pulled everything… tighter!"

"It's coming," Astrid murmured, her forehead creased in concentration. Her fingers moved stiffly as they traced an intricate pattern in the air. "Sorry. I-I'd usually try this with a wand; it's a little trickier without it, but…" She opened her eyes and looked at the bedknob again. "I think that might have done it." She took a step back from the knob and gestured to the two women to come forward. Zelena raised an eyebrow, but she stepped into the place that the former fairy had just vacated.

"That's…" A surprised smile came to her face. "How did you do that?"

Astrid blushed. "I was always such a dunce at spells," she admitted. "But I did my best, even if the end result was sloppy. Better that than have nothing at all to present. This… almost looks like something I'd have handed in." She winced and continued in an undertone, "only to have my instructor hand it back to me and tell me to do it over properly." She smiled then and went on cheerfully, "And if there's one thing I'm good at, it's untangling my own work." She shrugged, still smiling. "I guess another thing I'm good at is untangling someone else's."

"I must admit you're better at it than I am," Regina said slowly.

Astrid's blush deepened. "Maybe it's just that you're not used to messing up as badly as I am." She shook her head. "I think there are five separate incantations knotted up in this next part here. I can't see where to start."

Regina bent closer. "Here," she indicated. "If you can just loosen this bit… Zelena, can you pull that through?"

The witch nodded. "I think so." She paused, regarding the knob carefully from several angles. "Astrid, was it?" she demanded crisply.

"Y-yes," the fairy answered, with more than a little trepidation.

Zelena's lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you."

Rumple stared at the heavy door for several long moments, before he took a breath, reached out, and pulled back the sliding panel of pass-through window. The woman on the cot looked up at the sound. When she recognized the half-concealed face on the other side, she sniffed and lifted her chin. "So, you've come at last," she said.

Rumple kept his tone mild. "I trust I've not left you waiting long."

"I had wondered when you'd call," the fairy said. "I suppose I'd expected you to have come to gloat before this."

"Well," Rumple said with a slight shrug he doubted she could see from her side of the door, "you didn't avail yourself of such an opportunity when the tables were turned. I suppose I thought I'd extend the same courtesy." He smiled tightly. "Or, perhaps, out of sight, out of mind. Choose whichever reason you like better." His smile vanished. "I believe you requested this audience."

The fairy blinked. "Did I?" she asked with some confusion. "I don't recall…" She frowned. "I… Why would I have…?"

"Are you quite all right?" Rumple demanded sharply. It occurred to him that her… disorientation might be a harbinger of some terminal affliction and he found himself wondering whether she'd summoned him here to make some sort of deathbed apology.

And then, the Blue Fairy sat up straighter. For a moment, her expression waxed serene and aloof once more. Then she smiled with such naked malevolence that Rumple took an involuntary step backward. "Rumpelstiltskin," she said mockingly. "It's been a long time."

He knew those tones and he knew that smile. And though he wanted to fling open the cell door, lock his hands about her throat, and demand his wife's safe return, he also knew that such a reaction was precisely what his mother wanted from him. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and replied with forced nonchalance, "I believe I've just learned the name of the party who stole your heart, dearie."

"So quick," his mother drawled in the Blue Fairy's voice. "You take after me."

"What do you want?"

"I think," the fairy said evenly, "it might be time to focus on what you want." She giggled. "I know you're coming, Rumple. I welcome it. And you. I know we didn't really have the chance to talk at our last meeting, but perhaps, we can make up for it now."

"You have my wife."

"And your unborn child. Your… second-born child, isn't it?"

Rumple's voice took on a note of menace that hadn't been present since he'd separated from the Dark One. "What. Do. You. Want?"

His mother giggled and Rumple was hard-put not to show how unnerving it was to hear that sound issue from the Reul Ghorm's lips. "I want you to fulfill your destiny and stand with me. At my side in the final battle."

Rumple snorted. "So, you haven't heard. I gave that up some time ago."

The fairy pouted. "Well. Perhaps, with the right incentive, you'll don that mantle once again." She sighed. "It's your fate, Rumple, and there's no getting round it now. Fight it all you like, but it all comes out one way in the end."

He knew a mind-game when he heard one and he had no intention of giving her the satisfaction of knowing she was getting to him. "We'll just have to see about that, then, won't we?" His palms were sweating and he shoved them into the pockets of his trousers.

His mother beamed. "Indeed, we shall, my son. After all, the time of the Final Battle is nearly upon us. And I shall have a Dark One by my side, my son. I'd like it to be you, of course. But if not, well, your wife has already been flirting with Darkness, hasn't she? How much will it really take to push her over the edge?"

"More than you think," he shot back, hoping he was right.

"Oh?" Unfazed, the fairy made a show of mulling it over. "Hmph. Perhaps, you're right. Well, then. Children are more malleable."

A wave of sick horror washed over him and it must have shown on his face, because his mother was positively beaming now. "I shall have a Dark One by my side," she repeated. "Perhaps, I was wrong in thinking you'd fulfill the destiny I'd planned for you." She sniffed. "I suppose I can appreciate the irony: I cut you away from Blue's Purpose, and now Fate contrives to sever you from mine."

"What's that?" Rumple demanded sharply. "What are you talking about?"

His mother giggled again. "Ask Blue after I've gone. She was there, after all. And Rumple? You will think over my offer? I really would rather you filled the position. But, if you're serious about turning it down, well, I'll just need to find myself another candidate. And how fortunate for me that I have at least two prospects in mind…" She looked full into his face, smiled sweetly, and finished, "I look forward to greeting you in person, my son. Do feel free to bring some friends home with you, if you like. I have plenty of room to accommodate them." Her laugh tinkled merrily for another moment.

Unable to tear himself away from the pass-through, Rumple was able to pinpoint the precise moment that his mother's consciousness departed. The Blue Fairy shuddered. And then, she shook herself and asked warily, "What just happened?"

Rumple took a deep breath. "It would seem that you were just visited by my mother. And," he hesitated, "she made certain claims that I'd like you to substantiate, if you will."

The Blue Fairy raised an eyebrow. And then, with a great deal more nervousness than Rumple had expected, she asked, "What kind of claims?"

Rumple told her.

Twenty minutes later, the elevator doors parted and Rumple didn't so much step as stagger out of them. Both Emma and August started forward as one.

"Gold?"

"Rumple?"

He shook his head. "Not here, not now," he said hastily, but as they both reached out to him, he clutched at their hands as though he had no intention of releasing them.

"Okay," August said. "Easy. It's okay. Where and when?"

Rumple closed his eyes and took several deep calming breaths, while Emma and August looked worriedly, first at each other, and then back to him. Finally, without opening his eyes, he whispered, "The shop." He'd been planning to stop there before they departed for the Dark Realm to see whether he had anything in stock that might prove useful. "A-and, when we get there, I suppose."

"Gold? Are you going to be okay?"

Well, at least the savior had the wit not to ask if he was 'okay' at the moment. "I hope so," he managed. He'd just had one difficult conversation and he was about to have another. He hadn't wanted the first and he definitely didn't want the second, but the savior needed to know precisely what she was about to get herself into. And if it fell upon him to enlighten her, then he'd prefer to do so in the surroundings within which he felt the most comfortable.

"I'm sure you're finding it dull in here, dear," the merry voice startled Belle out of her thoughts. The Black Fairy hadn't bothered unlocking the door, choosing instead to materialize inside the cell.

Belle did her best to compose herself. "It's… actually kind of restful," she said, trying to sound as though she couldn't have cared less about her surroundings. "More time for reflection."

The fairy beamed. "Oh? Well, I'm sure you'll have ample opportunity for that." She shook her head then and assumed a doleful expression. "I'm afraid I haven't much in the way of entertainment here. You see, this realm is… Well, I was sent here as a punishment and, unfortunately, my jailors are a bit less… enlightened, shall we say? Than those from the realm you most recently left." She sighed. "Believe me, dear, my own conditions are only slightly less austere than these. But there are ways to pass the time, some of which are more pleasurable than others. For example, I've observed that you enjoy reading. Well." She extended her hand toward Belle and a rolled-up parchment appeared in it. "You can peruse this at your leisure. And, in a day or two, when I visit you again, perhaps we can discuss it. Rather like an exclusive book club," she beamed again, "only I think we'll begin with something shorter. Like a story. Or a contract." She thrust the scroll forward. "Oh, and if you damage it, don't worry. It's just one copy; I've many, many more."

Belle regarded it for a moment before she reached out somewhat suspiciously to take it.

"That's right," the fairy nodded. "Well! I do hate it when people stand over me while I'm trying to concentrate, so I suppose I'll just leave you to it. Happy reading!" She giggled softly and vanished in a puff of black smoke.

Belle looked at the parchment in her hand and angrily dropped it to the stone floor. She shouldn't have accepted it. If the Black Fairy wanted her to read it, well then, that was a perfectly good reason not to! No, she wasn't about to play those games. She wasn't going to unroll the thing. She wouldn't even look at it! As if to punctuate her thoughts, she sprang up and kicked the parchment under the wooden shelf that served as her bedstead.

Not that she wasn't the slightest bit curious, of course.

Not that there mightn't be some clue in the scroll that would give her some inkling about what the fairy wanted.

Not that…

No. No, Belle told herself firmly. She wasn't going to read the scroll and that was final. Absolutely final, and she meant it.

At least, she told herself she meant it.

And she did.

Didn't she?

Emma and August followed Rumple into the shop's back office and tried not to hang over him while he hurriedly opened drawers and cabinets, taking vials and other small objects from out of some of them and closing others untouched. He seemed to take no notice of their presence, as he slid his choices into pouches and pockets, speaking not a word. Finally, his tasks accomplished, he gripped the edge of his worktable with both hands, and took a deep breath.

"It wasn't the Blue Fairy with a message for me," he began. "It was my mother."

"Wait," Emma said. "You mean she's been here all along? Posing as Blue?"

"No," Rumple said heavily. "I presume that you recall the reason for her current incarceration?" He took another breath. "Well. Now we know that it was my mother who took her heart, though I can't say when the theft transpired."

"So, she's been controlling Blue all this time," August said.

Rumple hesitated. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that," he replied. "The Blue Fairy does have powerful protections. My mother can't," he gave August an apologetic look, "puppet-master her. Not…" he turned toward Emma and lowered his eyes with some embarrassment, "not to the extent that I did with the captain, in any event. But she can communicate through her if she wishes to. As she did tonight."

"And…?" Emma asked.

Rumple closed his eyes. "And there's a high probability that your chance for success will increase exponentially if I'm not with you."

"What?" August exclaimed.

Rumple wasn't finished. His face seemed to twist, even as his knuckles whitened around the edge of the worktable. "But if I don't go with you, then she'll…" A shuddering breath escaped him and his shoulders slumped. "If I go with you, I doom you. If I don't, I doom Belle! Or the child," he added, flinching as Emma's hand came down on his arm.

"Is this about what you were telling me in the car earlier?" she asked.

Rumple shook his head. "If only…" He whispered. "If only that were all of it."

"Gold?"

Rumple placed his hand over hers and took another breath. "According to the Blue Fairy," he said in a ragged whisper, "I was meant to be the Savior."

Emma blinked. "Wh-what?"

"Well. A savior, anyway," he clarified. "You're not the first, though if the signs are right, you just might be the last." Before either of them could press him for an explanation, he went on, "but the Black Fairy robbed me of that purpose many years ago."

"Wait," August said. "How is that even possible?"

Rumple took another breath. "I suppose, that much as I'd like to, I can't quite blame the Blue Fairy for it. She may have given my mother the Shears of Destiny, but a creature as Light as she is can't always fathom the ends to which Darkness might put such an artifact."

"Okay," Emma said heavily, "I'm getting confused. You were supposed to be the savior, and Blue gave the Black Fairy these… shears, not knowing she'd use them on you. But… what did Blue think she was going to use them for?"

Rumple didn't answer for a moment. Then, he gently took Emma's hand off his arm and turned his face toward her and August once more, though he trained his eyes on the floor instead of meeting theirs. "It seems that I was destined to fight a great Darkness. My mother thought to spare me that battle and, in her efforts to protect me she… became the foe she meant to prevent me from facing." He held up a hand. "I don't fully understand that part, although I intend to," he added quickly. "What you need to understand is that the Blue Fairy gave my mother the shears as a," his voice caught, "well, as a second chance to do the right thing and cut herself loose from her new destiny. And instead," he continued, "she cut me loose from mine. That act," he went on hollowly, "had repercussions. Because now, my destiny is bound to her purpose. If I go with you, then I fear I will betray you and stand with her."

"Gold—"

"It's what I do!" he snapped bitterly. And then his anger seemed to drop once more and he continued in a soft monotone, "What I've always done. And now, I understand. It wasn't only because I was the Dark One. That just made it so much easier. But even before that, it was always… me." He shook his head, still not meeting their gaze. "If I go with you," he said, "I believe that I will give myself over to Darkness once more, and this time, it won't let me go. But if I don't, then Belle… or my unborn child… or the witch's daughter will stand beside my mother in my place. And Emma…" He lifted his eyes and locked them on hers, his face deadly serious, "In the Final Battle, it will fall to you fight whichever one of us it is. To the death."

Belle crumpled the contract in her hand and wished she hadn't let boredom and curiosity get the better of her. She wanted to tear the blasted thing to shreds, but parchment was a bit too tough for that. And besides, the Black Fairy had told her it was only a copy and Belle believed her. More to the point, she knew that the fairy would never have left her alone with the document if the original—or at least, another copy—hadn't been stashed elsewhere.

She couldn't believe that Rumple had signed this. What in all the realms had been going through his mind? And he'd never told her—which shouldn't surprise her, but if he had, she'd at least have had some mental preparation for what she'd just read! And…

And, no. She couldn't blame Rumple for not telling her about this. Until tonight, there hadn't been any reason why it would matter, and as much as they'd been trying to be more open with one another, she knew the kind of effort that openness required on Rumple's part and it wasn't as though this would have been an easy subject to bring up.

But Rumple had to have known that now that they were… together, that their having children was a distinct possibility.

He should have warned her.

He…

Belle squeezed the parchment and looked at her clenched fist. Enough. Whatever Rumple should or shouldn't have done didn't matter now. Now, she was trapped in a cell, presumably pregnant—and under the circumstances, she was going to assume she was, unless and until she learned otherwise—being held captive by a woman who seemed to have a legal claim on the unborn child Belle carried. Rumple was, undoubtedly, on his way, but he wasn't here now. Right now, saving the child and getting out of here was her responsibility.

She'd wanted to be a hero.

Belle closed her eyes. She'd wanted to be a hero, but what could she do? She had no weapons. She did have her kickboxing lessons, but it wasn't as though she was even through the beginner course, and even if she did manage to land a blow or two on her captor, then what? She still had to get out of this castle, escape this realm—and whatever she decided to do, she'd best do it soon because, assuming she was pregnant, she only had so much time before she might become too… unwieldy… to act.

And then, a thought surfaced and her eyes widened. Maybe there was another way out of this. It would be a bit embarrassing—especially if anyone else ever found out about it. And it might not work. Definitely, it wasn't the kind of thing anyone would think her capable of. She'd have to be convincing.

She'd have to be Lacey.

But if it that was what it would take to save her unborn child, then that was what—and who—she would be.

Emma's mind reeled as Gold's words sank in. She heard, but she didn't want to believe. There had to be a way out of this—one that wouldn't involve killing a friend or… or… a baby! Or dying. There… Her eyes opened wide.

"Gold?" she asked quietly, "Of all the times your mother could have picked to share this with you, why would she have picked this one?"

"Because we're planning to mount an expedition to her realm," Rumple snapped irritably.

"Yeah, I know. So why tell you this right when we're getting ready to leave?"

Rumple frowned. "I take it you have some theory," he said, narrowing his eyes.

Emma hesitated. "I've been thinking about what Paul said when we were having breakfast. About Darkness—Wait!" she exclaimed, as his annoyance started to shift into anger. "Wait. Just… just hear me out. Please." It wasn't until he nodded tersely, his face still fixed in a hard expression, that she went on. "Gold, the only reason she'd have for dropping a bombshell like this on you now would be to rattle you. I think she wants you focusing on how… hopeless everything looks. Because a-as tactless as Paul was earlier, I think he was right. Darkness can't snuff out Light." She took another breath. "But it can convince you to do it yourself."

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

Rumple's eyes widened as Emma's words penetrated. From the front of the shop, the bell jangled, but Rumple barely heard it over the pounding of his heart. The greatest weapon that Darkness had in its arsenal was its ability to play on its prey's hopes and fears, convincing them that they'd already fallen too far to ever climb back to the Light. To become the Dark One, he'd killed his predecessor. And that murder had given him the power he'd always craved, but it had also given him a taste for exacting the vengeance he'd never had the power to execute before. And by the time he'd finally sobered up from the initial heady rush of freedom, he'd had another murder on his account.

And all the while, he'd had the Dark One's previous hosts whispering at him, convincing him to fulfill his every desire, congratulating him when he did, and, whenever he'd timidly suggested that perhaps he'd done quite enough, laughed and told him that he'd actually done quite a bit more.

Do you imagine that you can just settle down and spin now, as if nothing happened? They'll never allow it. If they couldn't accept you before, do you really imagine they'll suffer your presence among them now? Monsters aren't welcome in most communities, dearie. And what else would you call yourself now?

He'd still been human enough to protest that they'd tricked him into becoming one.

Tricked? Well, that's a bit harsh, don't you think? We might have made a few suggestions, but are you really going to argue that you didn't know murder was… unheroic? All we did was point out that you now had the power to do what you'd been wanting to all these years. It's hardly our fault that the thing you wanted to do most was… turn the butcher into a pig. Or snap that henchman's neck. Rip out the spleen of… of… Just who was that again? Do you remember the name? Did you even know it? Oh, by all means, go to the next village fair and sell your skeins of wool as usual. We're sure that you'll have your regular stall and everyone will deal with you as usual. They won't edge away in fear and revulsion. They won't hide their children as they pass. They'll understand when you explain that you just got a little… carried away? Yes, of course, it'll all be smoothed over, won't it?

In the darkness of his hut, he'd buried his face in his hands. Of course it wouldn't be. Of course his deeds were beyond the pale. There was no coming back from them, not now.

… But then, it's not as though you were the most beloved person in the village before this, is it? Even if you could give up your power tomorrow, it's not as though they'd hurry to invite you to dinner. But really, dearie, with magic at your disposal, who cares?

He'd chosen Darkness. Yes, in his circumstances, it had felt like the best choice he could have made, but it had been a choice. The Darkness might have wanted him to let it in, but it hadn't forced him. Any more than he had forced Regina to become the Evil Queen. He'd brought her to the precipice, but she'd been the one who'd jumped.

And when he'd thought he'd have to Darken Emma's heart? Even had he been back in Storybrooke with full access to his magic, there was no spell that could have done that. Oh, he could have pushed her buttons, shown her the path he wanted her to take, and convinced her to embark upon it, but turning away from the Light would always have been her decision.

"There… there may be something to what you say," he said finally. "If nothing else, her timing is rather convenient."

"Head games," August said flatly. "She knows we're coming. She's got you thinking she's a few steps ahead of us. But, you know, it could all be a bluff." He smiled. "I mean, she's got Belle and she's got Robin's baby. It doesn't exactly take a genius to know we're coming for her. So she's throwing everything she can at us to make us think we don't have a chance of winning."

"Wait," Emma said. "Gold, if all magic comes with a price, just how… expensive is it to pull off that, uh, ventriloquist act with Blue while she's off in another realm?"

Rumple frowned. "It's hard to say. My mother is quite powerful, of course. But then, so is the Blue Fairy. However," his eyebrows lifted, "it's fair to say that it would be rather… taxing for her to speak through Blue, however briefly, even were the two standing side by side. Over great distances…" A smile moved fleetingly across his face. "I imagine that would probably be why she didn't linger any longer, but rather left me to ask Blue about my original destiny."

"Doesn't that seem a little…?" August's voice trailed off. "Well, if we're talking prices, it sounds like overspending. I mean, if I knew that an army was heading my way, I'd be mustering my forces, shoring up my defenses, the last thing I'd want to do is spend a large portion of my resources to warn the people coming for me that I was ready." He shook his head. "Tactically speaking, wouldn't it be more of an advantage if the opposing force thought I wasn't?"

"She's scared," a new voice spoke up and the three turned as one to the open doorway.

Emma spoke first. "Lily? What are you doing here?"

After Emma had left the night before, Lily had tried to rest. Her mother had gone back to the dwarfs' mine; she found the motel room a bit confining. "It's not the size of the room," Maleficent had said. "It's the space taken up by the furnishings." Lily didn't mind as much. True, the beds took up more than three quarters of the room and the dressers took up another ten per cent or so, but she'd had much worse roofs over her head, and sometimes no roof at all. At any rate, her mother might be more comfortable in a cave, but Lily much preferred the motel.

Still, sleep didn't come. She'd had a long day and she was still trying to take everything in. Over the last few weeks, she done a lot of planning and scheming, but she hadn't really sat down to think. This really was a second chance—or at least, it could be. If she took it. If the people she'd hurt were willing to give her an opportunity to do better.

If she didn't screw things up again.

She went to the window and looked out at the night sky. She did need to think… but maybe a bit more air would do her good. And while it was probably too late to go out for a walk… Lily smiled, climbed onto the sill, and confidently leaped off, trusting that she would be in dragon form before she hit the ground.

This time, her trust wasn't misplaced. With a mental laugh of sheer delight, she glided toward the woods, as she began to weigh out both options and opportunities.

Flying at night was easily just as good as taking a long drive for putting things into perspective. By the time midnight rolled around, Lily knew what she needed to do. Zelena had nearly killed her today, and the witch wasn't the only person with reason. Realistically, Lily knew, she had three options. She could cut and run, like she always did when the going got tough. She could try to keep a low profile and hope that eventually, somebody else would screw up badly enough that people would forget what she'd done. Or, she could apologize.

Lily sucked in air through her teeth. She hated apologizing. When she'd been younger, it had seemed as though her adoptive parents had forced her to say she was sorry at least twice every day. It had gotten to the point that whenever one of them addressed her, she'd just automatically replied with "I'm sorry." And when they asked her what she'd done, she'd just shrugged and said, "Whatever." She knew she hadn't been anyone's little angel, but everything hadn't always been her fault. Not that anyone had cared to listen.

Zelena probably wouldn't listen any time soon, Lily admitted glumly. But Rumpelstiltskin might. Her mother said that she'd spoken with him and he was willing to 'relinquish any claim he had against her'. That didn't mean he wanted anything to do with her, of course, but at least he probably wasn't going to rip her heart out her chest if he met her on the street. And, she thought to herself, he did 'have a claim against her.' Unlike the apologies she'd mouthed half-heartedly as a child to get her parents to back off, she owed this one.

Fine. She realized that she was flying toward his shop now. It was still the middle of the night and she ought to head back to the motel, but she'd come back here in a few hours, and as soon as Rumpelstiltskin showed up, even if it was before business hours, she'd say her piece. And if he told her to get lost, she'd accept it. She'd—

…That was Emma's car parking in front of the shop. As Lily watched, Emma, Rumpelstiltskin, and another guy got out and walked up to the front door. As Rumpelstiltskin unlocked it, Lily debated with herself for a moment, before she dropped down for a landing, reverting to human form when she was still a few feet up in the air.

She had no idea what Rumpelstiltskin was doing here at—she checked her watch—half-past one in the morning, but maybe she could get what she had to do over with now. Before she changed her mind. Before she lost her nerve.

And with Emma there, then maybe, even if he was still mad at her, he'd think twice before he ripped out her heart or turned her into a cockroach.

Even so, she waited a few minutes before she tried the door. The bell's jangling startled her, but after a moment, when the voices she could hear in the back office didn't break off or draw closer, she realized that they hadn't heard it. Cautiously, she edged closer, not really meaning to eavesdrop, but just looking for an appropriate lull in the conversation so she could make her presence known.

What she overheard was interesting enough for her to forget that they didn't know she'd come in. It wasn't until she voiced her opinion and they all turned to stare at her that she realized her error. "Uh… Hi?" she ventured with an uneasy smile. "I… was just in the neighborhood and I saw the lights on..."

Rumple knew he should have locked the door. Most of the town still slept, and Will Scarlett had only had the temerity to break in here when Rumple had been in New York. And the thief preferred to ply his trade when there was nobody about; his presence in the shop now would have almost certainly been enough of a deterrent. All the same, he was usually a cautious man and if not for the events of the last few hours, he would have remembered to take precautions, whether mechanical or magical.

His heart was pounding faster than it should have been as he faced the young woman who had abducted him so very recently. He might have agreed to Maleficent's request not to exact retribution, but that didn't mean he wanted to face Lily now! However, he wasn't about to let her know how disconcerting he found her presence in the shop.

Swallowing his anxiety, he frowned, steepled his fingers, and said slowly, "That is a rather astonishing accusation to make against one whom, I'd wager, you've never met nor heard of until now."

Lily shrugged at that. "You'd win that bet," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

A smirk came to Rumple's face as he chuckled. "I'm afraid you'll need to make a better argument if you're hoping to convince me, dearie."

Lily shrugged again. "Okay. I… was actually coming here to apologize about before, so I guess I've been thinking about it a little. I guess I should start by saying that, when Ursula, Cruella, and I nabbed you, it wasn't really because we wanted anything from you. It was because we knew that once everyone figured out that we were in town, they'd be coming to you for help. And maybe I'd never met you, but Cruella and Ursula had. They convinced me that we had to, uh…" She suddenly noticed the expression on his face and broke eye contact. "We had to take you off the board," she finished lamely. "We were scared that we'd come so far just to fail if you got involved." She looked up again and something about the steely glint in Rumple's eye made her add, "And okay, I blamed you for making Emma's dad ram that potion down my mother's throat and then getting Emma to kill her to get it back."

"Wait," Emma broke in for the first time. "How do you—" She stopped. "I guess you and your mother have been catching up. No, wait; we hadn't brought her back at that point, so—"

"I have a book," Lily said. "But I don't want to get into that now. Uh… Mister Rum—uh…"

Rumple smiled and his eyes sought Emma's. "Evidently you're not the only one to balk at using my proper name."

He turned back to Lily. "Under the Curse, I was known as Mr. Gold. You may use that name, if you find it easier."

Lily nodded. "Thanks, that works." She took another breath. "Mr. Gold, I… kind of came in in the middle of all this, but from what he—" she gestured to August uncertainly.

August's eyes crinkled in merriment. "Pinocchio," he supplied, the faint twitch of his lips at odds with his deadpan delivery.

"Seriously?" Lily gaped, feeling her face grow hot when Rumpelstiltskin chuckled. "Fine. When Pinocchio was talking about how hard it would be for this character to communicate with you here, well, if the stakes really are as high as you guys think, and she's taking that big a risk, it's got to be because she's afraid of what might happen if she doesn't. She's trying to take you off the board. And what she's doing is as dangerous for her as you say, then assuming she knows it, she has to think that you coming for her is going to be even more dangerous." She took another breath. "I think you've got her spooked."

Rumple's eyes widened slightly, as he met the eyes of each of the others in turn. "You may have something there," he said slowly. "May," he repeated. "At least, I find myself somewhat more disinclined to dismiss your statements out of hand."

Lily smiled. "Well, great. So… what's going on anyway?"

Rumple's eyes found Emma's again. Emma sighed. "That's kind of a long story."

"I'm not doing anything for the next little while," Lily replied with a shrug.

Emma and Rumple exchanged another look. It was only when Rumple nodded that Emma let out another sigh. "Pull up a chair," she said. "You'll… want to sit down for this."

When Emma was finished, Lily was silent for almost a full minute. Then, she took a breath and said, "I want to come with you."

Rumple shook his head. "I'm afraid that's out of the question."

"Bull!" Lily snapped. "If you're taking on this Black Fairy character, you need firepower. I got that. Literally."

"And if it were your mother volunteering her assistance, I'd be more amenable," Rumple countered. "Let's set aside such minor details as our heading into a war and your being untested, untried, and woefully unskilled at combat for the moment. After our earlier encounter, forgive me for saying that I don't trust you to have my back, but… I don't trust you to have my back. Stab it, perhaps, but have it? No."

"But you trust Zelena."

Rumple flinched. "I can handle Zelena," he snapped.

"You can handle a witch who held you captive for the better part of a year and fixed it so you can't crush her heart without killing yourself in the process, but not a total newb who's actually trying to make amends?"

Rumple's eyes narrowed. "You seem to know quite a bit for someone recently arrived. Who have you been talking to?"

Lily faltered. "Uh… Zelena told me. Before. When I was visiting her in the hospital to… Sorry. I…" She winced. "Look, I know I screwed up on more than one count there. Big shocker, story of my life, cry me a river, whatever," she muttered. "Maybe I want a chance to try and make up for it. Maybe I just want to see what I can do with my dragon powers if I really cut loose, only this town isn't the right place for it." She lowered her eyes. "And, okay, the two people in this place with the most reason to want me dead are you and Zelena—Thanks for letting my mom talk you out of getting even, by the way," she added with a pained smile. "That… means a lot. Seriously. But I figure coming along on this trip means I'm helping you. Both of you. Maybe that'll… I don't know, smooth things over? Give me a fighting chance at fitting in here? Give you guys better odds?" She sighed. "I travel light. I mean, I don't have anything to pack besides a lunch, and if you're bringing food, I'm ready now." She looked nervously around the room. "Please?"

Rumple pressed his lips together tightly for a moment. "Our method of conveyance won't have room for you; we'll be crowded enough as things are. But we were debating earlier whether there might be a way to bring more people along. Do you know the way to the marina?" he asked crisply.

"Yeah…"

Rumple took another breath. "You'll find a large ship moored there styled The Jolly Roger. Be standing in front of it in two hours' time and we shall see. And if I were you, dearie, I'd use a portion of those two hours to inform Maleficent of your imminent departure. She may have something on-hand that you can use." He smiled. "And if anything untoward were to happen to you, dearie, I'd much prefer she know from the outset that you asked to be included in this adventure."

Lily exhaled. "Does that mean you accept my apology?"

"It means I haven't rejected it, yet," Rumple replied, and while his expression was serious, there was something softer in his eyes. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that second chances are hard-won and I'll not withhold from you that which was far too often denied me."

"I-I won't let you down."

Rumple shook his head. "Don't promise what you can't control. If you are able to come with us, you'll be marching into a warzone. Things will go awry. Mistakes will be made, almost certainly, by any or all of us. And since there won't be time to prepare you for what lies ahead, I expect you'll make more than your share. But you've presented a number of points in favor of your joining us, some stronger than other. And I'll grant the assets might equal the liabilities." He smiled. "If you change your mind, I'll not hold it against you. If you're late, I'll not search. And even if you do present yourself as directed, the spell we hope to use to increase the number of people we can take with us might well fail."

Lily nodded. "Well, let's just hope it doesn't then," she said. And with a guarded smile of her own, she added, "Thanks."

"It's possible," the Apprentice said after only a few seconds' thought. "The bed will need to be fortified somewhat, lest it tear itself apart in transit, but that's easily done." He moved over to a wall of jars and surveyed them. "Pennyroyal," he murmured, "ginger mint—that will help ensure a smoother trip by the way," he added, and Tia smiled her relief at that, "lemon balm… and…" He looked up with a frown. "I don't suppose any of you have any habek mint?"

Rumple frowned. "Is that needed as well?"

"Well, I don't dare hope you've any almahpeykeriat mint; you'd need to have visited northeastern Agrabah to obtain it," the old man replied crisply. He continued, "I don't think I need to remind you that mint is an herb for strength and travel. The bed will need both. And while the almahpeykeriat would work best, habek mint will get the job done, especially when bolstered by the other varieties."

August frowned. "I don't want to get your hopes up," he said, "but let me make a phone call. I think Papa will forgive me this once for waking him."

Rumple's eyes widened. "Those pickles he's so fond of making?" he asked.

"Like I said," August grinned, pulling out his phone, "I don't want to get your hopes up. But… he likes to experiment. And he's always ordering stuff out of seed catalogs. Heirloom vegetables, exotic herbs—I'm not sure about habek mint specifically, but I know he's gotten mint before. It's pretty good for carrots."

"You can pickle carrots?" Emma exclaimed.

"You can pickle just about anything," August shrugged. "And if you live in a pre-industrial society and you want to have fruits and vegetables during the winter and planting seasons, you probably do. Papa just never stopped. I'll call him."

The sun never seemed to rise or set here; at least, there was no difference in the level of light in her cell from one hour to the next. Meals arrived randomly; sometimes one came before she'd finished what was on her tray, sometimes she thought more than a day passed with nothing.

Belle tried to save a bit from each meal to get her through those longer intervals. She slept when she was tired and ate when she was hungry. The clay cup on the rough stone shelf by her bed was always half-full of potable, if tepid water. She never saw her meals appear on the tray beside it; she'd stare at it for hours and then, when she looked away for a moment—or dozed off—the food would be there when she looked again. Sometimes, at least. As far as the food, it was edible, if bland. On one occasion her tray might bear a grain porridge, on another, a hearty soup and a round crusty loaf of bread—often slightly stale, though not so hard or dry as to be hard to swallow. Fruits were stewed, meat and fish were boiled. Here, too, though, there was no rhyme or reason; she might have porridge for five consecutive meals, then the trays would alternate between soup and fish.

After the first half-dozen meals or so, Belle had realized that the erratic meal timing, the random foods, and the complete inability to judge day from night all meant that she could have no idea how much time had passed since her capture. Days, certainly, but how many? The Black Fairy had said she'd come back in 'a day or two'; sure it had been longer than that! And at this point, Belle would actually have welcomed someone to talk to. Which, Belle realized grimly, was likely exactly the frame of mind in which the fairy hoped to find her when she did return. She clenched her teeth. She hated feeling this helpless—knowing what was going on and being powerless to stop it. She couldn't let this break her down. There was too much at stake. She had to remember her plan. She—

"How's that meditating coming, then?" a merry voice broke into Belle's thoughts, startling her. She sat up straighter at once and did her best to hide her disconcertedness.

"I think I'm improving," she replied evenly.

"How wonderful!" the fairy gushed. "And I see you've found time to read over that parchment I gave you, too!"

For once, Belle was grateful for all of her dreary lessons in court etiquette.

A noble never lets her true feelings show in public, she'd been taught. She presents her best face to the court and reserves tears and temper for the privacy of her chambers.

She hadn't quite mastered those lessons—not to the degree that her parents had hoped—but she drew on them now and pasted on her blandest social smile. "I have," she said. And then, she dimmed her smile a fraction and allowed the slightest hint of a puzzled frown to appear. "Though I'm not certain why you thought it would interest me." Calm, she told herself. Calm. She might have all the cards, but maybe you can bluff your way through this enough to throw her off her game.

The Black Fairy laughed. "Perhaps, you missed the signature at the bottom of the contract?" she suggested.

Belle shook her head, smiling pleasantly. "I noticed it," she said. "But I'm afraid languages and history have always held my interest much more readily than matters of law." She gave an apologetic shrug. "It's really quite a dry topic, isn't it?" Then she let her eyes widen and artfully covered her mouth with the fingers of one hand. "Oh! I'm so sorry, if it's something you enjoy! Of course, if you want to discuss it, I'll listen. Perhaps, you'll be able to make it interesting to me!"

Yes, all right, her heart was pounding, but she wasn't about to let that show on her face. Lacey certainly wouldn't. And if her plan had any hope of succeeding, she had to let Lacey out.

The fairy's smile seemed to freeze for a moment. "Well, it's a simple enough agreement. Many years ago, your husband promised to surrender his second-born child in exchange for a healing potion. Unfortunately, he was never blessed with a second-born child in all those years." Her smile broadened, as she gestured toward Belle's belly. "Until now."

Belle blinked, but it was Lacey who replied with a slight laugh, "What makes you so certain it's Rumple's?"

Marco did, indeed have the habek mint, and it didn't take him long to deliver it. Rumple couldn't help noticing how weariness and worry had etched lines about the handyman's eyes and he took a moment to draw August away from his conversation with the now-much-younger Paul.

"I'll be blunt," he said in an undertone. "You won't be joining us on this excursion."

August frowned. "Excuse me?"

"It's not because I don't think you capable," Rumple hastened to reassure him. "However, I've already been the reason your father has lived much of his life without his parents. I'll not be the reason for his living the rest of it without his son."

August's frown vanished and he nodded. "I understand," he said reluctantly. "Much as I wish I didn't." He smothered a yawn. "In that case, I'll go home now, with Papa. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."

"At the Lapine house," Rumple supplied. And when August nodded, he took another breath. "I know your father prides himself on his work ethic and deservedly so, but I'll remind you that I'm paying you for those repairs by the day, and I expect you to take as much time as you require. I'd prefer you work at a slower pace and do an even more thorough job than usual."

August raised an eyebrow. "What am I missing?"

Rumple fought hard not to smile. The Lapines, he suspected, had their pride and would never have accepted something they recognized as charity. However, that didn't mean he couldn't help them in ways they wouldn't recognize. "I paid a call on them yesterday and," he lowered his eyes, "became aware that I'd been remiss in my responsibilities. As their landlord, of course it's up to me to keep the house and grounds in a proper state, and due to nigh-unforgiveable negligence, I've failed to do so."

"Okay, so we're fixing it," August said. "What's the… lack of hurry?"

Rumple shrugged. "Well, I can't very well expect them to pay rent on a property that's not up to code, can I? I'd much rather that the two of you take all the time you need to attend to everything that needs fixing, no matter how minor. And no matter how long it takes. I want that place in pristine condition."

August's eyebrows shot up. He thought he was starting to catch on. "Well," he said with a slight smile, "we'll do our best, but you know, all those kids… They play outside a lot and the weather's warming up. They might tear up the lawn," he suggested, not sounding at all dismayed, "chip some paint, maybe even break a window or two… I guess we'd have to take care of that also."

Rumple nodded. "Indeed. I've no intention of collecting a penny from them until the house is perfect, so I'm relying on you to get it there. I don't care how much time you require, just so it gets done eventually."

August grinned. "You got it."

A brief answering smile touched Rumple's lips. August started to turn away, but Rumple called him back. "Oh, Booth? I… shouldn't think you'd need to tell anyone else about this. It's really quite embarrassing that I've let things deteriorate to such an extent and I'd hate for word to get out."

It was all the younger man could do not to burst out laughing as he made his way over to his father.

David and Snow hadn't been able to help overhearing the conversation. As it ended, David got up and drew his wife aside. "I—"

Before he could get any further, Snow cut him off. "I know. It's… not exactly something we would have pictured him doing even six months ago." She gave a little laugh. "I just wish he didn't seem to think he'd… lose face if we knew about it. I mean, on the one hand, he gets upset when we don't notice he's trying to do better and on the other hand, he goes out of his way to hide things like—"

David shook his head. "The man likes keeping secrets, even when there's no reason to. But… that's not why I pulled you away." He took another breath. "August's not the only person who should be staying behind. I think you need to sit this one out, too."

Snow gaped at him. "David! No, no, we're a team, we—"

"Emma and Regina are both going, Snow," David said firmly. "Someone has to stay here with Henry. Not to mention Neal. We're going up against someone who spends her free time abducting infants; there is no way that we're bringing one to her doorstep."

"No, of course not," Snow agreed, a bit more subdued. "But Granny could… O-or the fairies…"

David shook his head. "We know that time flows differently in the Dark Realm. Days spent there might mean years passed here. Or vice versa. And I know that the bed is supposed to work around that, but if anything goes wrong…" He closed his eyes. "We both missed watching Emma grow up. One of us should be there for Neal."

"Okay," Snow nodded. "You're right about that. But shouldn't we discuss this a bit more? I mean…" She shook her head. "How do you pick which child you're staying with and which one you might not see again for years?"

David gave her a sad smile. "You were with Emma in the Enchanted Forest after the First Curse broke. This time, it's my turn. And… you've always been better at telling stories than I have. Between you and Henry, I'm confident that Neal will know about me, even if he has to wait a while to know me. And hopefully, everything will go right and he won't have to wait at all."

"Indeed," a soft voice startled them and they wondered how long Rumpelstiltskin had been standing there. "Actually, that takes a bit of a weight off my mind. You see, as much as I'd like to believe that everything will remain quiet here in our absence, there's always the chance that someone here will require something from the shop. Belle's kept excellent inventory records and Henry knows where everything is. Perhaps, you'll both maintain those premises until our return?"

Snow blinked. "O-of course," she said.

"Excellent. In that case," Rumpelstiltskin smiled, "why don't we head back to the shop and I'll give you some quick instructions as far as what needs to be done. While Henry knows most of it already, there are some duties I've kept him from. At least, until now."

"I'll drive you," David offered. "And then, I can drop Snow off at home and we'll head to the docks."

"Sensible," Rumple nodded. "We'll just advise the others first."

He'd come across something in the shop earlier that he'd nearly forgotten about. And while he'd meant to wait until Henry was a bit older before giving it to him, perhaps this was the right time after all. At any rate, he hoped that Henry wouldn't break this one, for this time, Rumple had no means to procure a replacement.

Lily and Maleficent were waiting when the others arrived at the marina. The elder dragon appeared outwardly composed, but Rumple suspected that she was not entirely pleased with the turn that events had taken.

"I'm holding you responsible for my daughter's safety," she said, addressing Rumple and ignoring Lily's exasperated, "Mom!"

Rumple only nodded. "I accept your charge," he said formally.

"You what?" Zelena demanded.

He didn't turn around. "She comes with us. If you have a problem with that, you're welcome to remain here on the dock when we depart."

Zelena opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a loud thud from the pirate ship, as the bed materialized on its main deck, carrying four passengers.

The Apprentice's back was pressed fast to the rails of the head-rest, and he looked a bit wild as he took in his surroundings. Then he sat up carefully and looked at Tia. "I do see what you mean," he announced. "Well. I can make the journey smoother, but it will increase the travel time. Then again," he mused, turning to Paul, "as you're meaning to tell the bed to take you into the Dark Realm at the precise moment when the Black Fairy returns, I'm not sure there's any disadvantage to a more leisurely speed."

The sandy-haired youth sitting at the foot of the bed by the magic knob frowned. "I was thinking," he said, "if we were to get there before she leaves, maybe we could stop her from coming here in the first place."

"It's a clever thought," the Apprentice said, "but it would create something of a paradox, wouldn't it?"

"I don't see—" Paul started to say.

"I do," Tony spoke up. "Paul, we've brought you here because we need to get to the Dark Realm to rescue Belle and Lyncoln, right?"

"So your sister explained," Paul agreed with a nod to Tia.

"Okay, so if we stop her from leaving the Dark Realm in the first place, it means that Tia and the others never went to England to get you. And if they never went to England to get you, then nobody took the bed to the Dark Realm, which means that she wasn't stopped, which means we did have to get you. See?"

Paul frowned at Tony, his head tilted to one side. Then he looked to the dock, locking eyes on Killian. "Do I tell everyone to get up here, or is that your job?"

Killian's lips twitched. "Get aboard, you lot," he ordered. "Those coming aboard, at any rate."

The Apprentice gripped the bed rail to pull himself upright, and there was no mistaking the glow of Light Magic as he did so. "There," he said with satisfaction. "That's done, at least."

"You mean," Emma said, coming up the gangplank, "we won't be on some monster roller coaster this time?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "I think you'll find it much more akin to travel on the high seas now, though I can't promise an absence of stormy weather."

"I can handle a squall at sea, mate," Killian remarked. The Apprentice smiled.

Tony sighed. "I guess, this is goodbye, Sis."

"You're not coming?" Rumple exclaimed with some surprise.

"Tia and I can communicate mind-to-mind," Tony explained. "Uncle Bené believes that we'll be able to do so, even if we're in different realms. If you need to get a message back here, or if we need to get one to you…" He smiled. "Plus, I think it's going to be a little ludicrous if everyone has to charge into battle and I'm blowing into my harmonica. And if I were to lose it…" He shook his head. "If one of us is staying here, I'm the better choice."

"Tony," Tia said, her expression serious, "if anything happens to me," she reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "For Glenn," she said, with a slight sigh. She took out another one. "And Mark and Lindsay," she added. "Just in case. I know I just spoke with them an hour or so ago, but some things are better in writing."

Tony took the pages from her carefully. "You'll see your husband and kids again," he assured her.

"You don't know that," Tia said with a sad smile. "I don't know that."

"I know you," Tony answered. "You'll be back. And then? You'll tell me all the stuff you won't tell me while you're away because you don't want me to worry." He held one arm wide and Tia leaned into it, hugging her brother back. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Emma and David locked with Snow in a similar embrace.

August grinned at Rumple. "I… guess this is, 'Good luck,'" he said, extending his hand.

Rumple shook it, glad that August hadn't hugged him this time. While displays of camaraderie were hardly unwelcome, there were some gestures that Rumple just wasn't prepared to handle in a public setting. Particularly not with the witch close by and drumming her fingers irritably on the taffrail. Not far off, Robin and Regina stood locked in quiet conversation. "Well," he managed, "I'm sure we'll be back before you know it."

Killian cleared his throat. "All right," he said, not shouting, but projecting. "All ashore that's going ashore!"

For a moment, nobody moved. Then August, Snow, Maleficent, Tony, and the Apprentice headed toward the gangplank, not looking behind them until they stood below on the dock.

The Black Fairy's eyebrows shot up. "Do tell?"

Belle shrugged. "Rumple and I weren't together for a while. A woman can get lonely."

The fairy laughed. "Oh, Belle! I must admit I'd never have thought you'd ever think such a thing, never mind actually do it! I mean," she continued, "you do know that when Rumple finds out what you've been up to, it will absolutely…" she drew her words out with slow relish, "…crush him." As if for emphasis, she held up her hand mirror.

"Show me my most recent conversation with Belle," she commanded.

At once, the mirror glass swirled, clouded, and cleared. And Belle saw herself as she'd been sitting in her cell, moments earlier, when her captor had asked, "How's that meditating coming then?"

Belle's eyes grew wide. "No. No, you mustn't—"

"Mustn't what?" the Black Fairy asked. "Tell him what you've been up to? I thought that all this time, you've been wanting him to be open with you. And yet, you haven't shown him the same courtesy? Really, do you think that's at all fair?"

Belle's hands were ice-cold and sweating. "I…" It was on the tip of her tongue to admit her lie, but what good would that do now? As if the fairy would ever show Rumple that part! "Please," she whispered, "please don't show him…" She shook her head. "I made it up."

"I know," the fairy replied kindly. She spoke to the mirror again.

"Show me Rumpelstiltskin's child."

This time, when she held the mirror out to Belle, Belle saw her own reflection, but where the glass should have only shown her face, it presented her from top to toe. And while it didn't exactly zoom in on her belly, somehow, Belle found that her eyes seemed to draw there naturally.

The fairy patted her cheek. "Lying to me is useless, dear. Oh, don't worry!" she laughed. "I'm not the least bit vexed. I do understand." She rested her hand on Belle's shoulder. "You're about to become a mother. And you'll do anything to protect your child from harm." Her smile grew wider. "We're much alike, Belle. I believe that, in time, you'll come to appreciate that. Not now, of course," she said quickly. "It's far too soon and we haven't exactly met under ideal circumstances. You're still cross with me, I know. That's why I'm making allowances. But you might want to recall that you are dependent on me for every morsel of food, each sip of water," she flipped a small tome onto the cot, "each word you read. Here, I might be your greatest friend." Her voice grew colder, though her smile never dimmed. "Or your most implacable foe. Think about it."

She vanished in a puff of black smoke.

Belle looked at the volume she'd left behind. On the Care of the Unborn Babe: A Primer. Almost without meaning to, she opened the front cover and looked at the flyleaf. "To my daughter, Fiona," she read, wondering who 'Fiona' was. "With wishes for joy and good fortune." She flipped the vellum pages slowly, noting that they bore many a smudge, attesting to frequent readings. Vellum. While her father's library had boasted a number of ink-on-vellum and ink-on-parchment manuscripts, paper had been the material of choice for nearly half a century before Belle's birth. How old…? She went back to the beginning and flipped the flyleaf over. As she'd expected, she found the name of a publisher and… and an inscription that said that the book she was holding had been printed and bound in the third year of the reign of King Cadfan of Tir Coll. She recognized the name from her history lessons, but it only gave her more questions. Cadfan of Tir Coll had reigned over three hundred years ago! Didn't her jailor have anything more recent? Or…?

A strange suspicion took root in her mind. Her glance fell on the shelf by her bed and she noticed that a fresh bowl of soup had materialized when she hadn't been looking. She reached for it almost mechanically, as she mulled over the conversation she'd just had with the Black Fairy.

It was the work of a few minutes to lash the bed to a number of D-rings that were bolted to the deck. "All right," Paul said, when they were done. "Let's not take chances. Tia, Rumpelstiltskin, Emma and," he frowned for a moment, "Zelena, was it?" at the witch's nod, he smiled tightly, "I think you'd all better sit on the bed while I give the instructions. In case things don't go according to plan and the ship stays behind.

"I'm coming, too, then," Robin said firmly. "Lyncoln's my daughter as much as she is Zelena's."

Paul nodded. "Six of us. All right, three on one side, three on the other." He sighed. "I really wish I had a more complete address."

Rumple shook his head. "Make do with what you have and trust fate to handle the rest," he advised gently.

"Doesn't look there's much choice on it, now, does there?" Paul agreed, with the world-weariness that had suited him far better when he'd been six decades older, but seemed at odds with the youthful countenance he now bore. With a shrug, he leaned toward the bedpost, gripped the knob with both hands, and said, "We…" He took a breath. "All of us here plus this ship, we want to go to the Dark Realm, at the precise moment that the Black Fairy returned there from Storybrooke last night. And we want to be set down someplace where she won't be able to detect us, but as close to her as we can get with that stipulation, please."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "You're quite the sensible sort, aren't you?" he murmured approvingly.

Paul ducked his head. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to put that in writing, when we get back? My older siblings won't believe it otherwise." Then he twisted the knob.

On the dock below, Maleficent, August, Snow, Tony, and the Apprentice watched as the ship seemed to ripple for a moment. And then, with a puff that was neither light nor smoke, but something strangely in-between, the Jolly Roger and all aboard it disappeared.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Henry did not take the news well later that morning. "So, they left me here alone," he said flatly.

"Well, not entirely," Snow smiled. "I'm still here."

"Great," Henry muttered. Then, immediately, "Sorry. I didn't mean…"

Snow sighed. "If it helps, I'm not really happy to be staying behind either."

"Not really," Henry replied, reaching for the milk. He poured himself a glassful, added three heaping spoons of chocolate powder, stirred, and dumped the glass into his Corn Flakes. Snow made no comment, though she did offer a silent thanks that, at least, it hadn't been Frosted Flakes or Lucky Charms. "They couldn't have woken me up to say goodbye, at least?" Henry demanded, as he lifted his spoon to his mouth.

Snow sighed again. "The Black Fairy took Belle," she reminded him. "Your grandfather didn't want to delay a second longer than he had to—and he did have to for a number of things. But," she added, "he did tell me to ask you to look after the shop while he was away—with my help of course," she added hastily, as Henry's eyes lit up.

"No way!" he exclaimed. "Really?"

"Really. So, since it's Sunday, we can head over after breakfast. Bring your homework," she added, the teacher in her coming to the fore. "You can work on it between customers."

Henry nodded, his disappointment forgotten. "Awesome!"

"Now, it won't all be fun and games," Snow cautioned, stifling a laugh. "Rumpelstiltskin left a long list of instructions for you, and you know he's a stickler for getting things done. But—"

"But it's still awesome," Henry cut her off decisively. Then he started shoveling cereal into his mouth as fast as he could swallow.

Are we there, yet? For a brief moment, Emma wished that she was eleven again and could have gotten away with asking the question. Come to think of it, Henry hadn't asked it when he'd gone to New York with her and Gold to find the man who'd turned out to be his father. Ten, then. She wished she were ten. Not permanently, of course; just long enough to give into a childish urge without being told to act her age.

She knew that the time spent in transit didn't matter; they'd get there when they got there—which, if all worked like it was supposed to, would be before they'd even left Storybrooke—but it sure felt like it was taking a long time.

More than a little, it reminded her of the voyage to Neverland. Once again, they were going to a place where time wouldn't act like it was supposed to. Once again, a loved one—make that two loved ones this time—had been abducted by the ruler of the place they were headed for. And once again, the rescue party in question didn't necessarily all like or trust one another, but they were united toward a common purpose.

She just hoped that once again? They'd be successful.

She leaned against the ship's rigging and looked out into the swirling void.

Rumple sat on a coil of rope, drop-spindle in hand, as he fed another piece of straw into the spin and tried to settle his nerves. He wasn't doing this alone. There were people in his corner—not just with him, but with him. He'd told Emma everything and she still hadn't abandoned him.

But ranged against all of that were the Blue Fairy's last words to him. The words that had told him that he was useless, hopeless, severed from one destiny and bound to no other.

" And because of that, albeit through no fault of your own, greatness has been denied you. We did our best to mitigate the damage, found a talent in you that would help you find your way in the world and brought it forth. And then, when we had taught you all we could, awakened in you what potential remained to you we moved on to those meant for higher destinies."

He shouldn't have been surprised. After all, if his own parents hadn't thought him worth keeping, if his wife had seen him as a millstone about her neck, the sooner slipped the better, why should he have thought that the fairies would care more? Why…?

He caught himself. This sort of thinking was doing him no favors. If Emma was right, it was playing right into his mother's hands. She wanted him to despair. She wanted him to lose hope. She…

She might have still been controlling Blue when he'd believed that she'd withdrawn her presence from the fairy's mind. The bile that had spewed from the gnat's lips might have been his mother's words after all.

Or, perhaps, he was grasping at… He looked at the drop spindle and at the straw that he was grasping in his hand and fought back the urge to laugh. Grasping at straws, indeed. But this time, he wasn't alone.

He lifted his eyes and realized that he really wasn't alone. The captain stood before him, a familiar carved wooden case in his hand.

"There's… uh… no telling when we'll drop anchor, now that the Apprentice's fiddled with the knob," Jones said. "I was wondering whether you might care to play for a bit."

Rumple frowned. "If you're hoping to distract me…"

"Well, that's what your spinning's for, isn't it?" the captain smiled. "Truth be told, I'm feeling a mite bored. Normally, at times like this, I'd fetch my rod and reel from below decks and see about improving ship's rations with something a bit fresher, but somehow, I doubt there's anything out there to take my bait. So," he shrugged, "I thought to dangle this in front of you instead and see if you were up for it."

Rumple raised his eyebrows. "I'll need to wind the thread first," he murmured. "One disadvantage over the wheel; if I up and set the spindle down, I'll unravel the lot. Give me a moment."

He'd always believed that it was his destiny to live on the fringes, shunned and alone. But if the words he still heard in his mind were true, then he had no destiny. And he wasn't alone.

And if his mother was truly destined to win, then there'd be no reason to even have the battle in the first place. That they were rushing toward it, that the outcome had yet to be determined... Well, there was no denying that there was cause for apprehension. But twisted and braided within that worry, when he looked carefully, he believed he could see a glistening thread of hope.

He wound the thread quickly, pocketed it, and fell into step behind the captain.

Belle was beside herself. She'd thought herself so clever coming up with that suggestion. She'd even thought that the Black Fairy might let her go. Of all the naïve, stupid… She should have foreseen how her lie might backfire.

She's already betrayed Rumple's trust too many times. With the dagger. With Will—not that anything more serious than hand-holding and kissing had ever gone on between them, but even that had been far too much. With her own preconceptions and mule-headedness and…

And it never would have happened had Rumple told her about that contract. Or never signed that contract. What could have possessed him to—

Well, it wasn't like he'd never been possessed by anything before.

But she wouldn't be in this position if he hadn't—

Well, he had, and she was, and there had to be some way out of this predicament that she just wasn't seeing. And maybe the Black Fairy wouldn't show him that conversation; she was his mother, after all. What kind of mother would want to hurt their child so badly?

The kind who turned out to be an evil fairy who kidnapped babies and, occasionally, the odd adult?

Enough. She had to stop worrying about what was out of her control and start finding some way to turn the situation to her advantage. There had to be a loophole somewhere. Rumple would probably have found it by now. Well, she'd spent enough time around him to have some idea of how he thought. Maybe she could use that now.

But when all this was over, they were going to have a long talk about the contract and she was going to verify whether there were any other surprises from his past waiting to spring upon her.

"It doesn't feel right not having Mom here," Emma admitted.

David nodded. "I miss her, too. But—"

"I didn't say you made the wrong decision," Emma said quickly. "I just… miss her. I wonder what Henry's doing now."

"You can find out when we get back."

Emma frowned. "Not really," she pointed out, and David winced.

"This is… really going to take some getting used to," he admitted. "I don't know how I feel about realizing that everything we do can just be… rewound and done over."

"We're not—"

"Oh, I know we're not—we wouldn't do anything like that. But just the idea that somebody could…"

"And all this time," Paul spoke up from behind them, startling them, "I thought that Miss Price was just being a spoilsport when she had me wish the bed back to 1666." He smiled apologetically. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop; sorry. I actually did learn some manners back when I was younger than I look now." He shook his head. "While it's not much of an excuse, I don't know most of you; even Tia's more an acquaintance than a friend. So, I guess I'm trying to figure you out and maybe I'm being a bit nosier than I should be."

"It's fine," Emma replied. "We weren't having a private conversation, or anything."

"Ta," Paul said with a grateful smile. "Anyway, I know Miss Price regretted giving us that knob in the first place. Maybe having me wish the bed back in time while I stayed put was her way of trying to stuff the genie back in the bottle." He winced. "I keep forgetting I'm talking to a bunch of people who stepped out of a fairytale book. Tell me neither of you happens to be a genie I just offended?"

David shook his head, smiling a bit and Paul sighed with exaggerated relief. "I didn't think so, but, well, I am standing here talking to Prince Charming whilst sharing a boat with Rumpelstiltskin, Captain Hook, and the Wicked Witch of the West, so I didn't want to rule anything out."

"Don't take this wrong," Emma said. "Because we're glad that the knob is working, but I thought it only worked because you agreed to keep… Miss Price's secret about being a witch. So…"

"I did keep it," Paul smiled. "So did Carey and Charles. But as it happens, we weren't the only ones who knew about it…"

Emelius Jones was actually relieved when his wife told him she'd rid herself of the bedknob, even before she'd told him why. He'd impressed upon her early the dangers in studying magic in this time, just in case she ever chose to take it up again. He hadn't thought she would; if he had, he'd never have invited her to return to the seventeenth century with him, and surely not to share his life. One witchcraft charge had been more than enough for him and he wouldn't countenance another, nor see a loved one face the sort of trial he'd endured. Ducked in the horse-pond and near-drowned. There'd have been nothing 'near' about it, had his clothing not trapped enough air to keep him afloat. But, of course, floating was a sign of guilt in that sort of ordeal. Had Eglantine and the Wilson children not come to his rescue, he would have been burned at the stake the next day—and he but a charlatan necromancer! Had it ever been discovered that his wife was a true witch, albeit but a journeywoman at the craft, he didn't even want to think of the danger. No fear of that, though. Eglantine had been more than content to leave her studies behind in the twentieth century. She hadn't quite been able to bring herself to burn her books of magic, but he'd watched her bury them before returning with him.

Sometimes, though, he saw her looking at the bedpost with its innocent-seeming knob, and imagined he saw something wistful in her gaze, as though she missed what she'd given up and might be tempted to dabble once more. So, when he returned home from work and she'd near-fallen into his arms, telling him at a rush about what she'd experienced and what she'd done, he'd been worried for her safety, but also relieved.

He'd been growing tired of life in London for some time, now, but Eglantine had always seemed so happy here that he hadn't wanted to suggest a move to the countryside. When he broached it now, suggesting that they could be well away before the sorceress in her looking glass returned, she'd jumped at the suggestion, only then disclosing that she detested the city, but hadn't wanted to ask him to quit a place he seemed so at home.

They'd left the next day to visit his relations in Pepperinge Eye, scarcely five miles from the Bedfordshire village where she'd lived/would be living some three centuries later, and they'd never returned. A few years after they'd settled in, Emelius's youngest sister had died of childbed fever and he and Eglantine had adopted both the infant and the two elder children who'd survived her. (Her husband had tragically died several months earlier, when a horse he'd been breaking had trampled him.)

They had had a marvelous life. But now, those children were grown and with families of their own. Eglantine had died nearly a decade earlier, and it pained Emelius to think that nobody would ever know who she'd been and what she'd given up for him. And so, near the end of his life, he wrote down her story, that which he recollected, that which he thought must have happened, and a detail or two that he thought made things more interesting, even if he wasn't certain that they'd ever occurred. They seemed plausible to him, at any rate.

When he was finished, though, he realized that it would still be too dangerous to ever let anyone alive read it. He still lived in fear of being hauled up on another witchcraft charge after all these years. And if any shadow of suspicion should fall on the rest of the family… No. No, someone would—he hoped—find it one day. But for now, he would hide it someplace safe and trust that one day, when the time was right, the story would reveal itself…

"It did," Paul finished. "In a collection of old books and papers what ultimately made their way to the Conjuring Arts Center. And, when the keeper—sorry, you'd say 'curator' in America, I think? Well, anyway, when he found it, he recognized it for what it was and passed word onto his sister. Tia," he jerked his head to where Tia and Lily stood facing one another, eyes closed, gripping each other's hands in what appeared to be a meditation exercise of some kind, "tracked me down some twenty-five years back. As she tells it, she and her brother have sort of taken it on themselves to find whatever small magic this world possesses. They don't really want to do anything with it for the most part, but they do like knowing where it is." Paul smiled. "When she confronted me with the account in Emelius Jones's papers, I confirmed it. So you see," he finished, "I didn't actually tell Miss Price's secret. Tia told me. Just like she told you. There's no problem with discussing anything with anyone who already knows about her… studies; I just can't be the one what spills the beans."

"Semantics," Emma replied.

Paul shrugged. "The spell didn't seem to mind, did it?"

Emma shook her head, but she was smiling just a bit. Her smile faded when she saw Regina place her hand on her sister's shoulder, only to have Zelena shake it off with a scowl. The look on Regina's face was unhappy, but resigned. Emma sighed. "I'll be back in a minute," she murmured, moving away from the rail and heading for the two women.

"Just because I'm immortal doesn't mean I'm prepared to wait for all eternity." The ruler of the Underworld wasn't even trying to conceal his annoyance this time.

The Black Fairy smiled at his image. "Patience, Hades," she replied calmly. "Your beloved is even now speeding on her way to my domain. Once she arrives here, it will be a simple thing to dispatch her to you."

"Our terms were clear," Hades said with a frown. "I need her alive."

"She will be," the Black Fairy answered. "Never fear. But alive, you know she's likely to seek to leave your land, particularly if she believes herself to be your captive. You may hold her, but if you mean to have her…"

Hades' eyes narrowed. "What are you thinking?"

"Only that, in this realm, time ebbs and flows at my whim. Behold." She raised her hand mirror to disclose the image of a wooden cradle in which slumbered an infant. "Your realm doesn't contain all dead souls, does it?"

"No," the ruler of the Underworld admitted grudgingly. "Just those with unfinished business. What's your point?"

"Well, that baby in the glass? That's Zelena's daughter. Now, granted, an infant won't have any unfinished business, nor any business at all. But time can often fly by," she continued coolly. "Especially here. And if that babe should grow up a bit, if she should reach an age where she might come to have some score to settle with me… Well, once I've dispatched her, once she's in your domain…" She smiled. "I imagine her mother would do everything she could to follow, now, wouldn't she? I think I can arrange to dispatch her to you alive." She laughed warmly. "It'll save me a step, won't it?"

"How long must I wait?" Hades asked slowly.

"Well, not an eternity." The Black Fairy sighed. "Zelena is coming here seeking a baby. If I present her with an adolescent, I can scarcely expect her to believe it's hers, now. But once mother and child are reunited, well, it's hardly any great trick to accelerate aging. Even her baby sister's managed it," she laughed again, a bit more snidely this time. "You'll have your opportunity to lend her an understanding shoulder and curse my name and offer to make an exception to your usual policy and allow one of the Living to stay in your land so that she can be with the daughter she never had a chance to know. And in time? I'm sure she'll grow to love you as much as you do her." She smirked. "And she never needs to know that you and I colluded to arrange your union."

Hades looked thoughtful. "I must admit, you paint an appealing picture," he mused.

The Black Fairy beamed. "Be patient but a short while longer, Lord Hades," she said in a tone that hid the faintest note of mockery in her respectful address. "Time may not behave in either of our realms as it does elsewhere, but it is on our side, and we shall prevail."

Regina and Zelena looked up at Emma's approach. Zelena's lip curled into a sneer. "To what do I owe the pleasure of the savior's company?" she demanded coolly.

Emma bit back an angry retort. "I'm not here to ask if everything's okay, considering the reason we're on this ship," she said. "But maybe we can… try to pretend to get along for the next little while? I mean," she cast a glance in Lily and Tia's direction, "all of us? Because if this is anything like Neverland was, it might take all of us to get them back."

"With you to lead us, I suppose?"

Emma shrugged. "It doesn't have to be me. It just has to be someone everyone else agrees to listen to in a crunch." She sighed. "Look. You don't have to be our friend. Or Lily's friend. Just… try not to kill her, okay?"

Zelena raised her hand and curled her fingers forward into a half-formed fist, studying her fingernails. "I suppose, I can see the advantage to having a dragon on our side, particularly one trying to make amends for her role in causing this situation in the first place. But I have little reason to trust that any of you will put my interests or those of my daughter paramount, should you at any point need to choose between those and Belle's."

"It won't come to that," Emma said with a good deal more conviction than she felt.

"So you hope," the witch sniffed. "But I'll give you the chance to prove it. Should you confirm my suspicions, though, rest assured that you shall live long enough to regret it—but not far beyond. So long as we're all clear on that much," she smiled in an almost friendly fashion, "I know we'll all get along swimmingly."

Emma forced herself to smile back, but she saw the note of caution in Regina's eyes and suspected that it was reflected in her own.

They were coming. She knew that, of course. One didn't abduct the wife of the former Dark One and the daughter of the Wicked Witch of the West and not expect repercussions. She hadn't made her move until she was certain she was prepared to deal with them.

She still didn't see what threat Zelena might pose her, but it was unwise to dismiss prophecies out of hand.

"The sorceress from another land will make Oz her home until she fulfills her destiny and unseats the greatest evil the realm has ever seen."

Well! Darkness and evil weren't precisely the same thing, but there was no denying, the Black Fairy smirked, that when her plans came to fruition, they would impact every realm in existence—including Oz. Including the Underworld, for that matter, but if Hades was going to neutralize the witch for her, then moving to unseat him was more an inevitability than a priority.

She spared a look for the still figure stretched out on the bed. There were many forms of magical slumber; a sleeping curse was just one and not the one called for in this instance. "What are you thinking of now, Belle?" she murmured, slipping effortlessly into the young woman's dream, to find Belle carefully running her fingers over every brick in the cell walls, looking for a weak point. "Well," the Black Fairy smiled, "perhaps I'll let you find one in a bit; it might prove entertaining. For now, though, I think I'd rather prefer you frustrated."

Smiling, she withdrew from Belle's consciousness. Her newest captive had been sleeping for nearly an hour, though it surely felt like much longer. Dreams really didn't last very long as a rule: twenty, perhaps thirty minutes at maximum. But to the dreamer, days, weeks, or even years might pass in that half hour. And with the ability to enter those dreams at will, and lifetimes of practice behind her, the Black Fairy knew that she could channel them in the direction she meant Belle to take.

"I wonder what would drive you the most deeply into hopelessness," she said, speaking as though Belle could hear her. "For you to escape your cell only to be recaptured and returned there, day after day, night after night, no matter how well you plan to avoid your pursuers… Or just to leave you to rot there for a decade or so." She shrugged. "I suppose some experimentation might be in order. I'm really not in any great hurry. So long as this ends with you bitter, lonely, despairing, and desperate—and you will get there, mark my words—then even if Rumple fails me, I shall have my Dark One at my side."

Yes, she smiled, things were definitely falling into place. Rumple might yet defeat her, but he was at his best when he made cold-blooded, rational decisions, unclouded by emotion. He would not be at his best when he faced her. And if Belle should be turned before he arrived…

…Then the battle would be over before it began. Oh, the savior would play her part, but without Rumple's support, she would lose.

"So long as I hold the heart of the Dark One," she murmured, glancing at Belle once more. "So, that's what it meant!" She waved her hand and a blanket floated over to cover the young woman.

"Sleep well, my dear," she said pleasantly. "Dream your dreams. And in so doing, fulfill mine!"

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

"What if I can't get in?" Henry asked worriedly, as his grandmother pulled into a parking spot in front of the shop.

"Then, I guess we won't," Snow replied, sounding not at all concerned. "But Rumpelstiltskin did say that that the shop was sealed with blood magic, which makes you about the only person in town who should be able to."

"What if someone comes in and needs something magical?"

"Then, you take a message or, if it's really urgent, send them to the fairies."

"What if it's really urgent and the fairies can't help?"

Snow smiled. "Then, as I understand it, your grandfather will be back at the same moment he left, we'll never have had this conversation, and he'll be here to help in the first place. Second place," she amended.

Henry frowned. "So, nothing we say or do means anything anyway and we can just go back home and play Super Mario?"

"Is that what you'd rather do?" Snow asked him pointedly.

Henry thought about that for a moment. "No," he admitted. "I think I'd rather be here. And maybe they won't be back exactly when they left, so if they're a day or so late, at least Grandpa will know I came in like he wanted me to." Without another word, he unfastened his seatbelt and opened his door.

Snow got out on her side, smiling her approval.

While the journey might have been smoother, the landing wasn't. It set wooden Battleship pieces skittering to the floor and toppled its players from their chairs. Emma had been doing her third set of pull-ups, but the impact of their arrival tore her hands loose from the stout bar she'd been using and she just barely managed to twist so that she took the brunt of the fall on her back and rear.

For a moment, she lay prone, mentally checking herself over. Although she was a bit sore, and she imagined she might have a few fresh bruises, nothing seemed broken. After a moment, she hauled herself to her feet with a groan. "Everyone okay?" she called.

A chorus of affirmative replies punctuated by grunts and groans carried from all corners of the ship.

"So glad I don't have an eighty-year-old's body anymore," Paul muttered, hauling himself upright as Emma drew closer. "Probably would've needed another hip replacement." His eyes widened and he looked toward Regina, who was already on her feet and brushing off her tailored suit. "Did your spell give me back my old hip, or…?"

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "You know," she said slowly, "I'm not sure. We don't have that kind of treatment back in our land, so I don't know how the magic might have dealt with it. Do you notice any difference?"

Paul shook his head. "I had that surgery over five years ago. After the first couple of months, it felt just like the original used to before it wore out." He shrugged. "I guess it's not important now. I can always look into it when we get home; those things last ten or twenty years, so if I do have the implant, it'll be helpful to know when I'm due for a trade-in."

"All right," Zelena, said, combing her fingers through her hair to check for debris. "Where's the Black Fairy?"

"Well, we did ask to be set down where she wouldn't be able to see us," David pointed out. "We might have a bit of a ways to go."

"Aye," Killian nodded. "But in which direction?"

Robin stepped over to the rail and looked out. "Well, whichever way we choose, it would appear we're going to have to manage without the ship. We're in the middle of some sort of plain."

Regina rolled her eyes heavenward. "Of course, we are," she said brightly.

"I should have brought my broom," Zelena muttered. "We could use a bit of air reconnaissance."

"We could," Rumple nodded, emerging from the captain's cabin leaning a bit more heavily on his cane. "However, even had you taken it on board, I'd counsel against using it." He frowned. "As a point of interest, is your broom truly a magical artifact, or merely something you enchant when you wish to fly?"

Zelena blinked. "The first," she said.

"Ah. Well, that might have been useful, indeed. Still," Rumple continued, "all magic comes with a price and in this realm, I think that price might well turn out to be our concealment." He shook his head. "This is the Black Fairy's domain, dearie. I'll lay odds that she can detect any spell-casting performed here. Your broom might not alert her, but any spells you might unleash to conceal your presence would." He shook his head. "While we may eventually need to employ every tool in our arsenal, I think it wise to refrain from weaving enchantments until absolutely necessary."

"Well, if we need to find out where she is, I'd call it necessary," Zelena protested.

Rumple smiled. "Detecting magical spells is one thing. Magical objects and magical creatures on the other hand…" He let his voice trail off, as he looked at Lily.

Lily's eyes went wide. "You mean, if I scout in dragon form, she won't spot me?"

"She won't be able to detect your presence magically," Rumple corrected. "And, while I grant that your other body is rather difficult for the naked eye to miss under most circumstances," he walked over to the bed, picked up a sturdy leather satchel, and unbuckled one of the front pouches, "I anticipated a need for this," he said, holding an opaque black glass vial aloft triumphantly. "Invisibility potion," he clarified. "I didn't have much at hand and there was no time to prepare more, but," he pulled off the glass cap and poured a small dose of blood-red liquid into it, "this should give you about four hour's protection. Try to be back with time to spare, hmm?"

Lily came forward and took the cap, a bit nervously. "Is that going to be enough?" she asked. "I mean, once I change, there is going to be a lot more of me that this will have to cover."

"Drink it first," Rumple advised. "Once it works, I'd recommend disembarking before you change. Until we know we've the raw material at hand to effect necessary repairs, I think we need to be sure you make your transformation well away from masts, rails, and other things that might splinter or snap."

"Thank you," Killian murmured fervently.

"Understood," Lily said, raising the cap. "Wish me luck." She swigged it down and handed the cap back to Rumple. "Ursula's smelled fishier," she said critically.

"Ursula was a mermaid," Rumple retorted.

"Hey, not complaining," Lily assured him. And then, without warning, she vanished. "Uh, how long before it starts working?" her disembodied voice asked.

For answer, Regina reached into her pocket and pulled out her compact. She flipped it open and held it in the direction of the voice.

"What's that?" Lily's voice inquired. And then a moment later, "Oh! Okay. I… guess I'm off."

"Be careful," Emma warned.

"And if you get into trouble," Tia added, "try calling out to me with your mind. I should be able to hear you."

"Got it."

They heard her boots on the ship's metal ladder. For another moment, all was still. Then, a gust of wind whipped back the hair of those gathered at the railing and filled the sails. The canvas strained briefly against the pressure and then went slack once more.

"Well," Tia said, "that's it. She's gone."

"Let's get our things together while we're waiting," Emma suggested. "Just what we can carry easily. And everyone, make sure you take a full canteen, or water-skin, or whatever."

"Aye, love," Killian nodded approval. "There are barrels of fresh water in the hold. "I'd best pry one open for us."

"I want to talk to you," Zelena said, matching her steps to Rumple's.

Rumple scowled. "I'm sure you've had ample opportunity to accept the idea that you can't always have everything you want."

"All right, 'dearie'," the witch snapped. "Let's say I need to talk to you, then, hmm?"

Rumple stopped and turned to face her. "Fate may have flung us into close quarters, but that doesn't mean I want to prolong the contact. Be brief."

"How much more of that potion have you got and can you make more? Because it's all well and good to give Lily a dose, but we're not going to accomplish much if we sit on our rear ends here, and the moment we advance toward your mother's stronghold, she'll spot us."

Rumple's jaw set. "Don't think that hasn't occurred to me," he retorted waspishly. "Unfortunately, what remains in the vial is all I brought with me. And in any case, you know the drawbacks of invisibility as well as I do; we wouldn't be able to speak to one another without risking her hearing us. If she has creatures at her disposal that rely on scent or sound to track, they will be unhindered from finding us."

"But you have a solution."

"I will."

Zelena was silent for a moment. "Look, much as I hate to admit it, the savior's little speech earlier was on target. We need to cooperate if we're to retrieve our loved ones. Can we… suspend hostilities long enough to pool our efforts to come up with a solution?" She hesitated, before pulling out a familiar pendant she wore on a chain tucked inside her blouse. "The six-leafed clover of Oz. If Lily can determine what manners of creatures inhabit this realm, perhaps one of us can pose as one."

Rumple frowned. "It's an avenue worth pursuing," he conceded after a moment's reflection. "We know my mother kidnaps infants and it's reasonable to assume that they grow up serving her, so one would think that humans wouldn't necessarily be conspicuous in these parts. Still, given that her most recent abductions were hardly what I'd call random, it's also reasonable to surmise that she knows who we are and what we look like. Disguises are a wise precaution, but it would have been better if you'd brought a few more clovers with you."

"Yes, well…" Zelena's shoulders slumped. "I suppose I'm not used to looking out for anyone but myself."

"Then," Rumple sighed, "a word of advice, free of charge: Assuming that our quest is successful and we all safely return home, if you mean to be a part of your daughter's life, then that will need to change. At the very least, look out for her."

"I know," Zelena said quietly. "So, what can we do to ensure that our quest is successful?"

Had the Black Fairy only taken the infant, Rumple would have told the witch to leave things to him. But she'd taken Belle, too. He couldn't take the chance that he'd miss something working alone. "Fetch Emma and Regina," he directed. "If there's any pooling of efforts to be done, then theirs should be included as well. We'll meet below decks in ten minutes, unless Lily returns before that."

Zelena gave him a startled look that quickly yielded to a smile that—for once—was not a sneer. "Thank you."

"Oh, I'm not just doing this for you, dearie."

"I know. Thank you just the same."

Rumple shook his head. "Tick-tock, dearie. Ten minutes."

They weren't friends. They would never be friends. He never wanted them to be friends. But an alliance was certainly warranted, under the circumstances, and for Belle's sake, he'd enter into this one. But only until they were safely back in Storybrooke. After that, she had best stay out of his way.

"We should have given Lily a camera," Regina said, with a sigh. "It's going to be a lot easier to try to blend in if we know in advance what we're blending in with."

"What?" Emma asked. "Don't you mean, 'Who'?"

Rumple shook his head. "We don't know what my mother does with the children she steals away," he said. "If it had been my doing, well, aside from the one I… borrowed… to summon her once—for all the good that did me," he added in an undertone with an expression of disgust on his face, "I simply passed them on to people who importuned me to acquire one for them." He gave Regina a faint smile. "Cursed though I was at the time, it seems that particular skill was still operative when you asked my help in procuring young Henry."

"Why do you think I went to you in the first place?" Regina smirked. Then, more seriously, she went on, "Granted, it was partly about your being able to work outside official channels, long waiting lists, and the like, but… I had a feeling that, curse or no curse, an assignment like that would be right up your alley."

Rumple nodded, and his smile grew a bit broader for a moment before it faded away entirely. "Well, be that as it may, I don't know the Black Fairy's purpose. My mother and I had one brief encounter, in which I shared with her far more than she deigned to share with me. And aside from last night's conversation in the secure wing of the hospital, where she had another topic on her mind, we've never spoken again." His expression grew troubled. "I don't know whether she's populated her kingdom with stolen children who live out their natural lives here in relative comfort, or whether she enslaves them, turns them into yaoguais—"

"—or kills them," Zelena cut him off. "You know how many spells require baby… parts, just as well as I do."

"I do," Rumple admitted, and for once, there was something gentler in his eyes when he met her gaze. "But consider that she went to a certain amount of trouble to obtain your daughter specifically. Whatever purpose she has in mind for the mite, it's reasonable to think that it's something rather out of the ordinary, compared to her usual acquisitions."

"That doesn't mean it's necessarily better," Zelena pointed out.

"No, it doesn't." Rumple sighed. "Well. While hope doesn't come as easily to either of us than others I could name," he caught Emma's eyes for a moment and smiled once more, "I'd suggest we'd be better served in trying to dredge some up, rather than think this a lost cause before we even get underway. So, if anyone has any suggestions for how to disguise ourselves without actually casting a spell?"

"I think I might be able to help with that," a diffident voice called from the top of the rope ladder that led above deck.

Emma turned around. "Tia?"

Her honey-blonde hair looked more like a sandy brown, as she descended the ladder into the shadowy depths of their meeting room. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop," she said softly. (Emma didn't think she could ever remember hearing Tia so much as raise her voice.) "I was just coming to tell you that Lily's back. But I think I can make us invisible to any sort of magical detection."

"Explain," Rumple ordered, interest clear on his face.

"Well, you know my brand of magic doesn't act exactly like yours does; that's why I'm not positive that what I'm thinking will work at all. But because it is different from yours, Uncle Bené says it's usually not something that other magical practitioners can pick up. Unless theirs works the same way," she added with a frown. "Tony's better at explaining things like this than I am. Wait." Her face took on an intense probing look and her eyes slowly lost their focus.

"Tia?" Regina asked.

Rumple shook his head. "She can't hear you, dearie. Wait."

A sheen of sweat broke out on Tia's face. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her lips mouthed her brother's name silently.

"Well," Zelena murmured, "I don't find this at all unnerving, do you?" she asked in a tone that rather implied the opposite.

Another twenty seconds dragged by and Tia's hands began to quiver as though some sort of palsy had overtaken them.

"How much more of this can she take?" Emma demanded.

Rumple shook his head.

"I'm going to try to snap her out of it," Emma said, taking a step forward and eluding Rumple's attempt to hold her back.

"It's too dangerous," he warned.

"So's doing no—!"

"I'm fine," Tia said faintly. "Sorry. It was just… harder to reach out to him than either of us thought." She exhaled heavily and swiped at her forehead. "Well, we're linked now, so the next time will be a little easier, but I don't think it's ever going to be 'easy'." She smiled. "Anyway, the way Tony put it, if you want to think about radio frequencies, maybe Dark magic works on FM and Light magic works on AM. Most standard radios can pick up either signal; you just have to know what to listen for. What Tony and I use is more like shortwave. It's not that the Black Fairy can't pick it up; it's that she needs non-standard equipment… or spells, I guess, to do it. And since she probably hasn't been watching Tony or me the way she has all of you, she probably doesn't know she needs them." She hesitated. "I know how to cloak myself from magical detection. It won't stop her from seeing us with some telescope, but we'll be invisible to her spells."

"But if her spells are working on a different frequency…" Emma started to say.

Tia smiled. "That won't affect the results. If you use Light magic to light a campfire, it doesn't mean that someone with Dark magic won't be able to get warm sitting next to it. The Black Fairy won't be able to see what I'm doing until I've done it, and she won't be able to track my magic back to pinpoint where we are."

Rumple smiled. "One member of our band who uses magic that can't be traced, a few select artifacts and other devices… I think we may just stand a chance, after all."

"Then," Regina said, "Let's get topside and hear what Lily has to tell us."

Snow and Henry surveyed the back room with some dismay. "I know he was grabbing things in a hurry last night," Snow murmured, but…"

"It's okay," Henry said unconvincingly. "I know where most of it goes. And he wouldn't leave anything really dangerous lying out in the open like this." He picked up a handbag that must have been brightly-colored once, but now its floral fabric had faded to dingy blues, pinks, and grays. "I don't I've ever seen a bag like this before."

Snow glanced at it. "Carpet," she said absently. "I should find the broom."

"You mean to carry carpets in?" Henry asked with a frown.

"No, made of. On second thought, maybe I should start off by dusting. Then I can sweep up whatever falls to the floor…"

"Well, let me get all this put away, first," Henry said. He picked up an overturned inkwell from the floor with a wince. "It's dried," he said, scowling just a bit.

Snow smiled. "Do you know where Rumpelstiltskin keeps a first aid kit?"

"I think in the bathroom," Henry said. Then, with some alarm, "Why? Did you get a splinter?"

"Hmm?" Snow shook her head. "Oh, no, but if you want to get dried ink stains off of hardwood, rubbing alcohol's one of the best things you can use for that." She laughed. "Well, don't look so surprised! You know I kept house for the dwarfs and Doc was always scribbling down something or other. He'd get lost in his work and then something would startle him and…" She gestured to the ink pot. "Most of the time, he'd be writing long after I'd gone to sleep, and when I woke up in the morning, well," she shrugged. "Let's just say that after True Love and footwear, there's nothing more powerful than rubbing alcohol."

Henry tilted his head, trying to figure out whether his grandmother was serious. When she gave him no sign that she wasn't, he decided to drop the subject. "At least I know where he keeps the inkwells," he said, carrying the brass jar to an oaken cabinet. He pulled open one of the heavy doors and froze.

It took a moment for Snow to notice. "Henry?"

Henry held up a long pen, its wooden shaft stained dark brown. "It's the Author's quill," he said, barely believing his own words. "B-but I broke it! How did Grandpa…?" He blinked. "Wait." He picked up a sheet of paper that had been folded multiple times, like a hand fan. "There's kind of like a groove in here. The quill was resting in it, and this was under the quill." He set down the pen and smoothed the paper. "Dear Henry," he began reading aloud...

...I'd meant to give this to you when you were older, if you demonstrated any regrets about the fate of the first one. If you are reading this now, I can only think that fate had other plans. As should be obvious, yes, this is another quill carved from an enchanted tree. I had occasion to acquire it in our land, a great many years ago. Should you choose to break this one, however, I have no other and you'll find none in this realm. Whatever you ultimately decide, you must be clear on that point, at least.

I can't say for certain that you'll be able to use it, in any event, but something your mother suggested to me once made me think that obtaining the proper ink might not be the impossibility I once believed it to be. If my hypothesis is correct, then the ink you'll find in the stoppered jade jar will meet your needs. If I have not returned when the supply has dwindled, seek out the Apprentice, for he may know how you might obtain more.

I hope you don't think that I'm asking you to second-guess your reasons for destroying the first quill. I understood your reasoning at the time, and I still cannot fault it. But it is possible to make the right decision at the wrong time, or the wrong decision at the right one. So, think of this as a second chance and choose wisely.

It bore Rumpelstiltskin's signature at the bottom and then, in a near-illegible scrawl, so unlike the neat round letters above, in parentheses, was one more word: Grandpa.

Henry squeezed his eyes shut, sucked in a breath and held it as long as he could. Then he exhaled, reached into the cabinet once more, and pulled out the stoppered jade jar.

"Henry?" Snow asked, and there was no mistaking the love and concern in her voice.

Henry pressed his lips together firmly for a moment. "I'm okay," he said finally. His eyes widened. "In fact… I think, maybe, I know what to do with this."

"Wait," Snow cautioned. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I…" Henry swallowed. "I'm pretty sure. I know I can't use the quill to change things, but maybe," he hesitated for a moment and then continued at a rush, "maybe, I can use it to find out what's going on with my moms and my grandpas!"

"I thought you said she was back," Emma said, looking about at the empty deck. The others had also emerged and were clustered by the entrance to the great cabin.

Regina rolled her gaze heavenward, Zelena groaned, and the others shifted their positions uncomfortably.

"What?"

It wasn't until Rumple heaved a sigh and pulled out the vial with the remaining invisibility potion that Emma remembered. "Oh."

"Well?" Zelena snapped, looking straight ahead, "Did you find her?"

"I found her castle," a voice called down from atop the mizzen mast sail. "Or at least, I found a castle and there wasn't another one like it anywhere. It took me about an hour to fly back from it."

"How fast were you going?" Robin asked, cupping his hands about his mouth a bit to be heard.

There was a pause. "I don't know. How long was I gone?"

"About three hours, maybe three and a half," David replied, after a moment's reflection

"Wait," Zelena said. "Two hours or so there, one hour back… what were you doing for that extra hour?"

This time, Lily's pause was longer. "There's a town out there," she said.

The others exchanged looks when Lily didn't continue. "And?" Rumple asked.

"Really, my dear," Zelena said tartly, "we wouldn't have sent you out to reconnoiter, had we known that getting answers from you was going to be like pulling teeth. What about the town?"

For a long moment, there was no answer. Then, as the air atop the mast began to shimmer and the blurry outline of a human shape sitting on the top spreader started to appear, Lily's voice said plainly, if softly, "It looks like Storybrooke."

Belle rose shakily to her feet after retching into the wooden bucket. After days of bland egg dishes, she'd been pleasantly surprised to discover that the most recent offering had incorporated chili peppers. At least, until about ten minutes after she'd finished.

At first, she'd thought that perhaps the food had sat out too long. But then, with growing comprehension and mounting anger, she'd reached for the book that her captor had left her earlier. "Eschew all highly seasoned foods," she read, "lest they lead to emesis gravidarum." Which was another way of saying that spicy food could trigger morning sickness. She flung the book across the cell furiously, before she remembered that there was a good chance that she was being observed.

"I hope you enjoyed the show!" she snarled. "Because when I get out of here, I'll—"

She broke off from what she'd been about to say. There were many paths that led to Darkness: desperation, despair… and anger. She had to remember that. She had to keep these petty annoyances from getting under her skin. She had to remember that Rumple was probably on his way to her, even now. Or, at least, he was trying to find a way to reach her.

Really, crossing between magical realms wasn't that difficult; all he needed was a bean, or a mermaid, or… Why, there had to be at least half a dozen ways she'd come across in her studies, though she couldn't recall the others right now. So, why was he taking so long?

Belle's hands curled into fists and she pressed her knuckles into her closed eyes. If his mother had demanded that he trade some object of power for her and he was debating whether he should… If he was too afraid to fight for her—and, to hear Killian tell it, it wasn't as though such a sentiment was unprecedented… If—No. Things had been going so well between them lately; there was no way that Rumple would believe she wasn't worth coming after. She knew that! But then, why were all these doubts and accusations swirling in her mind? She wanted to believe that the Black Fairy was planting them there, but how many times in the past had she concocted them all by herself? And how often had the truth borne out her suspicions?

For what felt like the millionth time, she inspected the walls, door, and floor of her cell, probing for some weak point. Finding none, she sat back down on the cot once more and hugged herself. "I don't think I'm getting out of this without you, Rumple," she whispered. "I do know you're coming. I know it. But it's getting harder and harder to believe. Please, please, don't take much longer."

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

"I mean," Lily continued, "I wasn't in either place long enough to know for sure whether what's here is an exact duplicate of the place we left, but there's a clock tower, and Granny's, and the coastline looks about the way I remember it."

The others looked at one another. "What's she playing at?" David asked.

Paul snorted mirthlessly. "You mean, besides messing with our heads like she's been doing all along?"

Tia gave him a quick smile, before turning back to Lily. "Did you see any people around?"

Lily shook her head. "I didn't want to fly too low, not after what I did to the other clock tower, back in Storybrooke." She winced. "I'm getting better at maneuvering, but I'm not always sure what to do with my tail."

"There are people," Tia said suddenly. "Lots of them. I don't know where, exactly; I'm better at tracking animals."

"Well," Rumple remarked, "that's a starting point, at any rate. What can you detect?"

Tia hesitated. "It's more what I'm blocking," she said. "I can't read thoughts, not exactly. But when I'm in crowds, it's sort of like a-a pressure around my head. It doesn't hurt. It's kind of like… wearing a blood pressure cuff on my skull. That's part of the reason that I live in Misty Valley, by the way; my own people's thoughts don't affect me that way and there are only a few thousand others in a twenty-five mile radius. It's not really hard to block those. When I go out into the rest of the world, though—especially densely-populated areas it's harder. Maybe because I'm not used to it anymore."

"Did you have this problem in Storybrooke, love?" Killian asked.

Tia shook her head with a bit of a smile. "Tony and I sort of balance each other," she explained. "There are a few things we can both do, but there are some areas where our powers are attuned along different lines. Other people's thoughts don't hit him as hard as they do me and when we're together, my control is better. Otherwise, while Storybrooke itself isn't all that big, it's a little too close to Boston and NYC for comfort." She winced a bit as she added, "I had to take a couple of extra-strength Tylenols just to go into Manhattan to pick up Tony on the way to you. And," she continued, her smile still there but a bit more pained, "some of you just saw what it cost me even to contact him. Normally, that doesn't take any effort at all."

"Got it," Emma said. "So…"

"So, we're dealing with a large number of people in a relatively small area. I can sense them out there, but it's low-level noise; I can't pinpoint anything besides our not being alone."

"And you can't tell how many are out there." This came from Zelena.

"I'm sorry."

"But you can tell that however many there are, they're human?"

Tia nodded. "They might be able to change their shapes; Lily," she called upwards, "I can tell from the way your thoughts impact me whether you're in human or dragon form at any given time, but if I didn't know that you could take a different form, my power wouldn't tell me." To the others, she said, "The best I can confirm is that right now? Everyone I'm picking up is currently human."

"What about the Black Fairy?" Zelena demanded. "Are you picking up her mind?"

"I'd imagine so," Tia said. "But since she started out as human, when she's at full size, that's how I read her. Once she shrinks, though, I should be able to home in on her." She suddenly realized that the others—including Rumple—were staring at her with expressions bearing varying degrees of shock and surprise.

"You didn't know she—"

"—wasn't a fairy from birth?" Rumple finished. "No. I did not. And while I can't say for certain how useful that bit of information might prove, I firmly believe that all knowledge has value…"

Belle awoke to the sound of shrill wailing. She opened her eyes a crack and groaned as she lifted her head, picked up her pillow, and then pressed her head back down to the mattress and smashed the pillow down over it. Then she came fully awake, as she realized that the wailing was coming from inside her cell—from the corner formed by the wall opposite her cot and the one opposite the door. More specifically, it was coming from the cradle that hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep earlier.

Cautiously, she got up and walked toward it. "Lyncoln?" she said disbelievingly. "How did you…?" She stopped. The infant couldn't answer, and anyway, she had a fairly good idea how the baby had come to be in her cell. She scooped up Lyncoln into her arms and rocked her gently, making soft, soothing noises as she made her way back to her cot. There was a new bowl of oatmeal on the shelf beside it, along with a lukewarm bottle with a white liquid inside it, and a neatly folded stack of cloth diapers. Belle picked one up and realized that it was similar to the sort that would have been used back in the Enchanted Forest—designed to be knotted, rather than pinned.

Lyncoln wails had started to die down, when Belle had picked her up, but just when she was starting to think that the baby was calming down, she seemed to get a second wind and commence to bellowing afresh. Hastily, Belle grabbed the bottle and presented it to her. The baby took it eagerly, stopping in mid-shriek to suckle.

"So you were hungry," Belle murmured softly. "Well, whatever else is in store for both of us, clearly we aren't intended to starve." No, but this was an effective way to keep them both here, Belle realized. If Lyncoln was being turned over to her, then clearly the Black Fairy meant for Belle to tend her. And if Belle were to escape, unless she took Lyncoln with her—which wasn't going to be feasible unless she knew what sort of dangers awaited, and probably not even then—there was no guarantee that anyone would look after the baby in her absence.

What if the Black Fairy just leaves her here to starve and then drags me back here after it's too late to see her skele— She stifled the thought forcefully. Why, why had she let Emma talk her into reading Wuthering Heights? It had been a disturbing book to read, but since finishing it, she'd found herself browsing the library's Gothic romance section with more than a passing interest. And then, she'd almost timidly tried exploring Gothic horror. Oh, she hadn't been able to read much; mostly some of the Louisa May Alcott material that wasn't shelved in the children's section, but evidently she'd read more than enough if her imagination was cooking up images like—

She smiled down at the warm, cuddly, living infant in her arms, and tried to erase the possibility she'd been about to give voice to.

"Don't worry, Lyncoln," she murmured. "I won't abandon you." She wasn't completely giving up hope of escape, but clearly, now wasn't the time to plan for it.

She'd thought she was done with sitting in prison, patiently waiting to be rescued. Evidently not. And for one horrible moment, she actually found herself resenting her new companion for keeping her here.

"We can't just sit here," Zelena pointed out for what felt like the umpteenth time. "If we can't take her by surprise, then why even bother trying. We can just—"

"—storm her castle?" Rumple cut her off with a mirthless chuckle. "Well, you're certainly welcome to try, though I don't know that we'll have time or opportunity to collect what'll be left of you when you fail."

"Wait," David said, in a tone that made every other head turn toward his. "She wants us to come after her, right?" he asked rhetorically. "I mean, she grabbed the two people that were certain to get the rest of us up in arms and charging her gates, she made sure we knew she was behind it, and she's been egging us on at every turn. And now, she's apparently crafted a model town for us to find."

"Your point?" Rumple asked, a good deal less testily than he had a moment ago.

David hesitated. "I think she's treating this like a game: giving us clues, feeding us hints, yes there's a psychological factor to it all and it's working, damn it, but what if it goes deeper? This… Dark-Realm Storybrooke… I wonder how similar it is to home once you get past the surface. Does it have your shop?" he asked Rumple. He spun to face Regina. "How about your vault? Yes, it could all be a trap and it probably is. But if we can pick up some sort of advantage, I'd hate to pass it up."

"This is her realm," Rumple pointed out. "Shaped to her will. We'll find no assistance here."

"Hang on," Paul spoke up. "It may be shaped to her will, but from what I understand, she's not here by choice, is she? She was banished here by the other fairies?"

"She was," Rumple allowed, with a frown. Paul smiled.

"So, that would mean that there's something stronger than her magic that keeps her here. Now, if that's just something neutral, like a-a wall or a flame or so on, I'm sorry I spoke up. But if it's magic, unless it's something like what Tia's got—which doesn't seem likely or you lot would be more familiar with it—then, wouldn't it make more sense for it to be Light magic? And if there's any of that here, then maybe that's our edge. Your edge."

Rumple's frown deepened for a moment. "That's… quite the leap you're making, Mr. Wilson," he said finally. And then a hesitant smile flickered briefly on his face. "But sometimes, particularly in a land rich in magic and imagination, a leap of faith can be precisely what's called for." He took another breath. "Evidently, the town was created for us. As a boon or a trap remains to be seen. While I don't think we need to risk everyone quite yet, a small scouting party would seem to be in order."

"Well, if we need someone good at sneaking around…" Emma tilted her head and raised an eyebrow in Killian's direction.

"Aye, love," the pirate replied with a smile. "That would indeed be one of my strengths. But I'll not go alone." He turned to Rumple.

"It's your shop, mate. You'd best be coming along."

Rumple did his best to keep his expression neutral. "Me?" he replied, leaning a bit on his cane for emphasis. "I'm hardly able to skulk about in my current condition."

"We'll work around it," Killian replied. "And if there are armed guards surrounding the place, then I guess we'll have to figure out another plan, but I want you with me."

His heart began to pound and his mouth was suddenly quite dry, but he forced himself to smile. "Well. I shall need a few moments to ensure I've everything I need to carry along, then."

He retreated into his cabin as quickly as he could with his limp and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Using magic in his mother's realm was risky enough under optimal conditions, but now, while he was still struggling to restore what had been lost when he'd been separated from the Dark One? And going off alone with the pirate, practically delivering themselves into her hands was— He couldn't. He just couldn't. But what excuse could he give that wouldn't be an open admission of cowardice? And if anything happened to Belle because he wasn't there or...

There was a discreet knock on the door and it was with more than a little trepidation that he pulled it open. The captain stood on the threshold, a faint smile on his face. "Do you know why I want you to come along?" he asked without preamble.

"I trust you weren't thinking of playing a few rounds of Battleship to pass the time," Rumple replied tartly.

The captain chuckled at that. "No. And, in case you thought I intended to humiliate you just now, I didn't."

He had been wondering. "All right," he snapped. "Why?"

"You're frightened," the pirate stated baldly, "of going out there. Aren't you?"

A wave of fury washed over him, and it was only with a supreme effort that he held his temper in check and gritted through clenched teeth, "Right now, you are treading where few who have dared tread survived."

"I know," the pirate said, and if there had been any hint of mockery in his voice, even the slightest of smirks on his face, Rumple would have lashed out with both words and cane, but try though he might, he found none. "And," he continued, "I want you to know that I wouldn't have requested your company if I thought you weren't."

"If this is some misguided attempt to help me… conquer… this alleged fear, then you're all the likelier to get us both killed."

"Not that," the pirate said, still with that easy smile. "And hopefully, not."

"Then…?"

The captain hesitated for a moment. "While I grant," he said finally, "that it sounds counter-intuitive on the surface, I want you with me because you are afraid. And I'm not."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well. Say, rather, that I'm not afraid enough. And because of that, because I know myself well enough to recognize that I can be somewhat rash on occasion, I need someone at my side who can be a bit more circumspect." Killian met Rumple's disbelieving gaze squarely, his own eyes dead serious. "Panic might get us both killed, I grant you. But fear? That keeps you alert. And, hopefully, alive. Add in your acquaintance with magic and your powers of observation and, well, if there's any fighting to be done, I think I can handle that end well enough. What I need is someone about me who might be able to recognize the danger before it's upon us." He paused for a moment. "If you'd rather not, I'll not press the issue; I hadn't realized until you left that I'd pushed you into an awkward position. But I didn't ask you along out of pity or friendship or any reason other than wanting to get back here in one piece. Will you?"

"I…" Rumple was still trying to wrap his head around the notion that being afraid could actually be useful. "You realize that when last we dueled, I was using magic in lieu of skill," he cautioned. "Even if I hadn't been, I've not picked up a sword in combat in any of the intervening years, so I hope you were serious about handling any fighting on your own."

"I was," the captain said, smiling just a bit. "You'll come, then?"

"Well, I suppose someone needs to ensure you don't embellish your part when you report back."

"I believe spinning yarns is more your trade," Killian rejoined.

Despite himself, Rumple smirked. "Yes," he agreed, "and I trust you'll remember that much once we depart. And since we did provision ourselves after Lily's departure, I… well, I suppose I'll just need another five minutes to ensure I haven't overlooked anything."

"I'll await you on deck then," Killian nodded.

Rumple waved him off.

He was still afraid, of course, but perhaps this wasn't going to be quite the ordeal he was dreading.

It wasn't the baby's fault, Belle reminded herself. And she wasn't angry with her. But Lyncoln had just spit up on her shoulder when Belle had burped her, and Belle didn't even have a damp cloth to blot with, much less a change of clo—

There was a dress neatly laid out on her cot.

Still balancing the baby on her shoulder and bouncing her a bit as she crossed the floor of her cell, Belle lifted the dress with her free hand. It was of serviceable brown wool, long-sleeved, high-necked and a bit on the dowdy side. There was a cambric apron next to it, she saw now; it was almost the same color as her coverlet and she'd missed it initially.

Belle looked down at her mini-skirt and her blouse with its short, puffed sleeves. On the one hand, she found herself thinking that Rumple's mother seemed to have selected something so far off from what she would have picked for herself that it had to be deliberate. On the other hand, Belle reflected glumly, her only options were to put on the new outfit or wear the soiled garments she'd already been wearing for days on end—if not weeks.

The thought of keeping the blouse on now made her skin crawl. Maybe this was a sign of favor or a peace offering. After all, Rumple had kept her locked up in his dungeon initially, too, and look how that had turned out! Maybe her mother-in-law was making a genuine effort.

More likely, that was wishful thinking on her part, but, Belle reflected, could she really afford to throw such a gift back in its giver's face?

Belle was hardly fool enough to believe that the Black Fairy had her best interests at heart. Her captor was a monster, a kidnapper of children—and at least one adult! And right now, she was playing some game and Belle didn't know any of the rules.

But she did know that she was wearing stained, soiled clothing and this dress was the only thing she could change into.

Belle sighed. There was a time to be stubborn, but this wasn't it. She set Lyncoln back in her cradle, rocking it until the baby fell asleep. Then she went to put on the dress.

The town Lily had mentioned was more than an hour's walk from the ship. There was a footpath, of sorts, clearly traveled by someone, but replete with rough stones and exposed, gnarled tree roots. Surrounding them were the trees to which those roots belonged—gray, lifeless, and just as twisted above as they were below. Now and again, the path led away from those trees and they found the way bordered by stone cliffs and outcroppings instead. They had an uncomfortable sense that they were being herded, though neither said so aloud. Rumple reflected sourly that the captain would have reached their destination quite a bit sooner, were he not saddled with a limping companion—and he was more than ready to point that out at the first word of complaint.

The pirate however, remained silent for most of the journey, voicing neither encouragement nor annoyance. Only when the road dipped sharply into a hollow, did he hesitate. "Should we look for a better way down?"

Rumple glanced pointedly at the wall of trees and thorny shrubs on either side of them. "I have the feeling that we'll go nowhere in this realm where we're not intended to," he said bleakly.

"Aye," Killian nodded, "I've that same sense. But it would be bad form not to try."

Rumple shook his head. "If you'd like to make the attempt, then go ahead. I'll wait."

Killian nodded again. "Just as you like. I shan't be long."

Leaning on his cane, Rumple watched him veer left off of the footpath, his sword out as he prepared to hack his way through one of the shrubs. And then, he was standing upright again and shouting, "No! Wait! GET BACK!"

Killian reacted at once, leaping backwards, just as a flexible branch—more like a thorny vine—swung toward him, looping around the empty space where his throat had been a second earlier. Eyes wide, he spun and hurried back toward Rumple's position. "What the bloody hell…?" he demanded.

Rumple shook his head. "If you're looking for its name, I don't know it," he replied, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Before it attacked, I saw…" He pointed to the ground, where the parched earth appeared to have been churned up. Then, he motioned to the other side of the path, where coiled and twisted roots showed undisturbed above the soil. Decisively, Rumple stooped down and picked up a smooth stone about the size of his fist. Bracing his other hand on his cane, he threw the rock into the shrubs on the right. At once, the roots disappeared below the ground, and a flurry of spiked vines waved like tentacles between the trees.

Killian sucked in his breath. "Well," he muttered, "I guess we're taking the path after all." Then he clapped Rumple on the shoulder. "Thanks, mate."

Rumple's lips twitched in a half-smile, though his breath still came a bit labored. "Don't mention it. You'll have ample opportunity to return the favor, considering that this route looks to be a challenge even for someone with two good legs."

"Aye?" The captain shrugged. "Well, I guess it's a good thing I don't like being in anyone's debt, then. Shall we?"

"Well, what are you staring at?" Lily demanded crossly.

Paul shrugged. "A woman what turns into a dragon, I think," he returned with an affable smile. "Not many like you where I'm from. Well. Not any, if I'm being honest."

Lily snorted at that. "And here I thought I'd finally hit the one town where I wouldn't be a freak. Figures."

"Aw, don't be like that," Paul said. "And anyway, I'm not from there." He held out his hand. "Paul Wilson. Late of London."

Lily hesitated for a moment before she gingerly shook it. "Lilith Page. I guess I'm from everywhere." She tilted her head. "Late of London? Usually when someone's 'late', it's an old-fashioned way of saying they're dead."

Paul smirked. "I suppose I could say 'lately,' if you like," he replied. "Though I'll probably forget to. At my age, that's what one does."

"You're younger than me," Lily protested.

"Yes, well, that's a recent development." Paul frowned. "Come to think of it, maybe it should be 'late' in the sense you meant. 'Cos I don't know that I'm willing to go back to looking my eighty-odd years. More to the point, I don't know that I'm willing to go back to feeling them. But when this little jaunt is over, if I don't go back to the way I was, then I'll never be able to explain myself to anyone what knows me." He shook his head. "There was a time when my brother and sister might have understood but… See here. Did you ever read the Narnia books?"

Lily nodded, eyebrows lifting. "Before they messed with the numbering. I must have reread them all at least a hundred times."

"Including the last one?"

Lily nodded again, but she was frowning a bit now. "Maybe I read that one fifty times. It was… kind of a downer after the others."

"That it was," Paul agreed. "But it sort of grew on me. See, leaving aside trifling matters like my being a fellow, I always fancied myself rather like Lucy. The one who believed what she was seeing, took it all in stride—by which I don't mean to say that she was always calm and unruffled, but… When she saw a faun, she didn't try to convince herself it was some cob in fancy dress on his way to a masquerade. And when she heard a talking animal, she didn't assume there was a ventriloquist lurking just out of site, or figure that maybe someone had taught a beaver a trick parrots are wont to pick up. She knew what she knew and you couldn't convince her it was all a hoax or a game."

Lily nodded at that. "I remember," she said. "No matter how the others kept at her, they couldn't shake her."

"Yes, well, I was a lot like that." Paul's smile took on a strained note and he heaved a sigh. "Now, that brother and sister I mentioned? Well, let's just say that they turned out more like Susan…"

"You mean…"

"I mean, I was already grown when I discovered the series, though I learned later that the first book came out when I was twelve. Was reading it aloud to my daughters when they were young. But keeping in mind the sorts of happenings that my siblings and I got up to over the course of two years or so, well, when I found those titles, I had half a mind to write Mr. Lewis and ask him whether those stories were all out of his head, or whether those characters were drawn from life." He ducked his head self-consciously. "I even wondered to myself whether he hadn't written himself in as the professor. But I never had the nerve to and then he up and died and that was that. But, like those Pevensies, Carey, Charles and I had our share of… adventures we couldn't talk to anyone else about. And then, those two decided that maybe it was safer if we didn't even talk to each other about them. I never quite understood that," he admitted wistfully. "Oh, I went along with it. They were older than me, and I was just a lad of six when things took a turn for the extraordinary. After that summer, I did try talking about what we'd done and where we'd been and I never could quite understand why nobody else believed me, but Carey and Charles were usually on-hand to correct me and tell me I'd only dreamed the whole thing up. And maybe I'd have stayed convinced, if we hadn't had another go at the unusual two years later. Well," he went on with a slight laugh, "by then, I was old enough to understand when to keep my mouth shut if I didn't want to be thought… peculiar. But among ourselves, we did discuss it. At least, at first."

He shook his head. "Then that part of our life ended, and they got busy with their friends, and I suppose, I did, too, and we talked about it less. And then," he sighed, "well, I tried rehashing it with them after I was done with the university and to this day, I don't know if they'd both managed to somehow convince themselves that it was all make-believe games we used to play, or if they forgot it all, or if they just wanted to, but I have the feeling that if I were to present myself to them now, even though I now look exactly as I did some fifty-five years ago, well, they'd never believe I was me. And if I tried to convince them, they'd likely offer me a soothing drink or two while they tried to have me taken off for some sort of mental health check."

Paul blew out a small breath. "If I don't choose to have Regina undo the spell when this journey's over, then I suppose that 'Paul Wilson, late of London' will sort of drop off the map and, at some point, indeed be declared 'the late Paul Wilson'."

Lily shook her head. "Uh… sorry, I guess."

"Don't be," Paul remarked. "I didn't know when I asked for this whether to let it stick, but I rather thought I might. And it's not as though I never made out a will." His eyebrows shot up. "Come to think of it, there's actually a bit of precedent for it: the woman who gave me the knob—and you'll excuse my keeping her name out of it—made a similar arrangement before she went three centuries back in time." He shrugged. "My affairs are in order, my children grown, and I don't think I'd be doing anything more interesting than this if I were to live out my allotted years at my proper age. I think this is an opportunity, that's what. And I doubt I'll regret leaving my old life behind when it's all over." He smirked. "I suppose you think that's daft."

"No…" Lily said, slowly. "No, there's… not really much outside of Storybrooke I'm in a hurry to get back to when all this is over, either."

"Well, no," Paul smiled. "But it's your home, isn't it?"

Lily smiled back. "I guess it is, now," she admitted, "but that's a recent development, too…"

Tony answered the door when Snow and Henry knocked. "Hey," Tony greeted them. Then, to Snow, "I didn't expect to see you back so fast. Or, I guess, at all."

Snow smiled. "We… well, Henry found something in the shop I think we need to show your uncle. Is he around?"

"Uncle Bené's still asleep," Tony said apologetically, moving aside to let them in. "He doesn't like admitting it, but he's not as young as he used to be and we were all up pretty late last night."

Snow nodded and, to her embarrassment, smothered a yawn. "I've already had two cups of cold brew this morning," she admitted.

"Well, if you like chocolate chai, I was just about to brew some." He grinned. "You know, I do curate a magic museum in Manhattan. Well, officially, it's the Conjuring Arts Research Center, but 'magic museum' works, too."

Snow turned to him with a frown. "But there's not supposed to be any magic outside of Storybrooke."

"Things don't always work exactly like they're supposed to," Tony grinned, moving off in the direction of the kitchen and motioning to his guests to follow. "Honestly, there's not much. We've got over twelve thousand volumes in our library and a lot of them are manuals for stage magicians: card tricks, sleight of hand, ventriloquism… stuff you need to know if you want to work at children's parties. Then there's older stuff, rarer stuff, like books on animal magnetism or alleged properties of herbs and gemstones. I'd say that, much like the histories of realms like Camelot or the Enchanted Forest, about half of what they tell you is accurate, but it's all blended with enough misinformation that if you tried to cast any of the spells on their pages, you might as well be using colored water and kitchen spices, even if you attempted them here. But," Tony went on, "there are a very few works in the collection that are the real deal. I think at last count, there were thirty-seven, plus two that I was assessing when Uncle Bené called us to come here. Anyway," Tony went on, "what I was meaning to say was, that maybe I can help you with whatever you need. If not, I guess I can wake up my uncle, if it's urgent."

"It's probably not that urgent," Henry admitted. "But when I was putting away some stuff in my grandpa's shop, I found this."

Tony's eyes widened when Henry held up the quill and ink. "May I?" he asked. He took them from him almost reverently. He looked at the quill carefully, and then passed it back and used his free hand to uncork the bottle. Holding it up to his nose, he took a long whiff and his eyes grew wider still. "You know what this is, then," he said.

Henry nodded. "Yeah. I-I broke the quill your uncle gave me. But then I found out today that Grandpa had this one all along. And the ink—"

"The ink is fresh," Tony said, narrowing his eyes as he examined the bottle. "I think it was made a month ago, maybe less."

"Wait," Snow said. "Emma told me that the ink could only be made with the blood of a Dark savior. How…?"

Tony shrugged. "Well, there are Light saviors. And then there are Dark Ones." He frowned. "Well, actually, this was made after Rumpelstiltskin was separated from—" He gave a low whistle. "I guess that finally settles that."

"What settles what?" Henry asked blankly.

"An old debate." Tony lifted the teapot from the table and poured out three cups. "Apart from Rumpelstiltskin, everyone who's ever been the Dark One only stopped being the Dark One when they died. You know the kind of magic Tia and I do isn't Dark or Light—it's just magic, right?" Both Snow and Henry nodded. "So, when we found out about the brand of magic you guys know more about, we had a lot of discussions with Uncle Bené about it. I thought they were more theoretical than practical, but I guess not."

"Sorry?" Snow asked blankly.

Tony smiled. "Well, as I understand it, when someone becomes the Dark One, they become a living host for Darkness. It binds itself to the person and, well, I'm not sure if it's a symbiotic or a parasitic relationship, but they both get something out of it. The question I had was whether, if a Dark One is separated from their Darkness and somehow survives, they're still a Dark One or not."

"Well, of course they wouldn't be," Snow exclaimed. I mean, if they lose their Darkness—

"When Storybrooke was under its initial curse," Tony cut in, "there was no magic here, Light, Dark, or other. So at that point, when Rumpelstiltskin was separated from his Darkness, was he still the Dark One?"

Snow blinked. "I-I'm not sure."

"Well," Tony said, "neither were we. But… if he made this ink after he was separated from his Darkness, and he didn't corrupt your daughter, then the only blood he could have used for it would have been his own."

"So, he's still the Dark One?" Snow asked. "You can't mean that he's been… fooling us all these weeks?"

"No way!" Henry exclaimed. "He's changed. We-we've all seen it!"

Tony held up his hands in a calming gesture. "From what Uncle Bené explained to me," he said, "while he's technically still the Dark One, yes, for the most part that doesn't mean anything. The Darkness was pulled out of him; he's using Light magic now, and unless he takes back or crushes that half-heart that was removed earlier, his still being the Dark One has about as much meaning as an honorary PhD." He held up the bottle again. "But when it comes to making Author ink, it would appear that 'once a Dark savior, always a Dark savior.'" He frowned. "Unless I'm missing something."

"Wait," Snow said. "If you're wrong about this, if he's still the Dark One—more than just technically, I mean—are the others in any danger?"

Tony tilted his head. "They just opened a portal to the Black Fairy's realm and shifted through space and time on a flying bed enchanted by a self-taught amateur witch with a penchant for sloppy spell-casting. And included in the landing party with him are an inexperienced dragon, the Wicked Witch of the West and… the Evil Queen, I think? Even if he's still the Dark One, it sounds to me like that shouldn't be your biggest worry."

A slow flush came to Snow's cheeks and she lowered her eyes. "You're right," she said slowly. "I suppose we're just so used to…" She shook her head. "I guess I just hate not knowing what's going on with them. If I could only find out—"

Tony nodded. "Well, Tia reached out to me a little while ago, but it took a lot out of both of us and I don't think we'll be trying it again unless it's a real emergency. It wasn't, by the way," he added. "She just needed some advice on how to explain something. But she did mention at the time that everyone was okay. However," he went on, "if you do want to know what they're up to, thanks to that quill and ink, it's going to be easier than you might think…"

Rumple's ankle throbbed with every step and, even with his cane, it likely would have buckled altogether before they were halfway down the sloping path, were it not for the captain's assistance. They were rounding another bend in their twisting route when the captain brought his foot down on a loose stone, which gave way beneath it. As his legs shot out from under him, he tried to use his hook to stop his tumble, but the sand and gravel were too loose for it to find purchase. Rumple, already gripping his arm for support, tightened his hold, while jamming his cane, not into the road, but into banked earth on the side of the path. They slid several feet further down, the cane gouging a groove into the soil, before they came to a stop.

For several moments neither man spoke. Then, Killian asked, "You all right, mate?"

Rumple took a moment to assess his condition. The condition of his suit bore mute testimony to their tumble; he was covered with dust, and he knew that he was probably scraped and bruised from head to toe, but his injuries appeared to be superficial for all they pained him. "It would appear so," he murmured. One of his shoes had come off; he looked about, spied it, and started to carefully crawl in its direction.

Killian caught it up and passed it to him. "Here."

"Thank you."

The captain shook his head. "I think it's I who ought to be thanking you. Your cane succeeded where my hook failed."

Rumple turned his shoe over and shook it. A shower of dust and pebbles poured out. He thrust his hand inside, checking to see if any others remained, before working the double knot out of his shoelace and putting it back on his foot. It would want polishing once they got back to the ship, he noted. "Well," he mumbled, "considering the number of times you've managed to keep me from coming a cropper, I'd say we're… somewhat closer to being even."

"We have to get up, don't we?" Killian groaned.

Rumple sighed. "It seems prudent."

"Well then, I guess we might as well do it now."

Standing up was a bit harder than falling down; the pebbles still shifted and rolled as they struggled to rise. Still, they accomplished it in the end and even managed to navigate the remainder of the incline without further mishap. Finally, the ground leveled out and they found themselves on the outskirts of a town that looked far more familiar than it had a right to.

"I see that the lass wasn't exaggerating," Killian murmured.

"No," Rumple agreed. "No, she wasn't. And since I rather doubt that my mother chose to create this replica here because she admired the architecture, I suppose it begs the question."

Killian frowned. "Question, mate?"

"The same one we had earlier. Is this simulation my mother's doing, or is there someone else involved? Is it a gift? Is it a test? Or," his frown deepened, "is it a trap?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

"Well," the Apprentice said slowly. "Well, well."

Henry tilted his head questioningly at the old man.

The Apprentice smiled. "Tony is quite right. You can use the quill to keep informed about matters in the Dark Realm."

"And my grandpa?" Henry asked.

"Certainly."

"No," Henry shook his head. "I mean, is he still the Dark One or isn't he?"

The Apprentice fixed Henry with a penetrating gaze. "The quill chose you to be the next Author, correct?"

"Yeah…"

"But you destroyed it."

"Yeah," Henry said, frowning.

"So, you were gifted significant power, which you not only chose not to use, but actively separated yourself from, correct?"

Henry blinked. "Well… yeah, but…"

The Apprentice smiled. "So. After you destroyed the quill, were you still the Author, or were you not?"

"I…" Henry thought about that. "After I destroyed the quill," he said, groping mentally for the right words, "it…" His eyes widened. "It didn't matter!" he exclaimed. "Whether I was the Author or not, if I didn't have the quill, then yeah, technically, I guess I still was, but it didn't mean anything!" He looked at the quill in his hand again. "Until now."

The Apprentice smiled. "I think you have your answer. Rumpelstiltskin voluntarily chose to be shriven of his Darkness, much as you chose to destroy the quill. While those actions didn't alter who either of you were—or are—they did force a separation between you and your destinies. You are the Author, Henry, with or without the quill. And Rumpelstiltskin is the Dark One, with or without his Dark magic."

"But if he doesn't have his Dark Magic…" Snow's confusion was obvious. "Sorry, but if he made the ink…"

"You can make the next batch," the Apprentice offered.

"What?"

The Apprentice shrugged. "It's only steeped black tea leaves, acacia gum, thyme oil, and a drop of his blood." A faint smile came to his face. "I did say that he was technically the Dark One. Technically, his blood is as suitable to the task as that of any Dark savior." He shrugged. "For that matter, young Lilith's would work equally well, seeing as she carries the lion's share of your own daughter's Darkness." He sighed. "Really, do you never make substitutions in cooking? Even in baking—which, I grant, is more science than art—whole wheat pastry flour can stand in for all purpose, or pears for apples. It can be a bit trickier to switch maple syrup for sugar, but it's often quite doable. The blood of a Dark savior is what the recipe calls for. But if it's unavailable, there are other options that work nearly as well." He gave a slight chuckle. "At any rate, the ink is something anyone can craft with the proper ingredients; no knowledge of magic required."

Snow's brow smoothed. "I was just wondering," she murmured.

"No. You were seeking reassurance. Understandably so. I trust I've provided sufficient?"

Snow nodded.

"Excellent. Then, perhaps, I might offer you a spot of tea," he smiled, "absent the gum, oil, and blood?"

Both Snow and Henry laughed.

"We're meant to believe this is a ghost town," Killian murmured softly. "But even if Tia hadn't told us otherwise, I'd know better."

Rumple nodded, his expression grim. "If Pan weren't already dead, I'd suspect his involvement," he intoned. "This smacks of one of his games."

"Well," Killian pointed out, "the Black Fairy did take up with him and it's been my experience that like clings to like as frequently as opposites attract. Perhaps, those two found common ground in their amusements."

Rumple turned that over in his mind for a moment. Then he lifted his eyebrows, shrugged, and continued walking. "Shop first?" he asked. "Or would you prefer the harbor?"

The captain blinked. "You're right," he said. "If this is meant solely for you, there'd be no point in recreating the entire town. There's something here for all of us, like as not." He frowned. "Of course, if she did intend harm to you, I'd think she'd likely fill your powder and potion bottles with something either very harmless or very deadly."

Rumple snorted. "Some of those substances are already quite deadly, but I take your meaning."

"You're not worried."

Rumple smiled. "If you recall, I did ask for a few moments before I joined you at the gang plank." He reached into his pocket and extracted a number of golden straws. "My magic may not be as reliable as it once was, but when spun, it seems to achieve better results. I bound a divination spell to these," he continued. "When exposed to the components in the shop, they should reveal whether all is as it seems."

"Should?" Killian repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Rumple sighed. "I've never done this before. And I suppose it's possible that if the components are disguised, or otherwise booby-trapped, they're also spelled to deceive such divinations." He shook his head. "At the end of the day, we either take that leap of faith and accept things at face value, or we don't. And since, if we don't, our task will become that much harder…" He sighed. "Well, if she is trying to sabotage us, she needn't bother tampering with the components in the first place; she could just destroy them, or not offer them at all. I suspect that if they're here, then they will be the real thing. And, if they aren't… I suppose that having something at hand that can dispel magical illusions will hopefully ensure that we learn that unhappy truth now and not in the heat of battle."

They were turning the corner onto Main Street and approaching the shop, when Killian said, "Best let me examine things first. You might be able to neutralize any magical traps, but for less… esoteric defenses, well, I am a pirate, yet."

"Quite true," Rumple agreed.

"All the same," Killian added, "I'm still relying on you to warn me if you detect a new danger, just as you did on the road down."

"Well. Should I detect one, you'll be the first to know. Oh, and Captain? Before you set about trying to pick the lock or pry the hinges off the door…" He reached into his pocket once more and, this time, pulled out a metal key. "If this is an exact duplicate of the Storybrooke we left, I believe you'll find that this might work better."

Lyncoln was crying again. Lyncoln was always crying, and Belle was growing increasingly tempted to join in with her. "Shh," she whispered. "Shh, I know I'm not your mama. But I bet she's coming for you. And your papa, too. Shh." And Rumple was coming for her. She believed that completely, even though it had been… How long had it been? Lyncoln seemed to be nearly twice the size she'd been on the night that they'd both been abducted, but newborns grew fast, didn't they?

Yes, yes, of course they did. She'd seen that herself when she'd babysat Neal for the Nolans. Neal hadn't cried nearly this much, though. At least, not when she'd been there. Snow White had seemed able to schedule her time away for when Neal was already sleeping and, even if the baby woke up, a bottle or a diaper change later, he'd either be happy with a bit cuddling, or ready for another nap. Not like this howling, red-faced little—

Belle tried to think of something she could do to calm the infant, but Lyncoln's piercing wails wouldn't let her focus. So, she rocked the baby, shifting her weight from one foot to the next, making soothing noises she didn't know if Lyncoln could hear through her shrieks and hoped that she'd calm down soon.

It seemed like an eternity before the baby finally cried herself out laid her head against Belle's shoulder, and fell asleep, her little face still red from her exertions. Belle sighed and smiled down at her.

She'd been spoiled with Neal. She hadn't realized quite how much or how loud a baby could cry. Well. Since she was expecting one of her own, perhaps this would be good practice. Gently, she laid Lyncoln back down in the cradle. As the baby's head touched the mattress, her eyes flew open again and an angry yowl burst from her throat.

"Oh, no!" Belle moaned, scooping her up once more. "No, it's okay. It's okay. Shh… shh… shh…"

She'd failed to be the dutiful daughter her father had wanted her to be. She'd failed to be the supportive wife Rumple had needed. She'd failed to be the hero she'd dreamed she could become. And now, it appeared that she was primed to fail at being a mother, too.

"It's okay, Lyncoln," she repeated, swaying gently from side to side. "It's okay. I'm right here. It's okay."

Heedless of Belle's reassurances, the baby squalled long and loud.

The tea was hot and smooth, laced with cardamom, cinnamon, ginger, and a number of other aromatics that neither Snow nor Henry could readily identify. Snow had had chai before, but this somehow seemed heartier. And the cinnamon and chocolate digestive biscuits on the plate before them complemented its flavors wonderfully.

While Tony did his best to keep the conversation going, Henry grew increasingly quieter. Almost absently, his hand reached out to touch the quill and the ink bottle on the empty chair beside him. Finally, he drained his cup and sat up a bit straighter. Tony was describing his work in more detail and, while at any other time, Henry might have been fascinated, right now, he was listening, not to the content of what was being said, but for a momentary lull in the conversation.

The Apprentice noticed nearly at once. "Henry?" he asked gently.

Henry took a breath. "I've decided," he said. "If I'm the Author and there's something I can do to help the others, then I gotta." He took another breath and let it out. "But I don't want to be like the last Author and use the quill to make people do stuff. So, how can I help without… helping?"

Henry felt a warm pressure on his wrist as Snow gave it an encouraging squeeze. Tony flashed him a quick thumbs-up.

A smile of approval flickered briefly across the Apprentice's face. "Well," he replied, "the first step is to ascertain whether your assistance is in any way required."

Tony swallowed. "I… really don't think Tia and I are ready for another telepathic exchange."

"No," the Apprentice replied gravely. "You aren't. Fortunately, that won't be necessary. When you broke the quill, I thought that the bond between Tony and his sister would be our best chance at keeping the lines of communication open between this realm and the other. With the new quill and ink in your possession, such is no longer the case."

"You mean," Henry's eyes widened and a note of excitement crept into his voice, "I can use the quill to find out what's going on over there. That's… that's awesome! But how…?"

The Apprentice smiled back. "It works best when your mind is as clean of thought as this paper," from out of nowhere a blank sheet materialized in his hand, "is clean of words. Fortunately, meditation is an effective tool at achieving that goal." He smiled at the man seated to his left. "Tony?"

Tony rose to his feet at once and beckoned to Henry to follow. "It's really not hard once you get the hang of it. But just until you do, I think you'll learn the technique better without an audience. In fact…" He turned to face Henry, stooping slightly to make eye contact. "Is there anywhere in town where you feel most… you?"

Henry thought for a minute. "There used to be," he said slowly. "My castle. I mean, it was a playground that looked like a castle. But it got damaged in a storm and my mom said it wasn't safe and," he shook his head, "she had it pulled down. I've gone back a few times, but it wasn't the same."

"I understand," Tony said sympathetically. "So, there's no place else?"

"Well," Henry said, thinking, "it's not really one place. I mean, it is, but it's big."

"Go on," Tony prompted.

"The wilderness park. The woods, anyway. Sometimes, I just go for a walk on one of the trails when I want to," his eyes widened, "to clear my mind."

"That sounds perfect," Tony nodded. "Are you up to walking it?" He shrugged apologetically. "We came in Tia's car and she took her keys with her when she left."

"I could drive—" Snow started to offer.

"Walking's good," Henry said at the same time. Then he turned apologetically to his grandmother. "Not that there's anything wrong with driving, but I've been mostly inside all day. Is it all right?"

Snow nodded acquiescence. "Okay. But be back before it gets dark and call me if you don't want to walk home."

"We will," Tony said easily. "I don't think it'll take that long."

David watched as Emma completed her twentieth pull-up, released her grip on the bar, and dropped lightly to the deck. "That looked strenuous," he said, tossing her a plastic water bottle.

She caught it one-handed. "Thanks."

"Are you all right?"

Emma unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a long swig. "The bar could use a bit of sanding down," she said. "I probably should've packed some gloves."

"That's not what I meant."

Emma set the bottle down on the lid of a nearby barrel and massaged her palms together. "What do you know about the 'final battle'?" she asked.

David frowned. "When your mother and I went to Rumpelstiltskin for advice on how to defeat the Dark Curse, he told us that you were…" His frown deepened as he thought carefully. "You were our only hope. We had to get you to safety and on your twenty-eighth birthday, you'd return. You'd… find us and… And the final battle would begin." Despite himself, his gaze flickered toward the bow of the ship, where Regina stood, both hands gripping tightly to the rail as she scanned the horizon. "We just assumed it would be with…" He locked eyes on Emma's again. "Why?"

"Because according to Gold, it's going to be with his mother. A-and a Dark One."

"A Dark One?" David repeated.

Emma nodded. "From what Gold was saying, if he doesn't… take back his Darkness, it's going to pass to someone else. And who ever it is, I'm supposed to fight them to the death!" She hesitated. "I think I could deal with dying, if I had to." She made a face. "I-I mean, if I had to, it's not like I could decide to handle it or decide anything; I'd be dead! But you know what I mean," she rambled quickly. "I'd rather die than kill someone, especially someone I care about."

"Emma…"

"According to Gold, if it's not him, then it's either going to be Belle or their unborn child! And if magic can speed up a pregnancy, it can probably blitz through a childhood, too, so I don't think I'd be facing an infant if it comes to that!"

"Unless that's her plan," David said slowly. "To make you think that if the baby grows up… I mean, we knew before you were born that you were going to be the Savior. If the baby is going to be the Dark Savior…"

"Please tell me that you're not suggesting…"

"That you kill a baby?" David shook his head. "Of course not. I'm saying that she might want you to think that your only choices are to kill a baby or know that when he or she grows up, there'll be no way to stop them—"

"There's always a way!"

"I know that and you know that," David said calmly. "But if she can somehow get you to a point where you don't believe it…"

Emma's eyes grew wide. "You know," she said, thinking back, "when we were in England getting Paul, we got into a discussion about how Darkness always wants to snuff out the Light. Paul said it couldn't be done, and I agree with him. But I thought maybe it could trick Light into snuffing itself out. Maybe this is how it's going to try to… to manipulate me."

"It's a thought," David agreed. "And maybe it's good you're thinking it, now. So that when you do go in there to do battle, you'll be prepared for that tactic."

"Prepared?" Emma shook her head. "Sure. But how am I supposed to counter it? If I kill, then I snuff out my Light and Darkness wins. If I don't kill, and I can't find another way to stop the Darkness, then it kills me and it wins."

"Then you'll find another way. Good always does," David said staunchly.

"Until now."

"So, why should this time be any different?"

Despite herself, Emma felt her lips pull into a smile. "I just… want to go in there with a better plan than 'Maybe I'll think of something when the time comes'. I mean, to hear Gold tell it, the time's practically here!"

"Well, it's not here, yet. And Emma? You're not alone. Maybe you will be when the Final Battle actually arrives; I don't know. But until then, maybe even then, you're not. Maybe if we all put our heads together, we can figure it out. Let's wait for Rumpelstiltskin and Killian to get back and see what they come up with."

Emma nodded. "I'm going to do another set while I'm waiting," she said, positioning herself under the bar once more. "Hey. Thanks."

"For what?" David smiled. "Reminding you of what you already know?"

"That and… saying 'when' they get back, instead of 'if'."

"Emma! They've barely been gone two hours."

"I know. And I know that they can both handle themselves. But until they're actually back here, I'm still going to worry a little, okay?" She stood on her tiptoes and stretched her hands skywards to grip the bar. Her father watched as she pulled herself up.

"Okay," he said softly, as he turned on his heel and walked off to join Regina at the rail.

Rumple's key turned easily in the shop door. Both men entered carefully, alert for any traps that might await them, but all seemed as it ought to have been.

"Anything amiss?" Killian asked, after a few moments.

"Nothing I can see," Rumple remarked. "But I think it would behoove us to assume that we're under surveillance." He frowned for a moment. "I wonder…" He headed for the back room. Killian followed.

As Rumple pushed back the curtain, he tried to quell the sinking sensation in his chest. Here, at least, was one difference. Of course, the captain noticed it, too.

"She didn't know you don't keep a wheel back here anymore?"

Rumple sighed. "Perhaps, she means to remind me of the man I once was," he said, trying to keep his tone even. There was a time when he would have cherished the device. Before he'd been locked in a cage with the wheel as his sole diversion. Before Zelena had turned his spinning from recreation to drudgery. Before his fingers had blistered from feeding straw after straw into the spin, hour after hour, forbidden to stop until she bade him. Once, she'd kept him at it for nearly three straight weeks—or at least, so she'd said; it was easy to lose track of days and nights when there was nothing to mark one apart from another. And now, he could scarcely bear to be in the same room with a wheel.

The straw was another matter. He scooped some up from the bin beside the stool with one hand, as he pulled out his drop spindle with the other.

"May one ask what you're doing?"

Rumple sighed. He'd forgotten that he needed a bit of existing cord to lead the straw onto the spindle. "Fetch me a piece of that twine on the table," he requested. "A length two feet, perhaps?" He pursed his lips for a moment and pushed them in and out. "There are ways to interfere with surveillance spells," he said quietly. And since it seems my spells are now at their strongest when I marry them to my spinning, well…" He looked up and accepted the twine in the captain's hand with murmured thanks.

"It won't take long," he continued. "Though, perhaps, a bit longer than it would if I used the tool she provided." He secured the twine to the spindle's shaft and reached for a piece of straw.

"And while you're doing that…" the pirate's voice trailed off.

"Well," Rumple returned, "if my mother is observing us, doubtless, she'll do her best to keep me from achieving this task, so I trust you'll stay alert against any interference?"

"Aye. And if she's not?"

Rumple smiled as the first bit of golden thread began to wind about the spindle. "Well, then. Once we know we can speak freely, I'll have more to say."

"Ah," Killian said. "Then I suppose, I'll just have to be patient." He frowned. "While I do have my sword, not to mention my hook, I don't suppose you'd have anything at hand that might be of some use against something less… mortal?"

"I might," Rumple allowed. "But until we know what it is we're facing, it will be difficult to select the correct weapon. However," he added, "if you'll check the third drawer of that cabinet in the corner, I think you'll find an old friend that might add a bit of bite to your sword's edge. Or to the tip of your hook's for that matter."

The captain raised an eyebrow, but he went to the cabinet Rumple had indicated and pulled out the drawer he'd been told to. He sucked in a breath. "Dreamshade?"

"I thought you might recognize it," Rumple smirked, not taking his eyes from the spindle. "If you'll recall, I conducted a number of experiments on the substance in order to come up with the cure for it. You'll find that one drawer down."

"Noted," Killian said, pocketing the vial.

"Uh… I'd be even more careful than usual with that," Rumple warned, with just a hint of the joviality that he'd often exhibited as the Dark One. "It's a concentrated dose, dearie. And, while I might have rejoiced in the past were something unfortunate to befall you, I rather think I've moved on from there."

"Well," Killian said, after a moment's pause, "I must say, that's a relief." Something more seemed to be called for, and he added, "Uh… I have as well."

Rumple chortled. "Oh, I knew that when I brought out the Battleship game, months ago." Then a bit more softly, "but I thank you for the confirmation. I do realize that after what I took from you, it… couldn't have been easy for you to offer a truce."

"Nor you to accept it."

"No. Well. I suppose it's all water under the bridge, now. And might have been ages ago," he added, "had I known at the time that Milah went with you willingly."

Killian was silent for a longer moment this time. Then, slowly, he said, "That was… probably as much a surprise to me as it was to you…"

"You're doing pretty well for your first lesson," Tony said approvingly.

Henry beamed. "So, I'm ready to use the ink?"

"Almost. I'd say that you'll have no problem using the quill—but then, you didn't have any trouble with the last one either, did you?"

"No," Henry admitted with a frown. "So…?"

For the first time, Tony looked a bit nervous. "It doesn't happen often," he said. "But all power has the potential to go awry. You've heard the cliché about 'having a tiger by the tail'?"

"Uh, yeah!" Henry said with an unconvincing smile. "Sure. I think."

"If you've got a tiger by the tail, then first? It's going to try to shake you off. And since tigers are pretty darned strong, that means—or it's supposed to mean; I've never tried this with an actual tiger, you understand, and if I did, if it didn't kill me, my sister might, but anyway—it means that when it starts lashing its tail, it's going to slam you into stuff. Some of that stuff is probably going to be hard, pointy, or otherwise painful. So, maybe you'll either choose, or get forced into letting go. But if you do… Well, then the tiger's going to turn on you with all its teeth and claws. Once you've got a tiger by the tail, you have to brace yourself and do your darndest to hold tight. And that's… kind of what the power of the quill is like." His expression was serious. "You use the pen to channel… well, I'm going to call them 'histories' from other realms, but the kind of power it wields is pretty immense. If you don't know how to brace yourself, the problem isn't going to be turning on the power; it's going to be turning it off."

Henry gulped. "And if I can't?"

"It's driven people—a very few people—mad. It's rare. Usually, when the quill chooses an author, it chooses someone up to the task. Actually, I should say that it always chooses someone up to the task—at the time of the choosing. But the mind can be a delicate thing. Too much stress, o-or shock, and…"

Henry gulped again. "So the meditation is…"

"Think of it like strength training. Or better yet, resistance training. The stronger we can make your mind before you try to use the quill's power, the better your chances. And when you start to use it, I can be there, in your mind, helping you. If you're okay with that. I'll do my best not to look at anything in there that isn't relevant to the task at hand, and unless it poses a danger, I'll keep anything I might accidentally pick up confidential." Despite the friendly tone of voice, Tony's eyes were dead serious. "If you don't think you're ready to risk it, nobody's going to fault you. Tia and I can still communicate, just not very much and not for very long. We can find other ways."

"Will they be better ways?" Henry asked.

Tony sighed. "Truth? Probably not."

"Then… then, maybe we could go over this stuff another couple of times before I use the quill. And, maybe you'd better be… there when I do."

"We'll go over it another couple of times," Tony agreed. "But if you want to have your best chance with the quill, I think you'd better get a couple of hours sleep first."

"Sleep?"

Tony sighed. "It's best to use the quill when you're in a state of relaxation. Since you've only had this first lesson in meditation, and since there's a lot at stake… I'm not stupid. We can get you as calm as you need to be, but not as calm as you should be. A power nap will get you closer to that state, though."

"For how long?"

Tony regarded him for a moment. "The longer the better, but two or three hours should do it."

"You think I can sleep at a time like this?"

"I think that the meditation we've been practicing will get you there, yes." Something in Henry's expression made him smile reassuringly. "If I go into your mind, it's going to be to help you manage the power at your disposal. It's not something I'll do lightly and it's definitely not my answer to everything. If the meditation doesn't work, I'll fix you some warm milk."

Henry made a face. "I've had warm milk before. Let's hope the meditation works."

"What I'd like you to understand," Killian began a bit uncomfortably, "is that there's always been more than a grain of truth to the old cliché about seafarers having a woman in every port. After all, in our land, most people lived their entire lives without venturing farther afield than a day's ride from their birthplace," he said with a slight laugh.

Rumple had traveled more than that, even before he'd become the Dark One, but he nodded all the same. "Go on."

"Yes, well," the captain obliged, "I suppose that to one who's never ventured far from home, there's a kind of romantic allure to seafarers, explorers, and those other happy exceptions who not only cross kingdoms, but continents. And," he chuckled a bit more boisterously this time, "it certainly doesn't hurt that any number of ballads and folksongs paint a pretty picture of the sailing life—one which emphasizes the adventure and excitement, while mainly overlooking the less-enticing aspects, like maggoty meat, cramped living arrangements, isolation for months on end, and," he drew out the last word slowly and with relish, "vermin."

Rumple nodded again, but he wondered where this was going. "Very well," he said tersely. People have their erroneous notions of what the pirate's life is all about and you took advantage. Why bring this up now?"

Killian winced. "I'm… trying to clarify the point you raised. I can't deny that I've enjoyed my trysts as much as any man who fancies women and, back in the day, found himself so frequently deprived of their companionship. But I enjoyed the life I led at sea and I had no desire to give it up for that of a farmer's or wheelwrights. At the same time, until," he hesitated just a fraction of a second before speaking the name, "Milah, well, I'd never met a woman who truly wanted to give up a life on dry land to commit to mine. They wanted a," he raised his fingers in air quotes, "night with a pirate; some small burst of color they could think back on in an otherwise drab and mundane life, but more a thing to reminisce over in the past than a thing to dream about for the future."

Rumple's face was unreadable as he nodded to the pirate to continue.

"Well," Killian smiled uneasily, "Suffice to say, that whenever I'd put into port, I had all the companionship I could wish for. Many of those who offered themselves to me wanted a bit of fun and excitement, which I was more than happy to provide. Those who wanted more generally fell into two groups: the first saw village life as dull and dreary and sought something less… predictable. But life aboard ship certainly has more than its fair share of drudgery. The scope of most of those tales and songs is limited to the high points of adventure on the seas and the low points of ships that founder, stalwart sailors washed overboard in storms or killed in naval battles, I'm sure you're familiar with a few of them. What's missing are the countless hours spent swabbing decks and polishing rigging."

A brief answering smile brushed Rumple's lips, but it faded quickly. "I assume you're going somewhere with this confession?" he asked dryly.

Killian swallowed. "Yes. Well. Generally, all it took to sour a woman on the notion of a pirate's life was a tour of the ship, complete with all the details of what it took to keep it shipshape. Frank discussion of the poor food and frequent dearth of fresh water. And, of course, the realization that being the sole woman on a ship with forty men—pirates, cutthroats, and pillagers all—might not be the safest of propositions. But the second group was generally comprised of women who weren't strangers to drudgery and still thought themselves worse off where they were. Many times, they were married, but found that the spark had gone out of their nuptial bliss. And for those few, I had hit upon a brilliant ploy that worked on almost every occasion. In fact, I can only recollect one time when it backfired…"

He'd been playing the game for years. To his mind, it was a pleasant diversion for all parties; no true victims, no real harm done. He didn't mind the occasional dalliance, but he had no intention of being hooked into anything requiring a greater level of commitment.

So, when the dark-haired beauty in the village tavern spun her tale of woe, Killian had thought it was more of the usual: A bored woman, feeling that the thrill had gone out of her marriage dreamed of finding it again with a dashing adventurer. He understood it. After all this time, he was still flattered to be the object of such attentions. And, though he'd agreed to take her with him when they left port, he'd never truly believed it would come to that.

True, it did take a bit longer than he'd thought it would before his second mate informed him that the woman's husband had come to plead for his wife's safe return, but once he did, Killian smiled and prepared to put on the usual show.

He'd done this too many times to count: challenge the husband to a duel, get in a few good moves—enough to let his opponent know that he was up against an experienced swashbuckler—and then proceed to let the villager get the upper hand and disarm him. Then followed the hearty handshake and a smiling acknowledgement that he'd met a far worthier foe than he'd expected. He'd order one of his men to bring out the woman—who would have been watching the duel from the porthole of his cabin—and return her to her husband. Usually, she was more than happy to go home with a husband who had just proved himself dashing enough to come to her aid, battle a pirate for her safe return—and win. Oh, there was always the slight possibility that the villager would prove lucky and do some real damage, but an element of risk was part of the pirate life. And should the man happen to be more bloodthirsty than anticipated and lacking compunction about striking down an unarmed opponent, his crew had orders to interfere at that point. (To date, that had only happened twice. The first man had been unceremoniously tossed overboard, but within easy reach of the pier supports. The second had accepted an offer to become his third mate; a decorated war veteran who had discovered quickly that he couldn't eat his medals and his pension didn't cover his taxes. Well. He brought his wife a fat purse now, when they put in to his home village's harbor. More than enough to sustain his family during the long weeks and months at sea.)

This time, the man was not only terrified, but lame, to boot. Killian delivered the usual boasts and insults, calculated to make his guest angry enough to accept his challenge, but all the while, he was trying to figure out how he could lose this duel without making it obvious that he was letting himself be bested. He tried to be genial, but this husband—well, it seemed that the woman hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said she was wed to the village coward. And his cringing pleas, while heartfelt, were grating on Killian's nerves. Really, the man ought to show a little mettle! But no, for the first time, the pirate captain found himself facing a man too frightened to even lift up the sword that was tossed to him. A man either unwilling or unable to fight for the mother of the child on whose behalf he'd voiced his plea. He knew that the woman—Milah—was watching, safely sequestered in his cabin. She had spirit. And no desire to return to her husband. Well, honestly, how could he blame her?

" A man unwilling to fight for what he wants," he said, dismissing the trembling man scornfully, "deserves what he gets."

He motioned to his men to remove the poltroon from his deck and turned away without a backward glance. He'd take Milah as far as the next port—perhaps to one even farther down the coast, if she wanted greater distance between herself and the man she was leaving. She definitely deserved better than what she had. And, unlike the man he'd just had tossed ashore, she had fought for it. Well. It appeared she'd won…

By the time Killian had finished his tale, Rumple had not only finished spinning but given up any pretense at being otherwise occupied. "You're telling me that had I fought you…"

"You would have triumphed," Killian nodded. "After a brief but exhilarating exercise." His smile faded. "At the time, I thought I was playing a game where all participants won: the husband became a hero in his wife's eyes, the wife gained the thrill and excitement she'd been seeking, I had the opportunity to play the gallant captain and—more often than not—sufficient gratitude that at times when royal navies turned their attention to those of my calling, the local populace was less inclined toward assisting them." He sighed. "And, every now and again, when I felt those annoying pricklings of conscience that tend to plague formerly honorable men who turn to villainy, I could point to those spectacles as proof that I wasn't quite as black-hearted as my wanted posters claimed." His gaze fell on a familiar set of red-and-blue plastic cases on one of the display cases and he walked toward them, shaking his head slightly.

"A few moments ago, I believe that you mentioned 'water under the bridge'? Well, suffice to say that a great deal of water has flowed under that particular pontoon since that day," he continued. "It's only recently that I've realized how… murky it truly was."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "Is there a point to this reminiscing?"

"Only insomuch as I'd now like to chart a course away from it and… hope to break free of the currents drawing me back." He picked up one of the Battleship cases with a rueful smile. "Funny how this was duplicated along with everything else."

"This is scarcely the time for another game," Rumple pointed out.

"I know. I just… think it's more than past time I apologized for the earlier one. Despite Emma's insistence that it didn't matter which of us it was who began our feud on the day that first you brought forth this plaything," he held up the case for emphasis, "we both know that the fault was mine. And I do regret it."

Rumple was silent for nearly a full minute. "Well," he said finally, "I think we can also both attest that had I not allowed my temper to get the better of me some years later, matters would not have escalated to the point that they did. So, an apology on my part would appear to be equally in order."

A faint smirk twisted his lips. "You know, Captain, I've heard it said that eavesdroppers frequently overhear matters they wish they hadn't. I almost hope that my mother has been listening to this conversation." He chuckled. "And gnashing her teeth," he added, displaying many of his own. "Well," he held up a slender reel of golden thread, "if she hasn't been spying on us yet, she's about to lose the opportunity."

If he hadn't caught the captain's movement from out the corner of his eye, the friendly clap on his shoulder probably would have startled as well as astonished him.

"I think you'd better stop here," Tony said, startling Henry out of his reverie.

Henry blinked. "But I was just getting the hang of it," he protested.

"I know," Tony replied. "But even after a nap, you still have to be careful about doing too much too fast. Trust me, you do not want a five-day migraine."

Henry gave his new teacher one disbelieving glance and, when Tony's serious expression didn't waver, set the quill down with a sigh. "Two pages?" he groaned. "How long was I writing?"

"About ten minutes," Tony said, smiling a bit when the boy blinked. "Feels like it was longer, right?"

"I thought it was at least an hour," he nodded, pressing one hand to his forehead and massaging it a bit.

"Tylenol helps," Tony advised. "But sleeping it off is much better if you're going to keep doing this. Most over-the-counter pain relievers aren't meant for long-term use and… well, you've only got one liver."

Henry winced, though whether it was because of Tony's words or the rapidly-building headache was hard to say. "What did I write, anyway?" he asked, picking up the first page from where he'd dropped it and replacing it on his clipboard atop the second sheet. His eyes scanned the words, but they seemed to glide past his brain without penetrating. He took a breath and began to read aloud.

The Black Fairy gloated as she watched her sleeping captive. One way or another, she would soon have her Dark One—

Hearing the words coming from his lips, Henry jerked his head up with a gasp and practically flew off the boulder on which he'd been sitting. "We gotta tell the others!" he exclaimed, tucking the clipboard under one arm, grabbing the quill in his free hand, and hurrying down the trail without watching to see whether Tony was following. "We have to get word to my moms and Grandpa!"

"Henry!" Tony called after him. "I can reach out to Tia, but it's going to take a couple of days!"

"We can't wait that long!" Henry shouted over his shoulder. "We'll have to find some other way!"

Tony eyed the youth's retreating back and shook his head as he followed at a more sedate pace. Knowing that he wasn't anywhere near rested enough, he nonetheless flung a query in his sister's direction. Can you hear me?

There wasn't even a whisper of a response.

Still shaking his head, he lengthened his stride. Henry knew these woods a bit better than he did, and Tony wasn't sure he could find his way back if he lost sight of the boy. We're coming, he thought toward Uncle Bené.

It went well, I trust? His uncle replied at once.

Although no casual observer would have marked a change in Tony's facial expression, no telepath could have missed the rueful groan in his thoughts.

Maybe a little too well…

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine

Belle couldn't have gotten more than an hour's sleep before Lyncoln's wails roused her again. Bleary-eyed she pushed back the coverlet and wished that she had earplugs. And at once, she was ashamed of herself. Babies didn't cry out of malice; they cried out of distress. Well, a nasty voice in her head shot back, she was distressed, too! She was also an adult. Lyncoln couldn't help her situation any more than Belle could. They were in this together.

She went to the cradle and lifted the baby out, jiggling her a bit, as she rocked back and forth, from one foot to the next. When she turned around, she couldn't quite stifle a startled cry when she found the Black Fairy smiling radiantly before her.

"I thought you might like some more adult company," she greeted her. "You'll sup with me this evening. Leave the child with my nurse, she beckoned, and a woman with a forbidding expression, whom Belle hadn't seen standing several steps behind her captor, came forward.

Almost instinctively, Belle clasped Lyncoln protectively. "I-I'll keep her with me, if it's all the same to you," she said.

"Oh, but it's not," the fairy said, her friendly tone never wavering. "I've a desire for some adult conversation and we shan't have any with the babe squalling in the background. The nurse will set her to rights." She made a quick gesture and Belle suddenly found herself pressing her empty hands to her torso as Lyncoln vanished, only to reappear just as suddenly in the nurse's arms. Startled, Lyncoln's cries stopped entirely for a few seconds. Then she began to whimper. "Now hurry and get changed," the fairy directed. "I'll be waiting just outside," she added, as the nurse turned and glided silently out of the cell before the whimpers turned entirely to wails once more.

The wooden door closed noisily behind her, leaving Belle standing with a horrified look on her face. She should have said something, done something, but it had all happened so quickly that Lyncoln had been gone before she'd even realized that… She should have done something.

Her eye fell on the bed, where an altogether too frilly dress that looked like something her grandmother would have worn was now carefully laid out. She had half a mind to storm out of the cell and tell the Black Fairy that she would 'sup with her' in the fusty brown dress she had on—wrinkles, spit-up and all—or stay right where she was, but something told her that if the fairy could wave her hand and take the child from her, she could wave her hand and change Belle's attire. One way or another, Belle thought, she was going to wear that lacy monstrosity.

Lacey, she reminded herself, I have to be Lacey. I have to make her believe that she's getting to me so she'll let her guard down. I have to try to be Darker than I really am. She recalled the thoughts that had been going through her head lately and hoped that she wasn't already Darker than she actually thought.

Henry stormed into the Apprentice's house, panting for breath and slammed the door behind him. "She's trying to make Belle the new Dark One!" he gasped.

"Henry?" Snow was already out of her chair and reaching for him, as the boy thrust the pages forward.

"She needs a Dark One," Henry babbled. "She wanted Grandpa, but if he won't… she's trying to make Belle…" He waved the pages again. "Just read it! We have to warn them!"

"Uh… okay," Snow replied, taking the pages, but opting to try to calm down her grandson rather than read them at once. "So, we can have Tony talk to Tia and—"

"He won't be able to do that for a couple of days, he said. And meanwhile, the Black Fairy's going to…" His head snapped up. "The sleeping curse! Grandpa, I mean, David was under one and so were we! Can one of us…?"

Snow frowned. "Henry… David told me that last time, you—"

"I was just a kid, last time! And anyway, if I can't, you can, can't you?"

Snow shook her head reluctantly. "I haven't had those dreams for ages. And David never had them at all. I don't know why, exactly. Maybe he was just lucky, or maybe it's because he didn't spend much time in that place with the… the mirrors. Maybe that's what causes the dreams and because he got into the red room so quickly…"

Henry's face fell. "So, we can't reach him at all."

"If I may," the Apprentice spoke up, "the prince isn't the only person in the Black Fairy's realm to have been placed under a sleeping curse."

Snow's eyebrows rose. "That's true," she said, "Lily has, as well. But can we reach her?"

Henry's eyes widened and a broad smile came to his face. "I bet her mother can…"

"I just thought I'd take some time to get to know you," the Black Fairy said cordially. "I know we started off on the wrong foot, but since it appears you're going to be here for quite some time, it seems that we ought to get better acquainted."

Belle returned a pleasant smile, but said nothing.

"Aren't you going to eat?" the fairy asked. "Oh, wait," she laughed. "Cravings! When I was carrying Rumple, I simply could not get enough strawberries. Unfortunately, I developed that desire in October. Poor Malcolm must have bought every jar of preserves off the neighbors. There was some woman in another village drove her husband to such distraction with her pleas for rampion that he even stole into a witch's garden to harvest it." She shook her head. "That didn't end so well. But what about you, Belle? Pickles and ice cream? Quail eggs?"

She wasn't going to answer. She didn't want anything from this woman. And above all, she didn't want to give her any information that might be put to who-knew-what-sort-of-use afterwards. But despite herself, she heard her own voice replying, "Chocolate. Fruit dipped in chocolate, please. I don't care what kind. And licorice all-sorts."

The Black Fairy beamed. "Oh, I wish I'd known earlier!" she waved her hand and a pot of melted chocolate appeared on the table before Belle. Beside it was a long tray of skewered fruit wedges: peaches, apples, pears, and bananas, as well as a number of whole strawberries. A silver bowl full nearly to over-flowing with multi-colored licorice-based confectionery materialized on the other side of the chocolate fondue. "Well go on," she urged, when Belle hesitated. "Help yourself!" She laughed. "I really do mean to make your stay here a more pleasant one, seeing as it doesn't look like my son is coming anytime soon." She shook her head sadly. "I do wish I could have taken him with me, but the Blue Fairy had other ideas. Pity. I think I would have encouraged more spirit in him. As it is, much as I know you must want to see him, I think you need to prepare for the idea that he's given up on finding you."

She'd delivered her speech just as Belle had bit into a large wedge of chocolate-dipped apple and managed to complete it, just as Belle swallowed. But right when her guest opened her mouth to reply, she added, "After all, dear, I'm sorry to say that you're not the first wife he abandoned rather than fight for. But don't worry. You're carrying my grandchild; you've nothing to fear from me. Oh, I just know we're going to be great friends."

Lacey, Belle told herself. Be Lacey. Play it cagey. Let her think she's getting to you. Convince her that you're falling into line and everything is going well; you did it before. Just act your part until Rumple gets here. Because he is coming, no matter what his mother says. He is! She managed to inject what she hoped was a mix of gratitude and relief into her smile, as she thanked her mo…—well, yes, the Black Fairy was her mother-in-law—demurely. She could play this game as long as she had to, so long as Rumple got here in the end. And he was coming. She knew it. She did, she did, she did, she did!

…Didn't she?

"I believe that's everything," Rumple said, as the captain hefted the rucksack up and shrugged into its straps. Owing to his limp, his own load was considerably lighter, fitting into a leather satchel. The satchel's contents, however, were no less dangerous.

Killian nodded. "So, where to, now? The harbor?"

Rumple didn't reply for a moment. "I suppose there's likely something useful there, yes. But I can't help thinking that we're overlooking something else."

"What, here?" Killian shrugged. "We can give it another once-over before you roll up that golden line of yours."

"No," Rumple shook his head. "I know my shop like I know each spoke of my spinning wheel and this version of it is no exception. It might as well have been pulled out of my memories and given solid form." At the captain's sharp look, he smiled. "I doubt that she did so. I'd say it's obvious from the timing of her actions that she's been watching us—some of us anyway—for quite some time, and she certainly wouldn't have had to restrict her observations solely to people. This shop is a near-perfect replica of the one I left behind and I think we've found all that we were meant to." His smile fell away. "I still wish I knew why."

"Aye," Killian said after a moment. "But we'll not find the answer here, I don't think."

"You know," Rumple said slowly, "this all might just be a delaying tactic: get us caught up in exploring the town, searching for treasure," one corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a slight smirk, "trying to solve the mystery of why it's here and meanwhile…"

"We get so involved in the puzzle that we forget why we're truly here," Killian's voice lowered until it was nearly a growl. "Bloody hell. We should get back to the others." He shook his head irritably. "But if there is something that might aid us, and we miss it… Blast!"

Rumple pulled out his phone, stabbed his fingers down on the screen several times, and slid it back in his pocket with an annoyed frown. "No reception," he muttered. "We've no way of checking in with the others beyond returning to the ship." He sighed. "All right. So long as we're here, we'll go to the harbor. It shouldn't be more than a half hour's walk from here. Once there, we give ourselves an hour to find anything out of the ordinary. Should we fail to do so, we'll make our way back. And I can't help recalling that this town is meant to be inhabited, so we'd best be alert to any denizens whose paths might cross ours."

Killian nodded. "I suppose that's about the best plan we can concoct with the little information we've acquired."

As they left the shop, both men tensed, half-expecting an attack of some sort, but the place was eerily still. And while they looked carefully, up and down the street, the area still seemed to be deserted. As they made their way toward the harbor, though, Rumple could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickling and he was certain that they were being watched.

The pier was just coming into sight when they heard the screams.

The town square had looked different moments earlier. Or, perhaps, they simply hadn't paid much attention when they'd passed through the first time. Certainly, it had been empty then, instead of teeming with ragged, frightened children, goaded forward by dark-robed figures with full cowls obscuring their faces until they faced the columned façade of the town hall. From their vantage point in a narrow alley between two shops, Rumple and Killian surveyed the scene. Most of children were assembled in the square now, but not all of them. Bound to each of the eight columns that graced the hall's façade, another child trembled and quailed. The eldest could not have been more than twelve. The youngest might have been five.

The door of the town hall opened and another robed figure, this one with a band of green and silver edging his cowl, emerged. "You all know your quotas," a reedy voice hissed from the cowl without preamble. "You all know the penalty if you fail in your duty to the Black Fairy. And yet," the voice snapped with the bite of a whip, "we have shirkers!"

One of the captive children—a boy who appeared to be about seven—began to cry. The cowled figure spun to face him in a fury.

"Do you expect tears to save you from the fate you so richly deserve?" the sibilant voice hissed. At a snap of the figure's fingers, two of the other robed ones came forward, cut the child free, and half-dragged, half-carried him to the center of the square, where they flung him down on all fours. The one who seemed to be orchestrating the proceedings gestured to one side of the crowd of assembled children, where a small group, better fed and better dressed, stood clumped together. "You," the figure pointed. "Come forward."

The one who had been singled out, a youth in his late teens, obeyed.

"Are you prepared to execute judgment on the condemned?"

The youth nodded and the cowled figure held up a small leather pouch. Ceremoniously, he handed it to the teen. "Proceed."

As Killian and Rumple watched, the youth donned a leather glove, opened the pouch, and plunged his fingers inside. Then, he hesitated.

"Proceed," the cowled figure ordered again.

The youth stood, his lips pressed in a nervous line. Then slowly, he shook his head. "I can't," he said, his voice faltering a bit.

"Can't?" the figure repeated. "But this is why you were selected. This is your moment, boy. Do you imagine that you can shirk your duty?"

The boy nodded shakily, but when he withdrew his hand from the pouch, it was empty. "Please," he said, a tear coursing down one cheek, "Choose another."

"Oh, I shall." The sibilant voice was nearly a purr, as the figure held out his hand for the pouch's return. As soon it was back in their grasp, a mailed fist emerged from the wide sleeve of the cowled robe, knocking the boy to the ground. The figure turned now to the younger boy, who had been watching the scene wide-eyed.

"It would seem," the sibilant voice hissed, "that a new position has opened in the ranks of the overseers. Would you like to fill it?"

The child's jaw hung partly open, and he gave one jerky nod.

"Well then," the figure handed the pouch to the boy, "let's see if you're qualified."

The boy reached his hand into the pouch and brought it out pressing something tightly between thumb and forefinger.

"Caiden!" the youth on the ground croaked. "Please! I'm your brother!"

Caiden hesitated for an instant. "Emrys?" he whispered.

And then, the older boy shook his head. "You'd better do it," he said. "It's your best chance. It's okay."

Caiden gulped and nodded. Then he drew back his hand and threw wide. A fine shower of black dust fell on Emrys and, without warning, he vanished. One of the guards bent down to the ground where the boy had been and held something small, dark, and wriggling aloft for all to see.

The cowled figure nodded and the guard placed the little worm on a small square stone. "Finish it," he said to Caiden. Moving like an automaton, Caiden walked two steps to the stone. And then, closing his eyes and drawing a harsh breath, he raised one small booted foot high and brought it down hard.

The figure nodded satisfied. "Join your new brethren," he said, waving a still-shaking Caiden toward the small clutch of the privileged." Then, as Caiden stumbled off in the direction indicated, the figure raised a hand once more. "Bring forth the next of the condemned."

From their hiding place, Killian and Rumple exchanged a quick glance. "We can't let this happen," the pirate muttered.

Rumple shook his head. "We're two against a multitude and we've no way to signal the others, even assuming that they could get here in time."

"I don't count more than a dozen guards," Killian said. "Only one of them appears to wield that Dark dust. I think we've both faced worse odds."

Rumple sighed. "And then what? Lead the children back to the ship and carry them home to Storybrooke?"

"It wouldn't be the first time." His smile faded when he saw two of the guards dragging a little girl toward a lamppost. They stood her up facing the post, bound her wrists, lifted them, and lashed them fast above her head. A third guard approached her from behind and Killian's breath caught in an angry snarl when he saw the coiled whip. "No," the pirate whispered.

"Captain…"

"We can't let this happen!" He snapped. "Use one of those golden threads of yours and cover me!"

He charged into the alley, eluding Rumple's frantic attempt to hold him back. The guards clearly had been expecting no trouble. Killian's first target was the one with the pouch who seemed to be in charge. A well-placed kick connected with the cowled figure's mid-section, leaving him gasping on the ground. Killian bent and retrieved the pouch. Then he motioned to the assembled children. "One of you, cut the others loose. As for the rest of you, come stand with me. I'm getting you out of here."

The children blinked. Then, as one, they came forward, their faces eerily blank as converged, surrounding the pirate, swarming him, and forcing him to his knees. Had they been adults, or even teens like most of Pan's Lost Boys, he would have fought. But the youth of his attackers made him hesitate. And then they were on top of him and it was too late.

The cowled figure staggered to his feet and walked slowly toward the pirate. "Sometimes," he said dryly, "there's a fine line between courage and foolhardiness. Sometimes, that line is a bit broader. Did you really think that you could stop this alone?"

Killian's eyes flicked for an instant toward the alley. Whatever Rumpelstiltskin had up his sleeve, he'd better unleash it now— His heart sank.

The alley was empty.

And he was completely at the mercy of his foes.

"Well," the figure said conversationally, "we are short one worker now and the quota remains unchanged." He held up the pouch. "Dark Fairy dust is renowned for turning the most fearsome of adversaries into something small and easily squashed." An amused snort issued from behind the cowl. "While you're hardly the most fearsome of adversaries…"

Killian willed himself not to cry out as a gloved hand reached into the pouch. He would meet his end bravely and—

—And why was everyone suddenly so much taller? And yet, not nearly tall enough if he'd just been transformed into some sort of vermin. What had that dust done to h—? His clothes. His clothes were too big for him. The sleeves of his leather jacket extended a good seven inches or so past his fingers and… and… He didn't have his hook anymore. And he wasn't being restrained now. He pulled up his left sleeve to reveal a hand, right where it should have been. A child's hand.

He'd been transformed into a child!

"Now," the cowled figure chuckled, "you will fill the place of the missing worker. You will meet their quota. And I think you can guess the consequences, should you fail."

"I'll never…!" Killian snarled, wincing a bit when he realized that higher-pitched voices didn't sound nearly as threatening.

"Not even if it means clemency for the rest of the condemned?"

That brought him up short. He realized that the columns in front of the town hall were empty now.

"I'll pardon their indiscretions if you'll accept the responsibility."

Bloody hell. They had him and they knew it. Tight-lipped, he nodded. As the crowd bore him away, he cast one more glance in the direction of the alley. Where the hell was Rumple?

Rumple was, in fact, crouched in the alley, his profile hidden by a number of wooden crates and trash bins.

He'd meant to help. He had. He'd had the golden straws in hand, ready to use them to create a diversion as soon as the captain ran into trouble. (And how would he not run into trouble, charging into that crowd alone? The element of surprise could only carry one so far.)

He'd been watching, waiting… and then he'd seen it. Around the neck of one of the girls had been a woolen scarf that bore a striking resemblance to an old travel cloak. One of the boys had clutched a straw doll in a blue jacket with white piping tightly in one hand. He'd tried to tell himself that it was an illusion. More of his mother's head games, most assuredly. But then he'd seen Bae's eyes peering out of the face of one of the children tied to a pillar. He'd heard Belle's—or rather Lacey's—laugh bursting forth from the throat of one of the cloaked overseers.

And for all he told himself that it wasn't Belle, a chilling question rose in his mind. But what if it is?

The straws were suddenly too slippery to hold, golden wires grown slick with the perspiration on his hands, they slid from his grasp. He bent to retrieve them and realized in horror that he didn't know anymore which one was which. Was this the straw that would release a sudden, blinding burst of light, or the one that would bring a rain of fire? Would this one merely stun, or would it kill?

If he'd been in a better frame of mind, he could have calmed himself enough to focus and find the answers for himself. But he'd already been on edge before Killian had charged into the thick of it and the illusions—assuming they were illusions—had only driven him over it.

Panicked, he'd tried to run, only to find that the other end of the alley was blocked. In desperation, he'd hidden among the crates and cans, praying not to be seen.

His prayer had been answered.

The square was silent now, but he was afraid to stir from his position. Afraid that they were still there, waiting for him to show himself. Afraid to return to the ship and tell Emma and the others what had happened. Afraid to go after them and try to free the captain.

Afraid.

And alone.

Maleficent was getting a headache. Henry was talking so quickly that his words were practically tumbling out over each other, and Tony's interruptions weren't helping. It was getting all the more tempting to just roast the lot of them—Henry and Tony for irritating her, and the others for not doing more to prevent them—and go back to sleep, but if her daughter was in danger, then she had to know the right of it.

Holding up a hand, she turned to the Apprentice. "What are they saying, please?" she demanded, and despite her polite tone, there was no mistaking its querulous undercurrent.

The Apprentice inclined his head respectfully. "You know of Authors, I take it?"

Maleficent frowned. "I'm aware."

"Well, young Henry is the latest in their line. He's uncovered something that ought to be shared with your daughter and the others and we were hoping that the dream realm might present an appropriate avenue."

The dragon sniffed. "It becomes clear why you've come to me," she said. "I do know something about that realm, yes. And it would be better if you provided me the message that you mean to relay. Dreams are at best unpredictable and frequently unreliable. Messages can be more garbled than would occur in a game of ear-to-ear."

"She means 'broken telephone'," Snow whispered to Henry.

"I figured," Henry whispered back.

Maleficent favored both of them with a glower. "I'm perfectly happy to wait until I've your attention once more, please," she said in a clipped tone and Snow, who had occasionally struggled to keep order in her fourth-grade class, felt a mix of both embarrassment and envy as she mumbled an apology. Henry followed suit.

"As I was saying," the dragon continued, "if you tell me what you wish to share with the others, I'll pass it along. Shorter would be better."

Henry hesitated. "I think it's all pretty important," he said, reaching into his pocket for the two sheets of paper he'd folded into quarters. "I don't know if there's anything we can leave out."

Maleficent accepted the pages and perused them, her face growing more concerned as she read. "I see what you mean," she breathed. "This is… How many of those who crossed to the Dark Realm have been under a sleeping curse? Is it only Lily?"

"No," Snow replied. "David has, too."

"That's helpful," the dragon said. "I may have to divide the information and pass half of it on to each of them. Possibly over multiple sleeps. One thing is certain, though: they can't waste any more time. They need to reach Belle sooner, rather than later."

"I thought that was always the plan," August said.

"Yes, but they need to set in motion as quickly as possible or it might be too late."

"Why?" Snow asked. "I mean, I know Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't deliberately be dragging his heels, not with Belle in danger, so…"

"She's in more danger than they realize," Maleficent snapped. "We all are!" She took a breath. "You may not be aware of this, but I was the Dark Curse's custodian for a time. Regina traded it to me in return for—"

"—your sleeping curse!" Henry interrupted. "That was in my book. I remember!"

"But you didn't remember that it was rude to interrupt your elders?" Maleficent questioned calmly. She shook her head. "I'll overlook it this time. Attend, please." She waited for Henry to nod. "As I was saying, while I had the Curse in my possession, I took the time to study it and learned much." She took a step close.

"According to this," Maleficent held Henry's pages aloft, "the Black Fairy means to create the Dark One anew. And if Henry's writing is true, then she means for Belle to assume that role."

"Belle?" August repeated blankly.

"You didn't read it."

"I…" August frowned. "Rumpelstiltskin told me that he'd spoken with her. The Black Fairy, I mean. And she'd said that she really wanted him, but if she couldn't have him, then either Belle or the baby—the baby she's going to have—would have to do."

Maleficent shook her head. "Perhaps, that was what she said. And perhaps, so long as Rumpelstiltskin was the Dark One, her plans, of necessity, included him at her side. But once he was cleft from his Darkness…" Her voice trailed off. "Traditionally, one becomes the Dark One by killing one's predecessor. Can one of you tell me, please, how it would happen now?"

The Apprentice nodded. "Rumpelstiltskin's heart was split several weeks ago. Currently, half of it—the half from which the Darkness was shriven—beats in his chest. The other half has fallen into the Black Fairy's possession. If that other half were to be crushed, then whosoever did so would become the new Dark One."

"And if it were Belle, then she would be crushing the heart of the thing she loves most," Maleficent said, her voice almost too calm.

The Apprentice actually grew a shade paler. "Good heavens," he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper, "I… don't know how I missed that."

"Wait," Snow cut in. "I know that's how Regina—and how I, for that matter—cast the Dark Curse. If Belle…"

"If Belle becomes the Dark One," the Apprentice said grimly, "then the Black Fairy will be able to set the Dark Curse in motion from the realm in which she now resides. And from there, it will spread until it engulfs all the realms. There would be no stopping it."

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten

Rumple couldn't say how much time had elapsed since the captain's capture. He was stiff and sore from sitting on the ground and shifting his position wasn't helping. His ankle was throbbing, he had a spasm in his lower back, and there was something pulsing on his hip.

It took him a moment to realize that it was his phone vibrating. The phone that hadn't been working when it would have been useful.

He pulled the device out of his pocket, saw Emma's name on the caller ID and debated a moment too long whether to answer. By the time he thought he ought to, it had already gone to voice mail. Then it vibrated again ten seconds later, when she called back.

Rumple sucked in a breath, steeled himself, and took the call. "Emma…?"

There was a sigh of relief on the other end. "You've been gone a while. We were getting concerned. Is everything okay?"

It would have been easy enough to lie; in many ways, easier than telling her what had befallen the man she loved. It would buy him time. Perhaps, time enough to concoct some sort of plan for rescuing the captain. But so long as he was acting alone, he knew that the odds of his succeeding were slim indeed. Plus, he'd known Emma Swan for some time and she had forgiven him much. More, in fact, than he might once have believed possible. But if he didn't tell her the truth now, if his plans and schemes came to naught, if the captain, meanwhile, shared the fate of that youth in the square because Rumple had been too ashamed to ask for help when he needed it…

Even if Emma somehow forgave him for that, he didn't know that he'd forgive himself.

"No," he said, nearly whispering into the phone that was suddenly almost too heavy to hold. "I'm very much afraid that it's not…"

Emma felt her heart sink as Gold told her what had transpired. She'd had her doubts about whether Gold was ready for what Killian had proposed. She should have said something. And Gold should have done something. And Killian shouldn't have gone charging and—

—And Gold was still on the line and still—for him, anyway—freaking out.

Remember what he told you in New York, that time when he talked you down after you found out about Lily. He crippled himself rather than charge onto a battlefield against a much stronger enemy and came home to a wife who would have rather been left a widow than married to a coward. You told him that just proved she had a few issues. Well, he's just backed away from another fight against a stronger enemy and you're not going to imply that he should have been regressed to childhood and taken as a slave just to keep Killian company!

But if anything happened to Killian that was worse than what they'd already done, she'd—

Enough. Bad enough Gold was freaking out; she didn't have to follow suit. Killian had been alive the last time Gold saw him. He was still alive now. At least, she was going to keep believing that. She fought to keep her voice steady as she asked, "Where are you now?"

"The alley," Gold's reply was almost immediate.

"Can you get back to the shop?"

This time the response was longer in coming. "I believe so."

Emma took another breath. "We'll meet you there. And…" Inspiration seized her. "Before you open the door, ask me where you were waiting for us when you asked us to come to New York. I'm hoping your mother couldn't keep tabs on us in the outside world."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Savior," Gold said, his nervousness better concealed now and showing only in the way his words tumbled forth a bit more quickly than usual. "But I think we'll need to chance it. Still," he added, "I shall have a question for you when you arrive. One I'll not share now, but I trust you'll answer it easily enough when the time comes."

"Fine. We'll be there soon. And Gold? We'll get him back. And everyone else."

"I'm trying to share your optimism," came the response tinged with forced—and false—good humor. Then the call disconnected.

Emma swallowed hard. Then she made her way to the stern of the ship, where her father, Regina, Lily, and Paul stood conversing in a tight knot. They stopped at her approach.

"We've got trouble," Emma said tersely. Then fighting down her worry and willing herself to stay calm, she continued, "they took Killian."

By the time Emma had finished relating what Gold had told her, Zelena, Tia, and Robin had joined them.

"So, we're going after the pirate, now," Zelena snapped. "While that fairy is doing who-knows-what to my daughter!"

"We can't just leave Killian in her clutches," Emma protested. "Even if he were still… him, he'd need our help. But de-aged, he'll—"

"It seems to me," Robin spoke up, "that by stopping the Black Fairy, we will free the captain." His eyes found Emma's and his voice took on a gentler note as he continued. "I'm not happy about leaving him where he is, but we can't lose sight of the overarching danger. I'll wager that our foe is counting on us to mount a rescue. Her forces will still have us outnumbered and that dust gives them an even greater advantage. Any people we might lose in the rescue attempt will worsen our chances when we confront the Black Fairy. Even if we're fortunate enough to all get away intact, the boy is likely to slow us down. Whereas if we defeat the fairy, we save everyone."

Just because it made sense didn't mean that Emma had to like it. "We still need to collect Gold," she said. "Once we do that, we'll decide how to approach this. I want his advice before I commit either way."

"Well, if you were looking for advice about cowering in an alley, I'd understand," Zelena sniffed. "We need to get to my daughter. Not to mention his wife. And with his limp and without his magic, he'll only get in the way. If he were standing here, he'd tell us the same thing." Emma gave her a hard look and opened her mouth to say something as the witch barrelled on. "He's already gotten the pirate caught; he's not getting a chance to let us down, too!"

Emma winced. Zelena had just put her finger down right on the sorest point in all of this. Oh, Emma was still telling herself that there wasn't anything that Gold could have done to prevent Killian's capture. Had he tried, he'd likely have been taken too, and in no position to alert her and the others. She was right about that. She knew it. But deep down, she was also wondering whether they weren't pushing Gold too far too fast. Even though Gold had come so far from the man he'd been—the man who'd crippled himself on the battlefield, the man who'd once been ready to murder Henry based on some obscure prophecy, the man who'd nearly crushed Killian's heart and tried to trick her into that hat—she knew that he still struggled to make choices that came more easily to the rest of them. She knew that he was generally more frightened than he let on. Maybe expecting more from him was demanding too much. Somehow, though, hearing Zelena voice the same reservation (albeit more bluntly) seemed to kindle a white-hot flame of rage in her gut.

"Maybe," she snarled, "he started remembering exactly how it felt to be someone's slave and he couldn't face it again! And no," she kept right on talking, "that's not cowardice! It's… It's… I don't know what it is besides understandable. Now, you can wait here if you want to, but I'm going to the shop and if any of you want to storm the Black Fairy's castle without me, then go right ahead!"

"Well, that won't help," Regina cut in coolly. "Not when the Final Battle is going to come down to you versus the Black Fairy." She gave Emma a smile that was almost too bright. "I'm sure Rumple managed to find a few useful items at the shop. If nothing else, we should collect them while we plan where to go from there." Then in an undertone, she added, "I'd like a private word, Emma."

Emma nodded, steeling herself in case Regina was about to take her to task for her outburst. She didn't care. Zelena might be Regina's sister, and Regina might be trying to strengthen family ties. But after what the witch had done to Gold, Emma wasn't about to listen to her putting Gold down or insinuating that they should abandon him. Gold had a history of leaving the group to do his own thing. Emma had resented it in the past, but now she found herself wondering if this was more of the 'dump them before they dump you' attitude that had fueled a lot of her own earlier wanderlust.

She wasn't backing down. No matter what Regina might have to say. Still she forced a polite smile onto her face, as she motioned her friend toward the aft cabin.

"It might not be as easy as you hope," Maleficent cautioned. "Time in the Black Fairy's realm flows inconsistently and we can't know how much of it has passed. Fortunately, time passed in dreams is often just as inconsistent," she smiled, "but the trick is going to be timing my presence in the dream realm such that I'll encounter either my daughter or the prince."

Her smile fell away. "The trouble is that we have no way to determine when either of them will be sleeping. Already, days might have passed there, if not years. It could be that the minutes and hours that they spend dreaming would only occupy a split second of our time. That doesn't exactly give me a large window with which to work."

"Is there any way I can accompany you?" Snow asked. "I've been under a sleeping curse before. And if David is walking the dream world, he and I will always find each other."

"And even if he isn't," Maleficent nodded, "Lily will be. If your husband was indeed under a sleeping curse, even if its duration was brief enough that he was able to avoid being pulled back to that world after awakening, he should be able to choose to return. If Lily alerts him that such action is necessary."

"My telepathy might be able to help with that," Tony said. "At least, I can try to link my mind with both of yours. But you'll probably both end up sharing a few more thoughts with each other than you intend."

Maleficent frowned. "Keeping secrets has never been your strong suit, has it?" she asked Snow.

Snow lowered her eyes. "I won't promise to keep yours if they threaten the town," she said. "But otherwise…"

The dragon's frown deepened. "I'll make this clear from the outset: I am attempting, for all our sakes, to overlook what you and your husband did to me and my daughter. Don't think that even now, I'm not entertaining certain… fantasies of vengeance. But it's one thing to fantasize; it's another to actualize."

"I… I am sorry," Snow murmured.

"That doesn't restore a moment of the time I didn't have the opportunity to spend with my daughter."

"I understand," Snow said. "Emma and I were separated for twenty-eight years."

"And that doesn't restore it either," Maleficent pointed out. "Be that as it may, I'll accept that my darkest thoughts may be a bit… too dark for your delicate sensibilities. But should you find yourself equally privy to some of my… more sensitive moments, and should you then attempt to offer me some manner of sympathy or comfort or engage others in some misguided attempt to befriend me," she smiled then, displaying two rows of even white teeth, as she concluded pleasantly, "I'll happily roast you to a turn."

"Look," Emma said, as soon as the cabin door closed behind them, "if you want me to tone it down around Zelena—"

"That would be helpful," Regina cut her off smoothly. "It's hard to turn over a new leaf when people seem all too willing to jump down your throat over the slightest misstep. But while I suppose that statement does apply to equally to Zelena," her expression turned serious, "I was actually thinking about Rumple. What are you planning to say to him when we get there?"

Emma blinked. Then she shook her head. "I don't know. I mean… it was a setup. Obviously. And I can see why Killian went charging in and why Gold held back, but…" She sighed. "I guess, it was expecting too much for him to do anything else."

Regina nodded. "Still. I'd be very careful how I pointed that out to him," she said and her expression was deadly serious. "I can't tell you what's going through his head right now. But I can tell you that, in my case, one of the hardest things about trying to do better was the feeling that everyone was expecting me to revert. And when I faltered, well, perhaps I only imagined others whispering that they'd known I couldn't change, but it didn't make it easy to keep trying. Without your parents' support that year in the Enchanted Forest, things would have gone… differently." She lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised them again and locked them on Emma's. "The one person whom I truly loved was lost to me and I didn't believe I'd ever see him again. I was well aware that the company I was then keeping was made up largely of people I'd tormented in earlier times and your mother has always been quicker than most to dole out second chances. I'd tried to change, mostly for Henry's sake. Without him, frankly, I didn't see much point in continuing."

She heaved another sigh. "But I did have your mother in my corner, with your father a step or two behind. And not long afterwards, Robin. That was enough. Barely." A brief smile passed her lips before her serious demeanor returned.

"My point is that if, at any time when I was… foundering, anyone had brought up my past and suggested that maybe I'd come as far as I could or was incapable of further change, it might have pushed me back down that precipice."

"I just want to tell him I don't blame him," Emma protested.

"And that's fine. But don't tell him that you—or Captain Kid—expected too much of him. Not when he's finally beginning to see that he's capable of doing more, being more than he thought possible." She shook her head. "He's been dragging himself up and back over that precipice, hand over hand and it's only for the last few yards or so that any of us have thought to lower him a rope. Just… when you reach out to help pull him up, make sure you aren't inadvertently knocking him off."

She sighed. "And I suppose that the same thing does go for your interactions with my sister. Oh, I know she has yet to do anything much to earn that consideration. All I'm asking is that if she does, when she does, you acknowledge it. The same way you've managed with Rumple."

Emma sighed. "I think I need to take this one challenge at a time. And right now? Gold's the priority." She gave Regina a worried smile. "But thanks for the advice. This stuff is messed up enough already without me making things worse."

"You're quite welcome, Emma. And," her expression turned severe, "I trust that you'll keep the gist of this conversation confidential?"

Emma nodded. "I won't tell anyone. But maybe, if it comes down to it, you could? I think it might help if Gold heard it. But that's your call."

"Duly noted."

He almost didn't answer the knock when it came. He was dreading facing the others again, dreading having to rehash once more how utterly he had failed. The captain had brought him along specifically to prevent exactly this sort of occurrence. The captain should have known better. Rumple should have known better. And now, they—and everyone else—would have plenty of time to regret their folly.

He knew that despite Regina's reformation, Fate still persisted in squelching her every chance at a true happy ending. His own deeds were darker by far. What lunacy had let him believe that he'd be spared such machinations? But did others have to pay the price that should have been exacted from his own accounts?

He had half a mind to leave the shop door barred, but Regina and the witch could teleport, Emma could pick locks, and he'd seen what Lily could do to far sturdier structures. And if he were to duck out the back way, it was near certain that he'd be running directly into the arms of his mother's minions. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. There was no help for it. He squared his shoulders, adopted an inscrutable expression, and unlatched the door, even as he surreptitiously shoved a sweaty hand into his pocket and hoped that the others wouldn't notice how tightly he gripped his cane with the other.

"The steps of the New York Public Library," he said, opening the door a crack. "And perhaps, you'll recall the first time you claimed a familiar tie between us?"

Emma nodded at once. "Boston Airport, TSA security."

Rumple smiled in relief. He'd half-expected her to mention the Jolly Roger two days later, though he would have also accepted the hotel lobby in New York. He didn't know whether that first incident had stuck in her memory, or if she'd just thrown out a glib explanation to avoid a scene and promptly forgotten it. She hadn't. Nor had she hesitated or shown the slightest hint of embarrassment to reply surrounded by the others. He held the door open wider. "Inside, all of you. Quickly."

They obeyed and he shut the door again once the last of them was inside.

"You're sure you're all right?" Emma asked, taking one step toward him.

He debated the safest answer. If he confirmed it, the interrogation would commence. If he denied it, they'd either ignore his response and proceed to take him to task for his cowardice, or they'd fuss for a bit, put him at ease, and then light into him. "I suppose," he said finally, "that I'm doing as well as you might expect."

"Oh, stop beating yourself up," Regina said, sounding almost bored. "From what Emma described, it could have happened to anyone." She sighed. "It was hard enough pulling our punches in Neverland when we went up against the Lost Boys and those were mostly adolescents. Somehow, I don't think you would have wanted to mow down an army of grade-schoolers, even if you'd had the power to do so."

Rumple blinked. And the hard knot in his stomach began to unclench.

David cleared his throat. "We've been going back and forth over whether to mount some sort of rescue attempt now, or take the fight directly to your mother. Or both," he added.

Rumple shook his head and, when he spoke again, it was with a more businesslike demeanor. "I wouldn't recommend splitting our forces. It will only make it easier for her to pick us off one by one."

Paul, silent until now, spoke. "Say we go after the captain first. Once we've got him back, can any of you age him up?"

Regina and Zelena looked at one another for a moment. "I don't know," Regina said finally.

"It would be less of a trick to undo if it was a mere casting," Zelena explained. "But when an enchantment is wrought with a magical object, it complicates matters. And Dark Fairy Dust isn't something to which anyone should take a cavalier approach."

Paul sighed. "Then, pragmatically speaking, I'm with Robin and Zelena: take care of the Black Fairy and we get our missing man back. But if we go after him first… we're not taking a child into battle and from the way you lot have been speaking, there'll be no safe place to leave him. There's too much at stake. We can't risk it."

"I think that might be why we have to," Lily said.

"I beg your pardon?" Rumple turned to her with an incredulous expression.

Lily took an involuntary step backward, but her voice stayed firm. "He has to know what's at stake, just as much as we do. Either he's still got the mind of an adult and he knows leaving him behind makes the most sense so he'll abandon any hope of being rescued, or… he's thinking like a kid again, hoping someone knows he's out there, hoping they're coming for him, until he… gives up. Or gives in. Or…" She looked around. "Please, some of you have to know what I'm trying to say, right?"

Rumple nodded slowly. "It's no coincidence that Darkness and despair are frequently mentioned in the same breath. And I think that if any of us were to succumb to either, it would only lend support to my mother's cause."

"Guys," Emma said, "I know what's practical and logical and makes the most strategic sense, but… I also know what's right. And leaving Killian where he is, without even trying to get him back… isn't."

"It's too dangerous," Zelena protested.

"It's dangerous," Emma acknowledged. "So's taking on the Black Fairy. Pick your dangerous." She looked around the room. "Do we put this to a vote, or what?"

David cleared his throat. "All in favor of mounting a rescue?" Nearly every hand in the room went up. "All opposed?"

"I'll abstain," Robin said.

"Oh," Paul chimed in, "I thought you were going to ask that next."

Zelena's hand had started to go up, but when she realized that it was the only one, she glowered and used the hand to massage her forehead instead. "We'd best not regret this," she snapped. "And he'd best be grateful."

"Well," the Black Fairy sighed, glancing at the parchment scroll that one of her attendants had delivered to her on an ornate onyx platter, "that's disappointing."

Belle threaded a strawberry onto the wooden skewer and dunked it into the chocolate fondue pot. "Nothing too serious, I hope," she murmured, even as she felt her heart leap. For a moment, the ferocity of the fairy's expression made her wonder whether she shouldn't have kept her mouth shut. But then, the fairy smiled once more.

"I'd forgotten that you were here, my dear," she said in a sugary voice. "And no, not serious; just disappointing." She shrugged. "It seems that you were right about one thing: my son did follow you here. For a moment, I actually thought he'd grown a bit of backbone—oh, really, dear, I might be his mother, but that doesn't make me blind to his flaws. I actually wish he had; I was hoping he'd come to his senses and embrace his destiny at my side." She shook her head. "I suppose I was hoping that winning you over might lead you to help persuade him."

Belle blinked. "You wanted me to bring him over to Darkness?" she said incredulously.

The fairy sighed. "I suppose I had hopes, foolish though they might have been. Well. It's of no moment. When faced with an opponent too formidable, he did what he always used to in the days before he acquired power: he shrank back in terror and, while he was cowering, one of his companions was taken."

Belle shook her head. "No. That can't be…" Of course it could. "Wh-who?"

Fiona shrugged. "I'm sorry; it's not so easy for me to keep track of all the names. Not from here, anyway. I could try to find out, if it's that important to you."

"Please," Belle murmured. "And, you said the… companion was taken? By who?"

"I'm sorry, dear," the fairy said, getting up and resting a gentle hand on Belle's shoulder. "This realm is not without peril and my power, while vast, still has limits. I don't control everything here. If Rumple stood with me, the chances would be better. I could help him regain what was lost and with his magic added to mine, I've no doubt that we could find and free his missing… friend. Otherwise…" She let her voice trail off, as she went back to her seat.

When she faced Belle once more, she smiled sadly. "I think I'd rather be alone, right now." She waved her hand and a figure dressed in armor reminiscent of—but not identical to—one of the Evil Queen's black knights approached from a side entrance. "My guardsman will take you back to your quarters. Oh. You haven't finished your refreshment." She gestured and the food in front of Belle vanished. "There. It'll be waiting for you when you get back. And I'll be sure to keep you supplied, now I know your preference. Shall I send the child back, as well, or would you rather my nurse kept her for a bit?"

Belle knew she should ask for Lyncoln's return. The Black Fairy stole children and who knew what she did with them, after all? But Belle also knew that she hadn't had a good night's sleep in ever so long. And she needed time—and quiet—to think! "Could… could you send her back to me in the morning?" she ventured. Then, quickly, "That's all right, isn't it?" Was it?

Fiona laughed merrily. "Of course it is, child! The nurse won't mind a bit!"

Belle smiled uneasily, as she got up to follow the guardsman. Was it all right? she wondered. Was it really all right?

"There," Rumple said. They were looking at a 3D model of the town. Rumple's finger pointed to the building directly opposite the town hall. "That's where they took him."

"Okay," Emma said. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea that Tia could pull the image of Lily's earlier reconnaissance flight out of the young woman's brain and recreate it as a hologram on Gold's back room table. "Can we get in?"

"We can get a message to him," Tia said. "If you have anything with his scent on it."

"You're saying that you're… what?" Regina asked. "A werewolf?"

"No," Tia said. "But I talk to animals. If one of us goes in, we'll probably be spotted. On the other hand…" She extended her hand, palm upwards, as though she was emphasizing her choice of phrasing. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a small scaly face poked its head out of her jacket sleeve and, as Emma drew back in alarm and David's had strayed automatically to the hilt of his sword, a snake roughly one and a half feet long, its body sporting alternating bands of black and cream, slid smoothly into her palm. "She'll be able to get in unnoticed and pass along the message."

"Tia!" Robin hissed, "That's a common death adder!"

"Exactly," Tia smiled. "And as such, she'll be nicely inconspicuous."

"Yes, but the name is apt," Robin retorted. "If it bites you—or any of us…"

"I asked her not to," Tia replied matter-of-factly. "She agreed."

"And you trust her?" Robin asked. "How do we know that the snake isn't one of the Black Fairy's minions, primed to lead us into a trap? Or even the Black Fairy herself?"

"Animals don't lie," Tia said. "Not the undomesticated ones, anyway. Horses and donkeys may pretend to be more exhausted than they actually are to avoid having to work. Cats know how to make you think they haven't had enough to eat. And yes, okay, some animals hunt by acting as though they're more defenseless than they really are; it's their nature. But acting like they're on our side only to murder us when our guard is down?" She shook her head. "That's really more a people thing. And if there was a human—or fairy—consciousness manipulating one of them, I'd notice another mind in there. No, this is an ordinary snake. She'll deliver our message."

Paul leaned forward with interest. "How? I mean, do we wrap a scroll around her, or does she carry it in her mouth like some retriever?"

"No," Zelena said, rubbing a small cloud of green smoke between her thumb and forefinger. "Once our scaly friend finds the pirate, if she can somehow let you know," she nodded in Tia's direction, "I believe that I can create a link so that my words will issue from her mouth. At least, for a few minutes."

"That works," Tia said gratefully. "I can communicate with her, but not through her."

Zelena sniffed. "Just get on with it. The sooner we retrieve the leather-bound lummox, the sooner we can get to the real task."

"If you've something with his scent, then?" Tia asked.

Wordlessly, Emma reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver replica of a ship's wheel that dangled from a leather strap. "Does it matter that it probably has my scent on it, too, at this point?" she asked.

Tia shook her head. "Not to her."

"Are you sure she'll be able to track him with it?" David demanded.

"A snake's sense of smell is keener than a dog's," Rumple pointed out.

"Guys," Lily said, "can we just get on with this already, instead of standing here and arguing?"

"Finally!" Zelena beamed. "Some intelligent advice." Then eyeing Lily, she added, "even if it is coming from you."

"Look, how many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" Lily snapped.

"Enough of this!" Regina said in a tone that made everyone in the room turn toward her. "All right," she said. "Tia, send off your messenger. As for the rest of you, the Black Fairy has already split us up. Instead of doing her work for her, how about we stop trying to divide ourselves further, hmm?"

Lily and Zelena shifted uncomfortably. Zelena looked away first.

Tia took the necklace from Emma with a nod and a smile and dangled it before the snake. The snake lifted her head. Her mouth opened and a small, forked tongue poked out, probing. Then she slithered out of Tia's palm and glided across the shop floor, her scales making a soft rasping sound as she moved.

Rumple raised an eyebrow and followed, murmuring something about how he'd best open the door for the small reptile.

"Are we back to waiting again?" Paul asked of nobody in particular. He didn't seem much put out when nobody answered.

"Interesting game you play," remarked a sardonic voice from the direction of the Black Fairy's mirror.

Fiona didn't bother looking up from filing her nails. "I was wondering when you'd contact me again, Lord Hades," she said, putting a faintly insolent twist on his title.

"No, really," the king of the Underworld continued. "Telling her about the pirates capture without mentioning that it was at the hands of your minions? How devious."

"Devious?" Fiona echoed. "I told her straightforwardly what had befallen one of her acquaintances. I was candid about my hopes for her and my disappointment not to see them realized. I admitted—embarrassingly enough, I'm sure—that I don't control everything that goes on here. Certainly, I didn't command anyone to capture the pirate."

"So you mean to release him?" Hades asked sarcastically.

Fiona sighed. "You know, it's probably not a good idea to override a decision made by one of my underlings to my advantage. Strategically ill-advised and all that. Not to mention," she tutted, "rather bad for morale. Why, they might even choose to turn a blind eye to the next intruder to come into their midst. No," she mused, "I rather think I prefer things as they are. Though I don't think Belle would understand my reasons."

"Not yet," Hades nodded.

Fiona nodded back. "No," she said a smile slowly spreading across her lips. "Not yet…"

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven

It only took an hour or so with a heavy pickaxe to set the palms of his hands bleeding. Killian had been through this before when he'd been younger—or was that older? Only then, it had been from swabbing the deck with a mop whose handle would have benefitted from a good sanding down. (It had been sanded, but higher up, where a grown man would have gripped it and not a ten-year-old boy.) It had been from holystoning the deck with hands—and knees—unused to such labor for long periods of time, and from handling the coarse ropes of the ship's rigging. Eventually, he knew, the cuts and abrasions would heal. Blisters would harden to calluses. Arms would cease to ache from the rhythmic digging. He'd get used to the grating sound of sharpened iron digging into solid rock.

Right now, though, he felt as though his every muscle and sinew were corded with fire. His hands were raw and oozing fluid. And if he slackened at all, he knew that his back would be in a similar state. And not just his. The overseer had been quite clear on that.

"This is your crew," he'd been told, "You're each responsible one for the other. So if any of you think to laze about or shirk your duties, you'll all feel the lash." The overseer's hand had strayed to the whip coiled at his hip and Killian felt as though a cold wave had washed over him. He'd felt the bite of a cat-o-nine-tails once on Captain Silver's ship—when he'd already grown to manhood—and that one time had been enough for him to ban the bloody thing from his own command, when he'd gotten it. Whips were standard equipment in his trade, for all he'd seldom needed them. But the cat was in a class all its own.

Killian glanced furtively at the other four boys in his 'crew'. Each wore a ragged shirt stained with dried blood that bore mute testimony to earlier whippings. Not that he'd thought for a moment that the overseer had been lying, but here was evidence—had Killian needed it—that he hadn't been.

"Keep working!" the cat cracked over his shoulder, just close enough for him to feel it breeze past his cheek. "Enjoy your lighter duties today, for tomorrow you'll make the full quota or…" The overseer, a boy in his late teens who suddenly reminded Killian of Pan's right-hand man Felix, chuckled nastily, "Well you've seen what 'or' looks like already, haven't you? Keep at it."

Killian gritted his teeth and did his best to ignore the pain in his arms, as he pretended that the overseer was standing in front of him now, held fast to the rock. He raised his pickaxe and with the picture held firmly in his mind, stabbed it down into the image, right between false-Felix's eyes.

He'd gouged a fissure—like an angry claw mark, about two feet long, three or four inches wide, and maybe an inch and a half deep by the time the order came to cease. By then, there had been tears blinding his eyes and his breath had been coming in jerky gasps that were not—absolutely NOT—sobs. He wasn't one to snivel or cry. Not even if his arms felt as heavy as his pickaxe handle. Not even if he was one solid ache from head to toe and the rock dust was in his cuts and blisters, not to mention in his hair and eyes and ragged clothing.

So far, the overseer had only used the lash to goad, rather than to chastise, but Killian knew that he couldn't rely on that small mercy for much longer. Today, he was a lubber and they were allowing him a bit of slack while he learned the ropes. Tomorrow, that state of affairs could well be a thing of the past.

His pickaxe was heavy on his shoulder as he fell into step behind the other members of his work crew. The youngest seemed to be about seven, the eldest, twelve. Ahead of and behind them, more child workers pressed. Nobody spoke. Only the youngest snuffled quietly. Now and then, a grunt or groan echoed in the rock cavern, its specific source impossible to discern. They trudged along a narrow passage in single file, until they found themselves in an irregular stone room. Dim light filtered down from some unknown source above. It might have been coming from the surface, or from candles reflecting off of polished stone. Perhaps, it was even magic; though Killian doubted it. All magic did come with a price, after all.

Someone thrust a reddish bowl into his hands, interrupting his musings. Unprepared for its weight, he nearly dropped it. It, too, was made of stone, he realized. And half-filled with some sort of pottage; either a thick soup or a watery stew.

"Here," the eldest boy in his crew said, handing him a utensil that was more paddle than spoon. "Don't lose it; if you do, you'll have to make your own."

"Thanks, mate," Killian said, taking it. "When did you find time…?"

"Only time's at meal breaks," his new friend said. "Finish fast and you have a few minutes to yourself. We're allowed to keep the rock we break off, so long as it's not fairy dust. They catch you with that, they'll use it on you without giving you a chance to explain, so make sure you know the difference between it and the rock around it."

The stew didn't taste like much of anything, but it was warm and filling and Killian had eaten much worse at sea when supplies had dwindled. "I'm Killian."

"Graydon," the boy supplied. "Don't worry if you don't remember it. Most of us don't last very long."

Someone shrieked at that moment and both boys looked up, startled. Graydon sucked in his breath and quickly shoveled the last of his stew into his mouth. Then he rose, brandishing the empty bowl, and advanced toward the black-and-cream snake. "They're not supposed to come in here!" he snapped.

"What?" Killian asked.

"They're supposed to just patrol in case anyone tries to run, them and the spiders," Graydon explained, without turning around. "They never…" His voice trailed off.

The other children in the room had shrunk back against the walls by now, or clambered up on what rock ledges they could find, leaving a wide expanse of the floor clear. And in the sandy soil at their feet, the snake slithered purposefully, leaving a trail of swirls and loops in a design that looked almost as though it was writing.

Killian's eyes widened. Slowly, he took a step forward.

"Stay back," Graydon snapped. "It's venomous!"

Killian ignored him, continuing his advance until he was past the other boy and standing before the snake.

"Are you deaf? Or… No!" He started forward, grabbing Killian's arm. "You can't! If you let it bite you, they'll whip us all!"

Now, Killian turned to him. "I don't think it's here to bite me, mate," he said with a twisted smile. "I think it's just come to talk."

He took advantage of Graydon's stunned disbelief to twist free, took two more steps toward the snake, and dropped to one knee before the four letters that it had etched in the dust in flowing cursive script. "Yes," he said cautiously, taking care not to make any sudden moves. "I'm Hook. I take it you have a message for me?"

Zelena smiled. "Found him," she said smugly. "I thought that might get his attention."

Tia shrugged. "Then I'm glad you suggested it," she replied.

Rumple took a step forward. "Are you able to allow the rest of us to hear his end of the conversation?" he asked, sounding as though he was merely curious.

The witch sniffed. "Please. Next time give me something more challenging." She took a breath and fixed her gaze to a point on the shop wall.

"Can we speak freely?" she asked softly.

There was a short pause. Then, a child's voice with the intonations and inflexions of an adult said clearly, "Not in private, I'm afraid, but there are no guards about, at present."

"Are you all right?"

"For now. Though a bit of blister salve wouldn't go amiss."

David leaned forward. "Is there a way we can get you out?"

Zelena turned to him with a glower. "Sorry, Prince Pillock, but the spell lets me talk with him. Just be grateful you can listen in."

Paul smiled. "I believe I now have a bit more sympathy for what my siblings went through with a spell only I could use."

Zelena cleared her throat irritably. "Well," she huffed, "I suppose if you've managed to get yourself captured, now you're hoping for a rescue, hmm?"

This time the answer was quicker in coming. "I'm afraid that's not in the cards, love." The words sounded wrong in a young child's high-pitched register. "Are the others in earshot?"

"They are," Zelena said, raising an eyebrow.

"Then you might tell them that my current situation is somewhat akin to that of the Darling children."

Zelena turned to her audience. "Do you understand what he's on about?"

The four who had travelled to Neverland nodded. "Pan was keeping Wendy hostage," Emma said. "If she tried to escape, o-or disobeyed his orders, then he'd threatened to kill her brothers."

"And if they didn't do as he said," Rumple said sickly, "then her life was forfeit. If we attempt to retrieve the Captain, then others will pay the price of his freedom."

"Well then, we'll just have to free them all," David said.

"Mates," Killian's voice was urgent, "Don't worry about me. I can manage for a bit. Just stop the Black Fairy. The overseers are enslaved just as surely as the rest of us. Defeat her and we all walk free."

"I thought you said he couldn't hear us," Emma said.

Zelena sighed. "He didn't. But evidently, he knows you lot well enough to guess your reaction." She looked around from one face to the next. "So, I take it we're not storming the Bastille at this juncture?"

The others looked at one another and slowly shook their heads. Zelena took another breath. "Very well," she addressed Killian once more. "We'll take the fight to the enemy, then. As far as that salve, I'm not certain we can smuggle it to you undetected."

"Then don't chance it," Killian said regretfully. "I'm not the first to experience this discomfort, though if you're successful, I might be the last. Well. Until I return, keep her between the buoys, mates."

Zelena's lips pulled upwards in the faintest of smiles. "Good luck, yourself, Captain."

"Wait!" Rumple exclaimed as she began to end the spell. "Wait. Tell him we'll be back for him."

Zelena groaned. "Really, that should be obvious."

Rumple shook his head. "Not always," he said, fixing her with a penetrating stare. And when he turned it on the others, both David and Regina shifted a bit uncomfortably in position.

"Tell him, Sis," Regina said quietly.

Zelena sighed. "The others want me to assure you we'll come back for you," she said.

"Well," Killian laughed, "that's good to know. Especially, since I don't think any of you can steer my ship." The note of humor died. "In all seriousness, I'll do my best to survive until then. Killian out."

Zelena ended the spell. "Hmph. Nothing of any note accomplished." She gave them a tight smile. "So. I hope that satisfies the lot of you. Now, let's go find my daughter."

Killian watched the adder slither off before he turned back to the small bit of stew that remained in his bowl. When he looked up, every other eye in the chamber was trained on him.

"You had a way out and you're staying?" one of the others—Killian couldn't tell if the raggedly-cut hair, filthy face, and torn clothing belonged to a boy or a girl—demanded.

Killian regarded her silently for a moment. Then, he nodded. "Aye."

"What kind of a clot are you?"

He saw the punch coming and flung himself to one side, even as his hand shot forth to close on his assailant's wrist. "Try that again," Killian said, "and I'll answer in kind. I may not have an adult's size now, but apparently, I've yet the fighting prowess."

"Think you're so great," the other child sneered. "Think you're noble. We're here to work until we die. Or become overseeing scum," the—Killian really did think it was a girl he was fighting—spat on the ground. "If you get a chance to get out of here, you sodding well take it!"

"And leave the rest of my crew to face the penalty?" Killian snapped, releasing her wrist and shoving her away from him. She staggered back a few steps and then surged forward, though she kept her hands down this time.

"Who cares, just so you're out? You think anyone here'd care a lick for you if it was them? I wouldn't!"

"Marga, hush," an older girl stepped forward. "He's new. He'll learn. Or he'll die. Doesn't matter; he's not part of your work crew."

Killian looked at Graydon. "I'm confused, mate. From what you lot explained to me, we're all responsible for one another. So why…?"

Graydon shook his head. "The overseers know that if the whole crew suffers when one of us shirks, then the quota will be met. Either we'll work hard enough on our own to make up the shortfall, or we'll pay the shirker back threefold for every whip-stroke on our backs. But that's survival. You get a chance to get out of here, don't worry about us. You save yourself. I would."

"Aye?" Killian raised an eyebrow. "Well, sorry, mate, but that's not the code I follow."

"What's a code?" one of the other boys in his work crew piped up, sounding interested.

Killian smiled. "Well, I suppose you could call it a set of rules I live by. Not rules handed down by that lot there," he jerked his head toward the opening of the chamber. "No, lad, a code is something you live by no matter what anyone else tells you. And one of the tenets of it is that your crew is like your family. You stand with them and they stand with you."

"And if they don't?" Marga demanded.

"Well, it depends on the situation," Killian admitted. "If one deserts one's ship or one's crew in time of battle, then it's death or marooning. If one deserts in peacetime, well, they're not part of the crew and they forfeit any claim on plunder or treasure. And it's doubtful that if they take themselves out of that fellowship, they'd ever be welcomed back. Still… a less severe penalty than otherwise."

"And you think," Marga said skeptically, "that we're your crew. All of us. Not just Graydon and Shom," she jerked her head toward the other boy, "and the others. All of us?"

"Well, we're all in the same boat, when you get down to it, aren't we, lass?" Killian pointed out.

Marga mulled that over for a moment. Then she tilted her head up at his, her expression unreadable. "So, what else is in that code?" she challenged.

Killian smiled. "The first tenet is that every crew member has an equal vote in affairs of moment—"

"What's a 'moment'?" Shom interrupted.

"Well, if you'll control your curiosity for one, I'll explain…"

Belle was being pursued by a flying monkey. She ran for her life, tripping over tree roots and stumbling over rocks, until she suddenly and inexplicably found herself rolling off of a cliff! Frantically, she reached out and managed to catch hold of a rock projecting from the cliff face with one hand, as her foot found purchase on a narrow ledge beneath. She fumbled with her free hand and just managed to press it into a shallow crevice in the rock as the monkey shrieked above.

Terrified, she looked up and sighed with relief to see a familiar face peering down at her. "Anna!" she called. "Anna! I can't pull myself up!"

Red braids swung in the wind above, as a friendly, open face turned sweetly apologetic. "I will, Belle. I will. But I have to warn my sister about Ingrid, first. If I don't the kingdom may be lost. Just hold on a little while longer."

"Wh-what? Anna, I can't! Please!"

"Just hold on a little longer!" Anna yelled back.

"I can't!" The rock was slippery beneath her hands, but she fought to keep her grip nonetheless. And then the ledge beneath her feet suddenly gave way and she plummeted, Anna lending her shrieks to those of the monkey…

…Belle opened her eyes. Dream, she thought. "It was all a dream," she whispered. But then, why was she still hearing shrieks?

"Oh, no…" she said, jumping out of bed and running for the cradle. It wasn't Lyncoln's fault, she told herself, even as she lifted the screaming child out and started rocking her gently in her arms while she paced the length of the cell. If anyone was to blame, it was the Black Fairy for returning Lyncoln to the cell at this hour. But she wasn't sure whether she ought to be glad that Lyncoln had awakened her from her nightmare, or resentful because the infant's shrieks had probably prompted that nightmare in the first place.

"I have to get you out of here," she murmured. "I have to get us both out of here."

But she'd settle for the baby.

Her mouth gaped open. No. Where had that thought come from? That wasn't her. That wasn't a bit like her! "I'm sorry, Lyncoln," she whispered. "I didn't mean it. We're both getting out of here, yes we are. Somehow."

She really was selfish. And self-centered. No matter what she did to improve, the same feelings kept surfacing, right when she least expected them to. The dream about Anna had only served as a reminder: if she hadn't been thinking of herself, she wouldn't have let her friend fall into the Snow Queen's clutches. If she hadn't been caught up in her own hurt feelings, she might have given Rumple a chance to explain himself to her before she banished him. If she hadn't been trying to rationalize her own behavior, she wouldn't have hurt her husband so deeply that she'd nearly lost him for good. And she'd been trying to do better. She had! But if a few nights with a crying baby could bring all her darker thoughts to the fore, then she'd learned nothing. And…

"When my own child is born," Belle murmured, "what kind of mother will I be? What kind of mother can I hope to be if I'm having these thoughts now? Will I fail my child as surely as I failed Anna? And Rumple? As surely as I'm failing you?"

She held Lyncoln in one arm while she swiped at the tears in her eyes with her free hand. With so many failures to her name, why should she think of any future successes? Was there any use in hoping for some? Or any point in trying?

"It will be twilight soon," Rumple said, peering at the sky through the slats of the Venetian blinds over the door. "I'd advise waiting until dawn before we proceed further; Dark magic is strongest at night and I'd prefer not to hand my mother any advantage."

"Earlier," Zelena said, "you told us that time runs strangely here. If the night gives her the advantage, mightn't she hold off the sunrise indefinitely?"

Rumple gave her a sharp look. "Hold it off, perhaps. But tampering with the forces of nature to such a degree requires great magic and all magic comes with a price. If she pours too much of her power into extending the night, she won't have a chance of victory in the Final Battle. Don't expect her make so fundamental an error." He shook his head, walked over to the counter, picked up a dust cloth and began polishing one of the display cases. "She might add hours to the night, but not weeks."

"So we wasted the day trying to rescue the pirate who doesn't want to be rescued and now, we're going to lose the night, too?"

Rumple whirled back to face her with an expression of sheer fury. "You are not the only person missing someone close to you!" he snarled. "Do you truly believe that I would be advising we delay if I weren't positive that anything else would play directly into her hands?"

"Hey," Emma said, coming forward. "Hey, it's oh—"

"NO, IT'S NOT!" he cried, and this time it was Regina, being closer, who stretched out a hand to grip his shoulder.

"Rumple…?"

His face seemed to crumple then. "It's not okay," he managed, as Regina came around to his side of the counter, Emma following. "Not okay," he repeated raggedly.

"I know," Regina whispered. "But we're going to stop her. We're going to get them back."

"All of us," Emma assured him. "Together." She took another breath. "You're not alone. Not this time. We're all in this with you. And we're going to win."

Rumple nodded slowly. "Those trunks," he said, his voice still rough as he pointed to the brass-bound wooden chests lined up against the back wall. "You'll find pillows and blankets in them. We… we'll move out at dawn. For now, we should try to g-get some rest."

He shrugged Regina's hand off of his shoulder and headed into the back office.

The others looked at one another. Finally, David sighed. "You heard him," he said, heading for the trunks. "Come on."

He opened the lid of the closest one and started passing bedding into Emma's, Lily's, Tia's, and Paul's waiting hands. When he lifted his head, he saw Regina, Robin, and Zelena huddled in a tight knot near one of the display cases. Zelena's shoulders were heaving and Regina had her arms wrapped around both her sister and her lover. David watched the three for a moment, before he bent back to the trunk again, lifting out more pillows and blankets, and stacking those on the counter.

Belle looked up as her cell door opened, though she did not pause from rocking the whimpering baby on her shoulder. She felt her face settle into a resigned expression when she saw the Black Fairy in the doorway and the nurse a half-step behind her.

"You're looking positively pale, my dear," the fairy said, and for once, Belle couldn't quite determine whether her captor was mocking her or showing genuine concern. "I think a bit of air might do you good. I won't insult you by asking you to promise not to run away, but I will ask you not to jump."

Belle blinked. "Pardon?"

"There's a lovely view of this realm in all directions from the top of the curtain wall," the fairy explained. "The wind is a bit bracing, I'll admit, but if you've a good head for heights, I think you might enjoy the scenery. Leave the infant with the nurse; you'll return to her anon."

Belle hesitated. After she'd banished Rumple from Storybrooke, her father had tried to convince her that her feelings for him had never been true. That she was suffering from some form of the 'Curse of the Captive Heart' or, to name a non-magical condition that mimicked many of the characteristics, Stockholm syndrome. Her father had been wrong about that; Belle had done her own research and was certain of it. But now, she found herself wondering whether the Black Fairy wasn't hoping to elicit such a reaction.

She got up from the bed and walked toward her captor, but in her mind, she was recalling what she'd learned from her research.

First, the victim experiences something terrifying without any advance preparation—like finding a Dark fairy outside one's window, being shrunk to a fraction of one's size, abducted, and carried off to another realm! Then… 'infantilisation': being brought to a state where, like a child, one can't do the most basic activities, like eat, sleep, or use the privy without permission. That hasn't happened exactly, but there's no question that in this place, I'm utterly dependent on my captor's whims for my food, clothing, companionship… Oh, no!

Belle felt a wave of cold terror wash over her and she wanted to clutch the baby to her, retreat into the farthest corner of the cell—which wasn't nearly far enough—and tell the Black Fairy that her ploy wasn't going to work and to go and leave her alone. But the thought that her captor might actually listen and leave her here was just as frightening. Besides, if the Black Fairy thought that her plan was failing, might Belle not find herself under harsher conditions of imprisonment?

Perhaps, the wisest recourse for now was to play along and not allow the fairy to suspect that Belle had figured out what was going on. Understanding the danger put her in a better position to recognize the traps and sidestep them. And meanwhile, Belle thought to herself, she really could use a bit of fresh air. What was the harm in taking advantage of this small kindness?

Not kindness! Belle reminded herself at once, even as she handed Lyncoln to the nurse. It's calculation, and don't you dare forget it! But the grateful smile she gave her captor as she fell into step behind her wasn't entirely feigned.

In the bathroom off of the shop's back office, Rumple splashed cold water on his face and gripped the edges of the porcelain sink with both hands, as he fought for self-control. When he thought he'd won it, he unlocked the door and went back into the office, tensing up when he realized that he wasn't alone.

"Did you require an extra pillow?" he asked a bit testily.

David shook his head and Rumple realized that he was having a hard time discerning the reason for the expression on the prince's face. The other man's posture was diffident, and he seemed almost embarrassed. Rumple eyed him searchingly for a moment. "Well then," he said, still a bit snippy, "what can I do for you?"

David tilted his head to one side quizzically. "Are we… good?" he asked.

Rumple blinked. Then he picked up the pieces of a broken knickknack from a nearby counter—really, this shop mimicked the one back in Storybrooke a little too well—and made a show of examining them carefully before setting them back down and reaching for the bottle of superglue. "I imagine you are," he said mildly.

"Not what I meant," the prince replied. "And… maybe I'm not as sure of that as you seem to be."

The top of the glue bottle tapered to a point topped with a tiny red cap. Rumple flicked it a bit harder than he should have and it flew off, bounced once on the counter, and fell to the floor. Rumple huffed, as he bent down to look for it. He rose again a moment later, holding the cap between thumb and index finger. "Well, what are you saying, then, dearie?" he asked, setting the cap back down on the counter beside the bottle and trying to tamp down his curiosity.

"What you wanted Zelena to tell Killian," David said awkwardly, coming around the worktable and stopping a few feet away from where Rumple was standing. "Uh… I guess, message received."

Rumple snorted. "Well, that's hardly a revelation. We already have the good captain's acknowledgment on record." He put a thin layer of glue on the broken edge of one fragment and brought it carefully to the main body of the piece.

"The message wasn't just meant for him, though," David said quietly, drawing a few steps closer. "Was it?"

Rumple winced. "It's no easy thing to find oneself a captive and separated from certain fundamental… resources that might have been taken for granted. I thought a bit of reassurance wouldn't go amiss." He forced himself to smile. "Even if the witch was right about our intent being clear, when one is in such circumstances, such obviousness can be missed." He bit back another groan as his hand sent the cap skittering to the floor again.

"Here," David rested a hand on his arm, as he stooped down, "I'll get that." He spread his hands wide, as he groped on the ground for an object that, though tiny, really should have stood out better on the wooden floor. "I think we didn't take that into consideration on an earlier occasion," David admitted. "And we should have."

Rumple shook his head. "You had other things on your mind. And I had someone else in mine. Under the circumstances…"

"We still should have said something," David said firmly. "I… Look, I know we've had our run-ins in the past, but for crying out loud, the last time we'd seen you before then was when you saved the town. It wouldn't have killed us to…" His voice trailed off. "I think we've spent too much time watching and waiting to see if you could change and not enough time considering that maybe you were never the only one who had to. I'm sorry for that and," his lips quirked in a half-smile, "while I'd like to say that we'll do better next time, I don't think either of us want there to be a 'next time'."

Rumple smiled back and ducked his head in acknowledgment. "Well. If there's one thing I have learned over the years, it's that one doesn't necessarily get what one wants." He paused for a beat. "Not even if one is a hero; far less likely if one is not." He shook his head. "Had you asked me at the time, I would have told you that my intention was solely to bolster the captain's spirit, but perhaps," he added thoughtfully, "I said more than I'd realised. No, your highness, I had no intention to take any of you to task, not over that."

David's smile, already widening, froze. "Not over that," he repeated. "But something else?" And when Rumple hesitated, he added, "Listen, if there's something you want to say, just… say it. I'm trying to clear the air here."

Rumple shook his head again. "I don't see the point in rehashing our past now. Particularly, as it was a long time ago."

"But it's on your mind," David prompted, and for once, he didn't sound as though he were impatient. Nor as though he was asking for form's sake and disinterested in the answer. And, well, maybe after all these years, Rumple allowed, it wasn't really important, but the question still bothered him at times.

Rumple took another breath and decided that if the prince was truly that interested, then it was only polite to oblige. "If the truth must be told, I suppose I deserved much of it," he admitted. "Still," he went on, trying to make it sound as though he was half-joking, "when it was your hospitality that I enjoyed, I must confess, I found the amenities to be somewhat lacking." He shrugged. "I wouldn't have expected more from the witch, but I did think that, as heroes, you might have been a bit more… enlightened." That was the crux of it: not the confinement itself, but the harshness of it. He probably wouldn't have broached the subject, except that he really had expected better of such self-proclaimed heroes.

David was frowning now. "After you threatened Cinderella's chi—"

Rumple waved his hand, cutting off the prince and feeling like he was back on familiar ground again. "Oh, I knew you'd need to take steps. I wanted you to. I needed you to know how the Dark Curse could be broken and," he hesitated for a moment, "and," he said more softly, "if you've read Henry's book, then you know that the reason I wanted that curse cast in the first place was so that I could follow Bae. I had the chance once, but when the moment came to choose love over power, I… froze. I couldn't risk that happening again. I needed to be trapped, imprisoned, so that even if I wanted to prevent Regina from casting the curse, I wouldn't be able to. I couldn't craft my own prison, not without creating a way out. And had I asked you to lock me away, I'm fairly certain you would have assumed some trickery on my part, some trickery other than that which I'm currently confessing to, I mean," he added, unable to avoid a slight chortle when David nodded reluctantly.

"All right," David said. "I take your point. So…?"

Rumple hesitated. "I'm not sure that this is actually a complaint," he admitted. "As I said, it's water under the bridge by now, anyway."

"But it's on your mind," David said again. He smiled as his hand came down on something that wasn't just the floor. "Here," he said, putting the cap back on the counter.

"Thank you," Rumple said with a sincere smile. "I suppose it's just that I thought you lot might behave a bit… better. I wasn't expecting my confinement to be comfortable; it was a punishment, after all. But still, to shut me away for months with nothing to occupy my time? I'm immortal. I rarely sleep. Really, when you came to visit me, I was literally climbing the walls. And as far as the food…"

David thought he could tell the difference between a true grievance, a plea for help, and a good vent. And from Rumple's tone, until now, he would have sworn that it was the last. He'd said he wanted to clear the air and Rumple—he'd thought—was obliging him. "Yeah," he grinned, "afraid the royal chef wasn't sending any gourmet feasts your way." He stopped. Rumple wasn't smiling anymore. "What?"

Rumple sighed. "So, you didn't know, then," he said softly. "I'd wondered."

"Know what?"

"Tell me, your highness," Rumple said quietly, "was I your only prisoner during those months?"

"No," David said, frowning a bit as he thought back. "A lot of Regina's troops came over to our cause after the battle, but there were a few who would have tried to reinstate her. Some of King George's too. And I think we might have had a couple of common criminals who were apprehended on the road; we held them until we could either adjudicate their case or ship them back to their homes and let their own councils handle it."

"And did you bother yourself to discover the fare on which those incarcerated subsisted?" He smiled diffidently. "If you gave no specific orders for my treatment, I find myself wondering whether these others would have received the same sort of rations."

David blinked. "You know, I'm not sure I ever thought about it. The chief jailor had been in his position for decades. When we took back the kingdom, he was one of the first to swear loyalty and Snow greeted him like an old friend; I mean, he was. Snow told him to carry on and just keep handling things the way he had when her father was on the throne. I assumed that meant pretty basic menus, but…" He frowned. "Why? What sort of… 'fare' did you subsist on?"

Rumple told him.

Snow couldn't quite suppress a shudder as the heat blasted her. This place held too many memories and they weren't pleasant. She still kept a night light in the wicker table beside her bed, even though her night terrors had ended with the Dark Curse and hadn't returned at its breaking. She wasn't taking chances.

"Nothing here will hurt you," Maleficent said beside her, not unkindly.

"I know," Snow replied. She frowned. "Are we still… separate? Or did Tony…?"

Maleficent sniffed. "Well, we're scarcely a hive-mind. But we're not actually talking to one another right now; we're thinking at one another. Pay attention. You keep an eye out for your husband. I'll watch for my daughter."

Snow nodded, or thought she did. "How big is this place?" she asked. "I never wanted to explore it before. I mean, I don't want to explore it now," she said quickly, "but I will if we have to find them. Only—" She felt a wave of irritation wash over her. "Sorry."

The look Maleficent turned on her was cool and more than a little supercilious. "I suppose it's too much to expect you to cease to prattle in your thoughts, but it shouldn't be too much to expect you to try." She sighed. "The room is as large as it needs to be. And right now, we are its sole occupants. Not many people awaken from a sleeping curse, after all. And those who are still under the original affect are lodged elsewhere. No, this place is meant for transients, those who were fortunate enough to awaken but have not yet broken free of the last threads of the enchantment that once ensnared them." She smiled. "As well as those who have broken free, but have chosen to return here willingly. There aren't many of those."

"You don't expect David to be here at all, do you?"

"Expect?" Maleficent shook her head. "No. But believe it or not, Princess, you don't own the monopoly on hope. You and your husband share one heart, if not one mind. He'll recall most—if not all—of what you tell him, no matter how involved your accounting is. Lily," her expression saddened, "well, we haven't yet achieved anything approximating so close a bond. In time, perhaps," she said, and though she tried to sound flippant, Snow wasn't fooled.

"Not 'perhaps'," she said firmly. "It's going to take time. And patience," she added. "And love. But it will happen. I know it."

Maleficent still looked troubled. "I pray you're right," she said finally. Then her head jerked up sharply and she strode forward at a pace that had Snow hurrying to keep up, as she drew closer to a figure barely visible amid jets of orange flame.

" LILY!"

By the time Rumple had finished, David was shaking his head. "I can't believe…" Then, quickly, "not that I doubt your word, but I had no idea. Neither of us did. When Snow told the guards to—"

Rumple sighed. "It might be helpful to recall that while King Leopold was a good man, he was not always the most aware of individuals. He wanted his daughter to be happy with a new mother and he found a woman he thought suitable. It never occurred to him to ask his new wife whether she was happy, nor what might make her so. He simply assumed that her becoming his queen would fulfill her every need." He snorted. "I mean, why wouldn't it?"

David could scarcely miss the thick irony in his tone. "Are you saying…?"

"I'm saying that Snow White knew her father for a good man, and so he was. Overall," Rumple added. "But that doesn't mean he concerned himself with the living conditions of those few souls who resided in his dungeons. He might not have ordered such… deprivations. In fact, he might have simply instructed his jailors to follow the same protocols that his own father—also, doubtless, a good man—had authorized."

He gave the prince a penetrating look. "After all, heroes though you may be, even you and your wife have committed a few acts that failed to live up to the virtuous standards you so espouse. And villain though I've been, I think I may have done some good in my life. Even by those same virtuous standards."

David nodded. "I'm not ready to say we shouldn't have locked you up. Especially," he added wryly, "since it sounds like that part of it was doing you a favor. But we should have looked into your living conditions. And now, I'm wondering about the other prisoners you mentioned, too." He shook his head. "I'm not going to make excuses for the past, but I'd like to do better in the future. I'll try to," he added, extending his hand.

After a stunned moment, Rumple took it.

"So," David smiled hopefully, "we're good?"

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "I think it's just possible that we might get there after all," he said thoughtfully.

The curtain that separated the back office from the shop floor swung back abruptly and Lily tumbled in, looking as though she'd been rudely awakened from slumber. "Sorry to interrupt," she said breathlessly, "b-but I think I just had a talk with my mother. Or I dreamed I did. I don't know. I was in a red room and there was smoke and fire and it was hard to hear."

David and Rumple exchanged a startled look. Then David took a step forward. "I think I know that place," he said, sounding bemused. "What did she tell you?"

Lily took another breath. "I don't know if I got it right," she said. "I mean, like I said, it was hard to understand and what I could get made no sense. She said… Henry found out what the Black Fairy's planning?"

Rumple's eyebrows both shot up at once. "Did he?" he said, sounding startled, but not overly surprised. "What has he learned?"

"I couldn't… I-I was already waking up," Lily admitted. "But before I did," she turned to David, "my mother said you should be there next time. She thinks it'll be easier for us to get everything straight if she can talk to us both at once."

David blinked. Then he looked at Rumple. "I can't remember the last time I was in that place," he said heavily. "How am I supposed to get back there now?"

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve

"Well," Maleficent said slowly, "I think she understood. Whether she can get the prince to return with her is another matter."

Snow nodded. "I wish it hadn't been so noisy," she said. "Come to think of it, it was last time, too. But I was still able to talk to David," she added, deliberately omitting the part where he hadn't been able to wake up to tell the others he'd gotten through to her until she'd returned home from the Enchanted Forest and kissed him. "There's every reason to hope that your message got through, too."

"Every reason?" Maleficent repeated archly. "A sleeping curse is meant to be a torment, not some tavern table where one sits down to share a meal and discuss business! While I'm glad we were able to connect with Lily, there's no guarantee that we'll be able to do more than that, not even if your husband is able to be present next time."

"But you sounded so certain earlier," Snow protested.

"And I will again later," the dragon retorted. Then a bit less belligerently, "Remember, that we are reaching out via magic and magic is predicated on belief. At the moment that I enter that other realm, I need to banish every shred of doubt and uncertainty, because if I believe for one moment that the spell could fail, then I assure you that it will. However, since we aren't attempting to make contact at this moment, you'll pardon me if I note the dauntingness of the task we're attempting."

Snow considered that for a moment. Then, tentatively, she asked, "Do we have any better options?"

"Unlikely," Maleficent allowed.

Snow sighed. "Then you'll pardon me if I keep hoping for success."

The dragon smiled wryly. "Actually, I think I was counting on that," she admitted.

Rumple regarded the prince thoughtfully for a moment. Then he opened a tall wooden cabinet and extracted an earthenware pot. Removing the lid, he reached inside and withdrew a number of ridged, gray, spheroid bulbs, some with a disc of dried petals—that reminded David a bit of a flattened cocktail umbrella—gracing one tip.

"What are those?" the prince asked, taking a step forward.

"While magic is frequently a solution to a problem," Rumple replied, "it would be short-sighted to think of it as the solution, at least insofar as our dilemma is concerned." He smiled. "Dried poppies. When ground to powder and mixed with a few other ingredients I should have about, they create a sleeping powder strong enough to circumvent the walls your mind has constructed to keep you from travelling to the realm where once before you sought contact with your wife."

"You don't have to remind me," David nodded. Then his eyebrows knit together in a worried frown. "There's no chance of that… place… holding onto me, right? What I mean is, I know this isn't a sleeping curse you're putting me under, but is there any chance that I'll go in too deep and not be able to get back? Because if there is, Snow and I established last time that even if our… dream-selves kiss, it won't wake up our physical bodies."

"Leave that to me," a new voice spoke up from the doorway.

Rumple looked up and smiled, as David turned his head automatically in that direction. "I must say, savior," Rumple said, "you're developing quite the knack for timing."

Emma grinned back. Then she advanced on her father, glowering with mock rage. "After all this time, do you really think Mom's the only one around who loves you?"

Belle welcomed the breeze blowing through her garments. The air atop the curtain wall had been heavy and stifling, making Belle feel as though she was back in the sauna at the Three Bears Day Spa. Now, she felt almost refreshed.

"Here," the Black Fairy handed her a tall, frosted glass. "Mustn't get dehydrated; you have to drink for two, now."

Belle could feel her face growing hotter than the day warranted, but her captor had a point; she couldn't risk her baby's health. She forced her most polite social smile onto her face and accepted the drink with a show of gratitude.

"By the way," the fairy said conversationally, "I've learned which of my son's comrades-in-arms was taken earlier. Since you seemed curious."

Belle's eyes widened. "Who?" she asked, remembering too late that she ought to be keeping her emotions in check. Still, the thought of Emma or Astrid or David or, well, whoever Rumple might have brought with him languishing in some cell—probably with far fewer amenities than she'd been granted—filled her with dread. Astrid had told her how constrained she'd felt while trapped in the Sorcerer's Hat; a dungeon cell wouldn't be much better.

The Black Fairy's eyes were almost kind as she gently replied, "I was told his name was Killian."

"Oh," Belle murmured, almost embarrassed at the wave of relief that washed over her. Killian could probably handle himself. And…

"Well. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were almost happy about it."

"No!" Belle exclaimed at once. "No, of course not! I don't like thinking of anyone being…"

"But it's less painful thinking of him in captivity?" the fairy suggested. She shook her head, but she was smiling sympathetically. "Oh, Belle, we can control our actions, but not our thoughts or feelings. There's no reason to be ashamed if you're less pained than you believe you ought to be." She shook her head. "And here I thought I was helping you. I'm sorry, dear. I didn't want to cause you such distress."

Belle shook her head. "It…it's fine," she said heavily. "I mean, he did try to kill me. Twice," she added after a pause. "But I mean, that wasn't recent."

The fairy nodded. "So. He threatened both you and my son, then," she murmured. "Perhaps, those who took him did you a favor."

"Oh, but that was also a long time ago," Belle protested. "A-and they've become friends since then."

"Ah," the fairy nodded once more. "Well, I suppose that's good, isn't it?" She gave Belle a sidelong glance. "Unless you feel as though Rumple ought to maintain more of a distance, in light of your history with the pirate. I mean, nobody could fault you for feeling a bit resentful that my son seems to be disregarding a slight to his True Love."

"No, not at all!" Belle said, a bit too quickly. "I've never thought anything like that! Never!" At least, not consciously, she realized. But her captor's words had struck a chord deep inside that resonated with a truth Belle had never admitted to herself. Until now. Where was Rumple's loyalty in all this?

"Of course not," the Black Fairy reassured her, touching her shoulder in a friendly fashion. "Dear," she said in an even kindlier tone, "you're really not used to this heat, are you? I'm sorry; I think I've kept you up here long enough for today, you're positively sweltering. Come back inside. We can walk here again tomorrow, if you like."

"Could we?" Belle asked, almost shocked by the eagerness in her request. "Please?"

"Well, as long as you're well-rested. And you ought to drink something beforehand; I'll arrange that," the fairy said thoughtfully. Without warning, she pressed the palm of her hand to Belle's flat belly. Belle stiffened and opened her mouth to protest, but her captor had already withdrawn her hand as she beamed, "…And he's doing just fine! Oh, it's early days yet, but so far, everything's as it ought to be."

"Is it?" Belle asked automatically. "You can tell?"

"I am a fairy, my dear," the Black Fairy reminded her. "I know these things. Fear not. I'll do everything in my power to ensure you're delivered of a strong, healthy child." She rested her hand lightly on Belle's abdomen again, and while Belle tensed once more, she endured the contact with an uneasy smile.

Good, the Black Fairy thought. She doesn't trust me, but her defiance is crumbling fast. A few more sessions like this one and when the time comes, she should be up to the task.

"You know, Belle," she said, removing her hand once more and resting it this time on the nervous woman's shoulder, "I do have a name as well as a title. Fiona," she added brightly. "Since we are family, after all, I'd be honored if you were to use it."

"Fiona," Belle repeated dutifully.

"Come along, Dear. I'll have a cool drink awaiting you in your quarters. And you must let me know if there's anything else you're lacking…"

"I really don't like this," Snow said. "The last time Henry went into that netherworld, he came back with second-degree burns!"

Henry rolled his eyes. "Grandma," he protested, "first of all, I was eleven! Second, they healed."

"Thanks to Regina," Snow pointed out. "Who is not here to do it again."

"Please," Maleficent said in a tone sharp enough to slice through the argument before it could fully develop. "Should it become necessary, I can work a healing spell, too. But time grows short. We may only have one opportunity to get a message through. And since Henry knows the Black Fairy's plan best, he must be the one to deliver it."

Snow shook her head. "Surely, he can tell us and we can relay the message."

"The act of writing helps to ensure that a message is retained," the Apprentice spoke up. "All the more so when one is an author. When one is the Author, the quill becomes an extension of themselves. Any of the rest of you might be able, in the short time available, to commit portions of young Henry's pages to memory. But dreams are, invariably, a blend of factual and imaginary information. Not one of you will be able to sift through them as well and as thoroughly as Henry will. And it's almost certain that he'll be able to retain most—if not all—of the information he's scribed, even in the Netherworld."

Henry didn't smile. A year ago, he might have shown a measure of excitement. But today, he only nodded. "I can do this, Grandma. It's their best chance. It might be their only chance. And if I get burned, it'll still be worth it. We have to warn them."

Snow bit her lip. "I know," she admitted. "But if anything happens to you—"

"It won't. Nothing permanent will, anyway."

"If it does," Snow repeated, "not only will I not forgive myself, but neither of your mothers will either." She took another breath. And then, with hope in her voice and a solemn expression on her face, she added, "So be careful."

The Black Fairy stepped out of Belle's slumber with a satisfied smirk. The young woman might have the power of True Love on her side, but she was so riddled with fears and insecurities that she didn't recognize her own strength. Before Belle could, Fiona had every confidence that she would be able to subvert her captive's will, bending it to her own.

Still smiling, but now gliding toward her mirror with businesslike purpose, she waved her hand at the glass and her reflection vanished, to be replaced with that of one of her hooded mining heads. "Well?" she demanded. "How fares your newest recruit?"

Her minion lowered his eyes respectfully. "He still has some spirit in him, though that's to be expected. He may be trying to rally some of the others, though."

Fiona absorbed that. "Should we be concerned?"

"He's new-arrived," the mine commander replied with a shrug. "The others have lived long enough to know better. He won't convince them."

"All the same," Fiona said, "he ought not to have the leisure to foment rebellion. Nor the others to listen. I think that the time allotted for meals ought to be halved. And increase the newcomer's quota by five percent. If his work gang tries to ease the burden, increase theirs as well."

"As you command, my lady."

The Black Fairy raised an eyebrow. "But you have doubts."

Her minion swallowed. "It's hardly my place to question your orders; only to carry them out."

Fiona laughed warmly. "Relax, Kadrin; I'm not displeased with your service. Nor your loyalty. Times are fast approaching when I shall need at my disposal every speck of dust that your works crews can mine. Weighed against that imperative, making an example of the youngster would be counter-productive. Best to squeeze as much labor as you can out of him instead." A hint of steel crept into her voice, as she added, "And the same applies to those who would listen to his prattle."

Kadrin nodded at once. "As you command, my lady, so shall it be done."

Zelena regarded Rumple thoughtfully for a moment and when she spoke, it was without her usual smug condescension. "Would fresh be better?" she asked. "Because if I could get back to Oz, I could find some easily enough; they're fairly common there."

Rumple shook his head and held up the wooden mortar, now containing several dried poppy seed heads. "I think that these will suffice for our needs," he remarked. "And I'll remind you once more that time in this realm won't necessarily align with time in any other."

"If it comes to that," Lily said, "are we sure that this is going to work? I mean, what if it's ten years later back there and they gave up on getting through to us?"

"It is a risk," Rumple admitted heavily. "It would be short-sighted to pretend otherwise. But if there's nobody waiting to talk to you in that netherworld, well, you'll awaken of your own accord ere long and at least we'll be no worse off. And if necessary," Rumple held up a small drawstring bag and loosened its ties, "this fragrance would likely awaken a dead stick. Should the poppy dust prove more effective than planned, I've no doubt it will break through any non-magical slumber."

Lily squinted. Then, curiously she lowered her head toward the pouch. Her nose was more than six inches away when she recoiled, clapping a hand to her mouth. "Gah!" she groaned. "That's vile! What the hell is that?"

"Amophophallus titanum," Rumple replied with a smirk. "Also known as corpse flower. Sadly, subjecting it to a preservation spell seems to have an adverse effect: in its natural habitat, its scent has been known to carry for up to half a mile."

Lily tilted her head. "You're using a different definition of 'sadly' from any one I know," she deadpanned. "But if it gets me out of that room with the fire jets, you won't catch me complaining. Let's do this."

"As you like," Rumple nodded. His expression turned thoughtful. "Since you've recently awakened, you might find it difficult to fall back to sleep now. I think I had best dose you both."

David nodded. He walked over to one of the sleeping bags and sat down on it, positioning himself so that, should he fall backwards, his head would land on the pillow. After a moment, Lily moved another sleeping bag beside his and followed suit.

"Okay," David said. "We're ready. Fire away."

Rumple did. And after a moment of coughing, both torsos fell back, heads landing hard enough on the pillows that Rumple wondered whether he oughtn't to ready some aspirin against the subsequent awakening.

Interlude

Tia had always been able to communicate with animals. She couldn't control them, but she could make her desires understood. Often, the animals in question were so elated to be in contact with someone who understood them that they were more than happy to oblige. And Tia was always careful not to send them into danger without explaining to them exactly what she was asking.

So, when she'd asked the little snake to seek out the captain in a room full of captives, she'd been sure to point out that it might be difficult to find him, and that the adder's appearance might trigger loud cries, and possibly, attempts to crush it. The snake had still been willing, trusting to her speed and her venom to protect herself. She had even found it amusing to slither about the ground in the pattern that Tia had projected into her brain.

And when the task was done and Tia had thanked her and ended the telepathic link, that should have been the end of it. And would have been, had Tia only inserted her own consciousness into the snakes…

…And not thrust out someone else's consciousness in the process.

There were many reptiles and rodents in the mines and some of them had never been anything else. But others—including the little death adder—had once been workers, much like the child she'd sought out at Tia's behest. Once, long ago, a young girl-child had committed some offense, what she no longer recalled. Perhaps, there had been no offense; just the whim of an overseer to make an example of someone. However it was, the slave had found herself on the wrong end of a pinch of Dark fairy dust. Girl had become serpent and given a new charge: to guard the caverns and attack any worker fool enough to flee. Until today, the Black Fairy's will had been the snake's own. The creature had retained no memory of who she'd been or how she'd come to this state. Had anyone been able to ask her, she would have replied that she'd always been this way… at least, for ages and ages… and no, she couldn't remember a life before the one she now lived. And because the creature had no memory of ever having been something other than a snake, because after so long in her current form her thoughts and feelings had become snakelike in all respects, even Tia's power hadn't told her differently. For all intents and purposes, the fact that the little serpent had once, ever so long ago, been human hadn't had any relevance for ages...

Not until today.

Not until Tia's presence in her mind had blotted out the memories that the Dark fairy dust had cursed her with.

And while the serpent—perhaps a more uncommon death adder than her appearance suggested—still didn't know who she was, she did know her enemy. And though she didn't have the words to articulate it, she could tell that while many served that enemy out of terror, there were those who did so out of malice. Those who enjoyed the pain they inflicted and were all too eager to find a reason to inflict more.

The little serpent knew something about suffering herself. And while the pain she might inflict would be fleeting, its impact would last.

The death adder slithered her way through the tunnels in search of new prey.

The place hadn't changed much since the last time David had been there. Visually, it was exactly what he might have expected to find, had he ever had reason to charge into a burning building: smoky, and eerily dark, except for where bright orange flames licked at walls and sprouted from between floorboards. It was hot and dry and the prince could feel his lips crack and bleed. The very air seemed to crackle and sputter about him. Strangely, though, there was no smell of smoke in the air and while he perspired in the heat, he had no difficulty in breathing.

He looked beside him at Lily and noted that she seemed to bear the environment far better than he did. Still she gripped the sleeve of his jacket fiercely in one hand and despite the determined set of her jaw, he read trepidation in her eyes. "How are you holding up?" he asked, just as a tower of flame spurted from the floor not two feet in front of them. Lily flung up a hand to shield her eyes as she quickly stepped back.

"Just dandy!" she snapped. Then she blinked. "It's… it's not hot," she said. "Hotter, I mean."

David blinked. "It feels plenty hot to me," he replied.

"It does? Wait." Her expression hardened and she took a quick step forward. Then, before David could cry out, she thrust her hand deliberately into a column of flame. She held it there for nearly a full minute. Then, grinning, she drew it back. The skin was unmarked. Not only were there no blisters or burns; it wasn't even the slightest bit red. "Well, whaddaya know?" she breathed. "It looks like being a dragon has a few perks."

David smiled back. Then he tilted his head, frowning a bit. "Listen. You hear that?"

"Lily? David? Are you here? Lily? David?"

Lily nodded. "Kind of hard not to."

"Come on." He motioned for her to follow, but she was already on his heels, as they headed for the voice.

"Snow!"

His wife was standing behind a fiery curtain, Maleficent regal beside her and Henry between them.

"Grandpa!" Henry exclaimed.

"David! Lily!" Snow beamed at them both and started forward. The flames rose higher and she groaned.

"Snow!" David cried. "Henry!"

"Mom!"

Snow took a deep breath. "Henry saw something." She patted her grandson's shoulder and nudged him slightly forward. "He… he's the Author, now."

"The Author?" David repeated blankly. "You mean… the guy Regina was looking for? Isn't Henry a little too young?"

"He's the new Author," Snow said quickly. "Regina was looking for the old one. It's a long story and I'll explain later. But for now, you need to know that Henry's able to… know things about what's going on. About what you're facing."

"Our story," David said, comprehension dawning in his eyes.

"Wait, so he's getting the whole picture?" Lily interjected. "Not just what we're up to, but what the Black Fairy is, too?"

Henry nodded excitedly.

"Well," Maleficent sniffed, I don't know whether it's the whole picture, but he's seen more pieces of it than you probably have. He'll tell you the rest as succinctly as he can." She nodded to Snow. "We're here only because I'm told he ran into some difficulties on his last visit here alone…"

"You don't have to explain that part," David nodded back. "I saw those burns. But…" he looked directly at Henry.

"Henry, if you know something that might help us…"

Henry smiled. And then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two folded sheets of paper. He tried to hand them through the flames, but when David reached for them, his fingers passed through them as though they were no more than an illusion.

"We were afraid of that," Snow groaned. "Just like we couldn't touch last time, it looks like you can't touch anything we bring with us either."

Henry, however, was already smoothing out the pages. "It's okay," he said. "It just means I'll have to read it to you and hope nobody wakes up in the middle."

"No fear of that," Maleficent retorted. "I perfected the sleeping curse; I learned something of this world in the process. I can keep us all here long enough…"

Despite Maleficent's assurances, the strain was beginning to show by the time she was satisfied that her daughter and the prince had committed the information on Henry's pages to memory.

"Stop gazing soulfully at each other," she snapped, giving Snow a bit of a shake and David a glower. "They need to wake up and we need to leave. Unless you want to awaken with burns to rival those your grandson brought back last time."

Snow blinked. "I never had those before."

"I'll warrant you've never been here this long before either. The less this feels like a dream, the more your mind accepts it as reality, the greater the likelihood of your sustaining an injury here that you'll retain on waking. A child's sense of reality versus fantasy is generally more fluid, so they tend to be more susceptible, but given sufficient time, anyone can get caught up in their dreams here."

Snow nodded. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

"Just for a little while," David smiled, but there was a catch in his voice. "Much as I'd love to do this again, if it's as dangerous as Maleficent says…"

"I know."

"Mom?" Lily interjected. "The fire doesn't seem to affect me. At least… well, it feels warmer, but not as hot as it should. Is that…"

"You're a dragon," Maleficent nodded. "Fire is your element. You aren't precisely impervious, but you can withstand levels of exposure greater than their kind," she jerked her head toward Snow and David.

"So, we could talk again?"

"Perhaps. But you do realize that time's ebbs and flows do not necessarily synchronize between Storybrooke and the Dark Realm. It's quite likely that if we should speak again, it would be to find that hours had passed in one realm and years in the other."

"We've been here about a day," Lily said. "Give or take."

"It's been nearly twice that long in Storybrooke," Maleficent replied. "But we can't expect that ratio to hold. I don't have a great deal of information about the Dark Realm but one thing that I do know is that the normal rules of time don't apply."

"Yeah," Lily nodded. "We knew that going in."

"Yes, but if you're talking about repeated contact, I have to wonder whether you fully understand the ramifications. We can't count on communicating again," she said. "We can't know how the times will align if we make another attempt even a moment from now. We need to proceed as though this contact is the only one we'll have. Do you understand?"

Lily nodded again. "Yeah." She took another breath. "Mom?" And then, before she could second-guess herself, she flung herself forward and, heedless of the flames that popped and crackled about her, wrapped her arms about Maleficent in a fierce embrace. For the briefest instance, she felt her mother tense and she wondered whether she hadn't made a mistake after all. Then Maleficent hugged her back fiercely.

"You will succeed," Maleficent assured her. And then, a bit more coolly, "After all, you are my daughter."

"Damned right." She shook her head and looked over to Snow and David, who were trying to reach out to one another, but glowering in frustration jets of flame that shot up from the ground, forcing them apart, even as Henry seemed to be trying to find gaps in the fire that might allow the two to touch. "Crud. I think we'd better wake up before this gets any angstier."

Maleficent smiled. "I believe you're right." Still, she kept a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You're certain you'll remember."

Lily nodded. "Every word."

"I wish I could be there with you, you know."

"You're here with me now. That's enough." She shook her head. "I mean, it's not, but it is. For now. I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"There's always some nonsense in any dream," Maleficent informed her with a gentle smile. "But now, it's time for you, for all of us, to wake…"

"…up."

Lily's eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright in her sleeping bag. She looked around to see the others clustered close by, regarding her and David expectantly. She caught the prince's eye and, at his quick nod, took a deep breath. "It worked," she said, nearly whispering. "It worked."

It took a little longer than it should have for Lily and David to give over Henry's information; at times, they both spoke over each other or interrupted one another, but once Regina stepped in to coordinate, things went more smoothly.

Emma couldn't help noticing that Rumple grew visibly paler nearly with each sentence. When Lily started to explain what it would mean if Belle crushed his heart, though, he staggered backwards, nearly doubling over, as he clutched at his chest with a low cry. "Gold!" she exclaimed, starting forward. "What is it? She didn't just…?" It suddenly occurred to her that they didn't know exactly what would happen to Rumple if the half-heart that wasn't currently residing where it was supposed to were crushed. They'd assumed that as long as he had one functioning half, he'd be fine, but they didn't actually know.

Rumple shook his head. "Not yet," he managed. "Not yet. But one way or another…"

"What?"

Rumple closed his eyes. "If Belle does become the Dark One, there will be a brief window when she'll be vulnerable. Before the power truly takes hold, you'll have to strike, Savior. We may not be able to stop my mother from casting the Dark Curse, but if we're to have our best…" He stopped. "No," he said so steadily that Emma wasn't sure that she actually saw tears struggling to break free of his closed eyelids. "If we're to have any chance of defeating her, she cannot have the Dark One at her side. You'll…" He stopped and took another breath.

"I-I know what I'm asking of you," he said heavily. "And if it were anyone else she was grooming, I'd spare you and take the task on myself. B-but I love her. And that love will prove our greatest liability."

"Gold," Emma said urgently. "Please tell me you're not asking me to—"

"If Belle becomes the Dark One," Rumple said, his voice turning ragged as he fought for control, "then the woman I love will truly be dust. But though my head might believe it, my heart—the remnant that remains to me—might balk. But you… You do the right thing. Always. No matter how hard it might be. You are the Savior. And if my mother succeeds in raising a new Dark One, then…" he buried his face in his hands and for a moment, he couldn't continue. But even through his muffled sobs, his words were clear enough to understand.

"…It will fall to you to destroy her."

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen

Emma shook her head. "We've been over this before," she reminded him. "It's still not going to happen."

"Emma—"

"Look. We knew going in that there was a possibility the Black Fairy was going to try to… to turn Belle. You told me before that this final battle is going to be me versus the Dark One to the death. The only thing that's changed is that it sounds like your mother has decided Belle's her first choice for that part. It doesn't matter. I'm not going to kill her and that's final.

"Then our cause is lost before the first salvo's fired."

"I don't understand," David said with an angry frown. "She's your wife. I know how you feel about her. We all do; it's the one thing I don't think anyone's doubted since you two found each other after the First Curse broke. How can you even contemplate—?"

Rumple lifted his head from his hands and whirled on the prince furiously. "Do you think I'd say it if there were any alternative?" He demanded. "Do you imagine I haven't evaluated other options? My mind can run through ten possible plans in the space it might take you to come up with one. And every single one of them is doomed to failure except…" His voice faltered again. "…Except…"

"Nobody's killing Belle," Regina said firmly. "We'll find another way."

"I told you—"

"You told us that you couldn't come up with one. Or that you hadn't come up with one yet, anyway—which isn't the same thing. But it's not just you alone against the world anymore." A sagacious smile lit her face. "You're standing shoulder to shoulder with three of the most formidable practitioners of magic currently living. Even if we can't match the power of your mother and a new Dark One combined—and I think that's debatable—we can damned well give them a run for their money."

"And in the end, it will still come down to the Savior and the Dark One."

"Not if we get to your mother first."

"Even if we can't," Emma broke in thoughtfully, "I think you're overlooking something important."

"And what would that be?" Rumple demanded. But despite the asperity in his voice, there was the faintest gleam of hope in his eyes.

Emma's smile widened. "That even when you were the Dark One, Belle was able to get through to you. Her love… What was it you said to her when she was in the hospital and you thought you were dying? That she made you want to… to go back to the best version of you? Gold, she never even met that guy and she knew he was under there before the rest of us saw it. But that part of her? You've known it all along. And if she could tap into that part of you and pull you back from the guy you'd been for… What? Two hundred years?" she cocked her head questioningly and when he nodded, she rested a tentative hand on his shoulder. Still smiling, she went on, "Even if time here is crazy, I don't think you're going to have to reach through quite that much of it to bring her back to who she used to be. And hopefully still is," she added quickly.

Her expression turned serious. "Besides, killing her would probably just make me the Dark One anyway, so how does that help?"

"That would only be a concern if you either crushed her heart or used the dagger," Rumple said, sounding a bit dazed. "Hence the need to strike before she comes into her full power. While she remains, at least, somewhat vulnerable to other methods." He hesitated. "Or perhaps, hence my perception of such a need." He brought his hand up to his shoulder to cover Emma's. "I… Rationally speaking, it still gives us the best odds. But I take your point that there's more in play here than pure reason. I-I hope you're right. And that it will be enough."

"It will be," Regina said resting her hand on his other shoulder. "It will be."

Rumple couldn't quite bring himself to smile, but he nodded as he felt the faintest glimmer of hope begin to melt the icy grip of the fear that had seized him with Lily's and David's revelations.

Breakfast in the mine was a far less orderly affair than dinner had been. There was a ragged line of children queuing for something thick and pasty-colored that Killian guessed was probably some sort of gruel, or perhaps a pottage. However, he found himself yanked unceremoniously out of said line by a husky boy a head taller and a hands-breadth broader than he. "Back of the line, mouldywarp!" the boy snarled. "Food's for those who earn it!"

Killian's hands clenched into fists and he lunged for the older boy, but a steely hand closed around his forearm. "Back of the line, brat," the overseer ordered. "And the next time you cut ahead of the others, you won't be in line at all!"

"I didn't—!" Killian snapped, roiling at the unfairness of the accusation.

The overseer pulled him closer. Then he simultaneously released his grip while delivering a stinging box to Killian's ear with his other hand. Killian went sprawling. "End of the line if you want to eat," the overseer said, towering over him. "Cause any more trouble and you'll feel the claw of the cat," his hand flicked meaningfully to the coiled whip at his side.

Killian picked himself up, rubbing gingerly at his ear. He picked his way miserably to the end of the line. None of the other children so much as glanced at him as he did so, not even the thick-necked brute who had taken his old place.

"Uh…" Lily twisted her hands together nervously, as she approached. "Uh… sorry if this is a stupid question, but…"

Rumple looked up and shook his head. "Not a good time, dearie."

Lily nodded. "Okay. Sorry." She turned to go back to the others, but then pivoted sharply. "No. Wait. If I'm right, look, c-could you just hear me out?"

Almost unconsciously, Emma leaned in a bit closer to Rumple. "Is there any way this can wait?" she asked.

"I don't know," Lily admitted. "I'm still feeling my way around all of this. I mean… magic, being a dragon, going into another world when I sleep…" She took another breath. "And that's what got me thinking. If the netherworld David and I were just in is a place we visit in our dreams… does it connect to other dream worlds? I mean, is there any way that we could use it to get into whatever dream-world the Black Fairy's got Belle in?"

Rumple's eyes widened. "I must admit that that's one possibility that didn't occur to me," he said, sitting up a bit straighter. "It's not very likely," he added. "There are a number of realms that can be reached while dreaming and, so far as I know, they are not in any way connected." He paused and then repeated slowly, "So far as I know…"

"When you put me under the sleeping curse," David had approached unnoticed, "that first time, I wasn't in that red room; it was more like a mirror maze."

"Been there, done that, got the souvenir key chain," Lily remarked wryly.

David gave her a quick smile of acknowledgment. "I had to break out of that place to get to where I could reach Snow. As you'd told me," he added, nodding toward Rumple. "Maybe, we could—"

"No," Rumple said quickly. "No. Breaking into a room is far safer than breaking into a mind. Particularly if my mother is already ensconced there." He took another breath. "We may be able to reach into Belle's dream. It's an avenue worth exploring. However, we can't go lumbering about like trolls in a flower bed."

"Maybe…" a diffident voice spoke up hesitantly from the sleeping bag behind the map carousel. "Maybe," Tia repeated when they turned to look at her, "I could help."

There was no food left in the pot when Killian's turn finally arrived. The overseer holding the ladle merely shrugged. "You'll have to make quota without it. Be faster next time."

"I was," Killian snapped. "But someone—"

"If you've strength to argue, we can raise your quota." The overseer brandished the ladle as though it was a club and Killian took a prudent step backwards. "Now get to your work crew."

Smarting from the unfairness of it all, and remembering that hand-to-hand combat skills could only get him so far without the heft and height to bolster them, he complied, mentally running through every expletive and malediction he'd ever come across in his travels—and he'd traveled extensively.

The tough who'd cost him his place in line swaggered past, ramming an elbow into Killian's chest as he did. Killian was about to retaliate, when he noticed one of the overseers watching, one hand almost absently moving to the whip at his side. Clearly, fairness was not the order of the day in this place. Killian swallowed his anger and shoved his balled fists into his pockets. He started when one fist came into contact with something he'd completely forgotten he was carrying. He'd have to be more careful from now on, he told himself. The stoppered vial was glass, but its walls were thick enough; it was probably sturdy enough to withstand most accidental jolts and jars. Should it splinter, though—and should any of those splinters pierce through his trousers and into his flesh… He'd have to take better precautions. He'd have to guard the tube with his life and use its contents only when absolutely necessary.

Because he certainly didn't have enough dreamshade for all the overseers and their toadies.

"I don't know for sure," Tia admitted. "I've never tried mind-speech with anyone whose powers aren't like mine. Nobody human, anyway," she amended. "But there might be a way. If it was just a short message. Nothing complicated. And I don't think it's a good idea to try having a conversation," she added. "My power's a little strong for that."

"A little… strong?" Paul repeated, one eyebrow crooking upwards.

Tia nodded. "Has Belle ever been in mental contact with anyone before?" she asked.

Rumple shook his head slowly. "There are spells that can pull the thoughts from out a person's mind, but in general, there's not much of a mind left once they've been cast. It's not something I've tried on anyone—certainly not Belle."

"It's not anything you ever taught me either," Regina said. "Nor anything I ever needed. Once I learned how to rip someone's heart out, I never had any difficulty interrogating anyone."

"That's about what I thought. My people's form of mental speech is intense. It's part of how our magic is a bit different from yours; it's not really a spell so much as a stream of raw power." She took another breath. "I can… I can try to brush her mind briefly. Sort of, I guess you could say, 'yell something in passing'. She might still have a splitting headache when she wakes up, but she'll understand me. A short message anyway."

Rumple had been frowning during her explanation. He lowered his eyes briefly, then raised them and met Tia's directly. "And you can guarantee that your communication will cause her no more distress than that?"

"I can't," Tia admitted. "I can tell you that it probably won't, but I can't promise."

Rumple closed his eyes for several long seconds. When he opened them again, his expression was bleak, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. "Let's see whether we can get by without such methods," he said. "But if what you suggest requires any preparations on your part, I'll ask you to make them." He wiped his palms on his suit jacket and then shoved them into his pockets. "What you suggest is still better than… than what I stated earlier. And while I'd prefer to avoid either option, if your proposal has a chance of success, I'll choose it over the alternative."

"It won't come to that," Emma reassured him.

Rumple gave her wan smile. "Well. We can all certainly hope not."

Hades, lord of the Underworld was growing irritated. He suspected that Fiona was stalling him while she strengthened her position. It wasn't lost on him that, if the Black Fairy were to win the Final Battle, then all realms would fall under her dominion. All realms, including his.

He wasn't able to leave the Underworld, and thus, while he could bluster at her through her mirror, he couldn't engage her directly. But perhaps, there was something he could do. Fiona had promised to send Zelena's child to him, once the girl had grown up enough to have cause to linger in his realm instead of, what was euphemistically termed 'moving on'. There was a flaw in that premise, though. Fiona had promised to arrange matters so that the girl's 'unfinished business' would be with Fiona herself. Then, Zelena would follow her daughter to the Underworld and remain there, so long as Fiona lived. It was a neat way to keep him from siding with the heroes, he had to admit. Either he lent his power to hers in the Final Battle, or he remained neutral on the sidelines. And then, once the battle was over, if Fiona stood victorious… She'd move against him. He had to admit that, immortal deity though he might be, if her Dark power overwhelmed all other lands, when she turned her attention to his, the outcome might not be to his liking.

But, his eyes widened, suppose that the child came to his realm by some other means? Suppose that when Zelena followed, he struck a deal with her, asking for her to remain with him on some pretext, in exchange for his helping her—and her companions—against the Black Fairy? All he had to do was ensure that her daughter would not move on from the Underworld, and Zelena would never leave. And while 'unfinished business with Fiona' was one solution to that dilemma, it was far from the only one.

A soft chime sounded, interrupting his musings and he looked up to see a nervous denizen waiting in his doorway. "Forgive me, Lord Hades," the woman murmured, her eyes downcast. "You had asked for some refreshment at this hour?"

Hades smiled as he took in the clay bowl she clasped with both hands, bearing an assortment of fruit. "Just set it on the table," he directed, conjuring one into existence with a negligent wave of his hand. "And see to it that I'm not disturbed until I summon you. Or whoever's on duty," he added with a pleasant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

The woman nodded and moved forward swiftly to obey his direction. Then she genuflected and scuttled away even more swiftly.

After she'd gone, Hades approached the table. Examining the fruit bowl more closely, he reached in and picked up a pomegranate. Yes, he thought with satisfaction. Yes, this would do rather nicely…

"Uh…" The others looked up, a bit startled. Paul had been sticking the background enough that they mostly forgot he was around. Even when Lily had tried to get his thoughts on possible strategies, he'd demurred, pointing out that his experience with magic amounted to 'twisting a knob left-and-right a half-dozen times or so.'

"What is it, Mr. Wilson?" Regina asked briskly, but with a pleasant smile.

"I guess, when a body isn't sure how to handle spells and fairies and scouting snakes, he casts about looking for what he can handle. How fixed are we for supplies? Because, if we're going to want supper—or breakfast—we did leave a whole mess of non-perishables back on the ship."

"We did, didn't we?" Regina remarked. Her smile grew a bit warmer. "I suppose we're not used to having the luxury of bringing provisions." She thought for a moment. "Well, magic is certainly capable of furnishing the basics, but I'm not sure how advisable it is to be casting it here if we can avoid doing so. There are ways to detect when a spell's been cast and, since the Black Fairy knows we're coming for her, I'd rather not tip our hand more than we have to."

"If she's got Killian," Lily spoke up, "then she already knows we've arrived, right?"

"I'd think so," Rumple nodded.

Lily nodded back. "Okay. In that case, I don't think it'll hurt anything if I go back with Paul. Two of us can carry more, especially if one of us is a dragon. And since she knows we're here, we don't have to mess around with invisibility spells."

Rumple frowned. "I'm not sure I like the idea of broadcasting our whereabouts quite so blatantly, but you make a good point. This town was almost certainly created for our benefit. We're headquartering in what's probably the most obvious location, perhaps second only to Granny's. If my mother wished to confront us now, one would think she'd know where to find us."

"I can shield you," Zelena spoke up. "Somewhat." She tugged at a thin golden chain that she wore under her blouse. "The six-leaf clover of Oz," she said. "It functions like a glamor spell. It won't make you invisible, true, but it will allow you to take on, say, the appearance of a large bird."

"And what about me, please?" Paul asked politely.

Zelena smirked. "Well, I've only the one clover. But the glamor effect extends to whatever the user is wearing. So, if you were mounted on her back while she was in dragon form and she was to use the clover…"

"She'd be wearing me," Paul's eyebrows shot up.

"I believe so." She shrugged. "Well, I've certainly never transformed myself into some other creature while carrying a rider, but to my mind, it should work."

"Guys?" Emma looked from the witch to Rumple, to Regina. The latter two nodded slowly, though both were frowning.

"It's possible," Rumple admitted. "Though I think you'd better test it first."

"In here?" Lily asked. "I mean, no offense, but when I change… there are a lot of breakables here. Let's just say that 'Bull in a china shop' is probably safer than 'Dragon in a pawnshop'.

For answer, Rumple gestured to a door in the wall to his left. "The basement. I think you'll find it large enough. But mind the support beams."

"I'll join you," Zelena said. "Remember, when you're under an invisibility spell, you can still see yourself. I think a third party will be in a better position to judge the efficacy of the clover."

"That and… I don't really know how to use it," Lily pointed out.

"We'll take care of that."

"Uh… Does this mean we're… okay, now?" Lily asked.

Zelena's laugh had a brittle edge to it. "I don't know if I'm willing to go that far. Say rather that I accept your argument that we've a better chance of getting my daughter back with a dragon on our side. And if you're about to go gallivanting off on some side trip, then it's to my benefit to ensure that you're well equipped for the journey."

The others watched as the three started down the basement steps. It wasn't even ten minutes later that they returned. "It works like the charm it is," Zelena said with a satisfied smile. "Bring back whatever you can, mind. It may not be feasible to keep going back and forth."

"Got it."

"Good luck," Emma said.

Paul grinned. "I'll never turn down any of that! We'll be back as quick's we can."

Emma was still reeling from what Gold had asked of her. After Lily and Paul left, Robin murmured something about wanting to get his bearings and patrol the perimeter and departed as well, Regina beside him. After a moment, Zelena left as well.

"It feels sort of strange," Tia said softly. "Staying here, I mean. But there's not much else to do."

"We could always do a patrol of our own," David suggested, but Tia shook her head.

"There's not really much point, is there? I've been pushing out with my mind and, for now, we're the only people in the area. But if it makes the others feel better to be doing something, there's no real harm in it. And maybe they just want to talk without so many ears about."

"Would you know what they're talking about?" Emma asked.

Tia shrugged. "If I put my mind to it, probably. But, I try not to eavesdrop; it's bad enough when I accidentally pick something up and think I can help, and then as soon as I open my mouth, I get that… look." She shook her head. "The one that says, 'Get out of my head, Freak'. And," she added, "unfortunately, that thought usually comes out forcefully enough that I can't tell myself I misinterpreted; nine times out of ten, it's an exact quote." She smiled bitterly. "The tenth time usually isn't printable."

"We're all adults here," Emma grinned, as much in reassurance as in relief. She wasn't totally comfortable with Tia's abilities, but she'd had her fair share of exposure to people whose magic wasn't fully under control. She'd even been in that category herself, not all that long ago. And while she wasn't anywhere close to open enough to tell her new friend that she wouldn't react that way, it did help knowing that Tia wouldn't intentionally try reading her thoughts.

Tia tilted her head in Emma's direction. "So, you're saying you've lost the imagination to fill in the blanks?" she asked, absolutely deadpan.

David guffawed and, a moment later, Emma followed suit.

A slight vibration on the floorboards drew their attention to Rumple's approach. "I…" He took a breath. "About what I advised you earlier," he said, locking his eyes on Emma. "You… You all know that I wouldn't ask it if… if…"

"If you didn't think it was necessary," Emma nodded. "I know. But it won't be."

"I hope not," Rumple said heavily. "But if the Black Fairy's ploy is successful, I-I need you to believe that it will be necessary. That it will, in fact, be our only option. You must be prepared for that eventuality, or we will fail."

David nodded. "We understand," he said. "I'm sorry for before. It was just a shock hearing it from you after…"

Rumple sucked in his breath and gave a jerky nod back in response.

Emma clapped both hands to his shoulders. "I'm not giving up on finding another way," she said firmly.

"And I truly hope that you do," he rejoined. "But if not…"

Emma closed her eyes and nodded reluctantly.

Lily made the flight back to the ship in what was probably record time for her. She couldn't be certain, of course; even without the clover charm, her wristwatch—and everything else she was wearing—disappeared when she shifted. Come to think of it, she wondered why Paul was still clinging to her back if, as Zelena had said, she was 'wearing' him. Shouldn't he be, well, wherever her clothes and accessories ended up? She was probably overthinking things, but she was still curious, and she was frowning when she flew low enough for Paul to slide off of her, before she shapeshifted in mid-air and dropped lightly to the deck.

"Okay," Paul smiled. "As I recall, we stowed most of our things in the hold, but there might still be a few bags under the b—" His eyes widened.

Lily turned to look in the direction he was facing and gasped in alarm. "The bed!" she exclaimed. "It's gone!"

Rumple had retreated to the back office, his drop spindle in hand. Spinning had always calmed him, at least, until Zelena. Thanks to the spindle, it now did again. On the whole, he thought that Emma understood, now. The threat that they were facing was simply too great.

Perhaps, he mused, as he reached for another piece of straw to feed into the spin, this was why he was useful. Not because of his fears—despite what the captain had told him earlier—nor his wits, but for the ruthlessness that had been stamped into his character by centuries of Darkness. It was all well and good to hope for the best, but one also needed to be prepared for the worst. And sometimes, the only way for Good to win was by doing something unspeakably ruthless.

He thought he'd finally explained it to her in a way she could accept. He'd been honest about the threat. And he'd been—almost—totally open.

Because there was another way to stop his mother, but he knew exactly how the others would react if he suggested it. It probably was their best chance. But only if they didn't see it coming.

So, when he'd told Emma that he needed her to believe that if Belle should become the Dark One they would only have one option, he'd been speaking the truth. He did need her to believe it.

But he had every intention of executing a different plan, as soon as the opportunity arose.

During his years slaving on Captain Silver's ship, Killian had learned to submerge his emotions behind an expressionless mask, numb himself to his situation, and resign himself to his lot until he could change it. Servitude and hard labor hadn't broken him then and it wouldn't break him now. But that didn't mean he needed to stick his neck out, especially when he couldn't assume that his crew would back him. Right now, he was too new, too untested, and—if the morning's episode was any indicator—the overseers were waiting for him to step out of line so as to make an example of him.

So now, he swung his pickaxe, and focused on the rock. He wondered how long it would be before they gave up on looking for an excuse and just laid into him.

"You useless little cur!"

Beside Killian, Shom cried out as a lash coiled about his leg, leaving a thin line of blood behind when it pulled free. "We need every speck of that ore! Gather up those chunks!"

'Those chunks' proved to be a number of small, dark, pebbles, each perhaps the size of one of the miniature bits of chocolate in the cookie dough ice cream of which several members of his crew were fond.

"Here, mate," Killian dropped his pick and knelt next to the smaller boy. "I'll help y—argh!

It wasn't the 'cat-o-nine', he told himself. Just the five-stranded boy's cat that Silver's first mate had used on those crewmembers below the age of sixteen. 'Just' the boy's cat, but it still felt like a lance of fire. "You!" the overseer snapped. "Who told you to stop your digging? Get back to it or I'll—"

A dark streak suddenly erupted from a pile of sand and, like a dart, pierced the overseer's fleshy calf. Then it dropped to the ground and slithered off. The overseer slapped a hand to his lower leg in what was likely a reflex. His eyes tracked the snake as it retreated rapidly. Another overseer hurried over.

"Lie down," he urged. "Stay calm. If it was one of the regular ones, it'll be hours before you have to worry. We can… can…" The first overseer's leg was already beginning to swell.

"I-I can't move," he whispered. "Can't…"

"Stay with me," the second said. "We'll get you help." He whirled on Killian.

"You," he snarled. "Was this your doing? Who are you that the snakes are so sensitive to your distress?"

Killian regarded him coldly. "I did nothing," he replied. "Neither now nor immediately prior. Perhaps the serpent recognized that and sought to appeal an unjust punish—" He grunted as he found himself lifted bodily off the ground and slammed into the mine wall.

"Pravin, wait!" Two more overseers had drawn closer. "You know our orders. Any of the workers who show any hint of magic are to be brought to her."

The second overseer, whose name seemed to be Pravin nodded slowly. "So be it," he said, with an unpleasant smile. "You've an appointment with the Black Fairy, brat. But first? I think a few hours in the box will take the fight out of you." He nodded to his companions. "See to it." He turned back to his fallen companion and gasped.

"Matcho's dead!" he exclaimed. "Dead! Someone get that little troll-dropping out of here before I—"

Killian didn't hear the end of the threat. The other two overseers were already hauling him down the tunnel, yanking him upright when his shorter legs stumbled on the uneven ground.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fourteen

Paul shrugged. "Well, our gear hasn't been touched," he said, sounding unperturbed. "Think we can bring it all back in one go?"

Lily tilted her head, her expression incredulous. "But the bed," she sputtered. "Without it, how are we going to…?"

"Chill your beans, luv," Paul said with infuriating calm. "It's not like we don't know who nicked it. We're gunning for her already; this just gives us some added incentive." He shrugged again. "Besides, it's not as though she can use it."

"Rumpelstiltskin," Lily found that it was easier to use that name if she wasn't saying it to its owner's face, "said that if they'd had more time, they might have been able to undo that part of the spell. If time's as wonky here as everyone's been saying…"

"Well, that's more than I know," Paul admitted, "but say you've the right of it and the Black Fairy can rig things so's I'm not the only one the magic works for. Still won't help her."

"You don't know much more about magic than I do," Lily countered. "How the hell are you so sure?" Her confusion shifted to irritation. "And why are you smiling?"

Paul was indeed smirking. "Simple, luv," he said. "The Black Fairy might have the bed, true. But the bed was never enchanted in the first place." He reached into his jacket pocket with a merry twinkle in his eye. "It's all in the knob."

"You brought it with you?" Lily exclaimed, starting to smile herself.

"If you have to ask me that, I can only surmise that you're like to leave your car keys in the ignition when you're off to the shops." He thrust the knob back into his pocket with a grin. "Come to think of it," he added thoughtfully, "my siblings and I—back before they convinced themselves that we'd dreamed it all up, I mean—sometimes wondered whether the knob would work if we were to screw it onto some other bedpost, but Charles's and mine didn't have posts; our headboards and footboards were just curved iron rails. And as for Carrie, well, she'd inherited a canopy bed from our cousin Phoebe. It'd've taken a ladder to get high enough to try and we didn't have one in our flat."

"I thought you said you sent the bed into the past?"

"Yes, in the end, but when Miss Price first put the spell on the knob, we had ourselves a few adventures to start. Then," he chuckled, "things went awry in a way we couldn't explain without mentioning magic—which Aunt Beatrice wouldn't have believed anyway—and she shipped us all home to London in disgrace. I packed the knob up before we left for the station and it went back with me. Then, two years later, Mum was trying to board us somewhere for the summer holidays and, by coincidence, Miss Price was looking to board a child or two for the summer. Really, it was all what you'd call serendipitous. She didn't know we'd be the ones to respond to her advertisement, but when we did, she naturally agreed to all three of us. And back we went, knob in hand, to find that she'd bought the bed it belonged to from out of Aunt Beatrice's estate sale—she'd passed on some months earlier, Aunt Beatrice, I mean. So, I had the knob and Miss Price had the bed and before the summer was out, we were off in Restoration London and things kind of went from there." He shrugged. "Anyway, when Miss Price put the spell to the knob, the bed wasn't anywhere near her. Well. I guess 'near's' relative; it was in the same village, but a few streets over. The bed's just a bed and always was." He let that sink in. "So, really, while this seems like it ought to be a problem, it's not. Either we'll beat the Black Fairy proper and be able to look for the bed at leisure or, we'll at least get your missing friends. Then if it means leading a merry chase with her and her minions in pursuit, at least they'll just be chasing us through her home and not this whole realm, till we find the bed."

"Assuming she hasn't stashed it somewhere else, you mean."

Paul rolled his eyes. "There you go, looking on the bright side again, luv. It's no wonder you haven't found a husband yet."

Lily made a rude gesture, but Paul only chuckled once more.

As prisons went, the Underworld wasn't such a terrible one, Hades reflected. Not when it was yours to rule over, at least. He ran it according to his whim, decorated it to his taste, and had countless subjects to cater to his every will. The only thing wrong with it, really, was that he couldn't leave.

Well, that and sending something from this realm to another posed something of a challenge.

Fortunately, though, it was one he could meet. While travel from this realm to another was difficult, it wasn't impossible. Zeus's power, vast though it was, hadn't sufficed to confine him here. All the same, a visit to Fiona's domain would not pass unnoticed and once she marked his presence, she wouldn't rest until she determined his business there. He wouldn't tip his hand so far. Not yet.

But while he himself couldn't travel to the Dark Realm, that didn't mean he couldn't send something in that direction. If the right means could be found. Hades made his way to the lower level of his palace, where he maintained a rather special collection.

Magical energy, he reflected, possessed a life all its own. And when an artifact of immense power was destroyed, that energy found its way here. He ignored the Author's quill, the enchanted wardrobe, and the forget-me-knot, stopping before a tattered, out-of-shape, and somewhat smoky-smelling black top hat. The lord of the Underworld smiled. He might not be able to travel to another realm, but he could touch it. And with the hat's help, he could use it to transport a most particular item.

When the time was ripe.

"It's really good you could join me up here, Belle," Fiona remarked pleasantly. "I think the fresh air is doing you a world of good."

Belle gave her captor an uneasy smile. "It's more the quiet," she corrected.

"Ooh, baby keeping you up, nights? I'm afraid that taking her away now will do you no kindness in the long run. Considering that your own little one is certain to demand the same level of attention," she went on with a little laugh.

Despite herself, Belle flinched. For all her mental pep talks about how tending Lyncoln was good practice, somehow, she'd pictured a quieter, sleepier baby. One like Neal Nolan, in fact. A good baby. After all, she was a good person; shouldn't she expect a—

Babies weren't 'good' or 'bad'. They just were.

What was 'good' anyway? Babies didn't cry out of spite; they cried out of distress. That wasn't a bad thing, for all it was frustrating and upsetting for the caregiver. But Snow and David were good people and Neal wasn't nearly as frustrating and upsetting as…

Belle had a sudden urge to slap herself. She had to stop thinking this way. A memory surfaced now, of one of the last times Snow had asked her to sit for Neal.

"He's due for his feeding at six and that'll probably take a bit under an hour. So, why don't you come by around seven-thirty; he should be sleeping by then. We should be home for ten. He might wake up a little before we get back, but just give him his bottle and, with any luck, we'll be in the door before he finishes…"

Snow scheduled her time around Neal's, Belle realized. Neal had never screamed and carried on while Belle looked after him because Snow always tried to arrange for Belle to come at a time when Neal would be asleep. Belle had never had to deal with his shrieking for a solid hour, but that didn't mean Snow didn't.

But Snow always looked like she was handling everything fine, just taking it all in stride. She was such a good person!

And me? I'm… still working on that.

Villains didn't get happy endings. Belle knew that. But while she wasn't a villain, she didn't think she was much of a hero either. And thinking back on all the things she'd done wrong over the years, she was hard-put to think that she was as close to being one as she'd supposed even a year ago.

And she had always felt an attraction to Darkness, fight it though she'd tried to.

Rumple had always said that 'Destiny was Destiny' and she'd never believed him. But maybe there was a reason why she'd been drawn to him. And why she'd let Anna fall. And why she'd selfishly kept her mother in harm's path while she'd run into the library to rescue a book she'd read so many times she could have rewritten it from memory.

Maybe there was a reason that things never came out right for her.

Maybe she'd been destined to be a villain all along.

Standing atop the curtain wall, consumed with worry, Belle didn't notice the triumphant smile that formed on her companion's lips.

'The box,' Killian found, was a squat metal cube, about four feet by four feet, situated close enough to the cook fires to keep him pressed to the opposite wall of it. He'd been in worse situations, but he'd had an adult's size and strength then.

He gritted his teeth. There was no point in railing about what couldn't be fixed. Instead, he had to devote his energies to what could be. His clothing, for example. Leather sleeves and trouser legs were rather ill-suited to being cuffed and rolled. He'd thought to ask Graydon about obtaining some tool—however blunt and crude it was likely to be—with which he could cut the hides. Meanwhile, he'd used some of the frayed threads from the worn blanket he'd been tossed the night before to try to tie the rolled-back cuffs to his limbs. His sleeves were holding, but being dragged to this cramped version of a brig had set his trousers trailing on the ground on the journey.

"Hey!" a voice whispered. "You okay in there?"

Killian brought his face to the narrow slot that was the box's sole source of light and air. "Marga?"

"Not so loud, clot," the girl retorted scornfully, still in a whisper. "Just making sure they haven't cooked you, yet."

Despite himself, Killian felt his blood run cold. "Is that why I'm here?" he asked, whispering now himself.

"Nah. They just want to take the fight out of you before they bring you to her."

"Her. The Black Fairy, you mean."

"Who else?" Marga retorted scornfully. "They only send off the ones as have magic. None of them've ever been back."

"I don't have magic," Killian said.

"You talked to the snake. And it bit the overseer what was lashing you; that's what they're saying. Anyway, it don't matter if you do or you don't. They think you do, so you're off to her." She blew a bit of air out her nostrils. "Guess your code won't help you none."

Killian smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't say that, love. That code has rules for battle in it, as well."

"You're going to fight the Black Fairy," Marga scoffed. "I think the heat's cooked your brains ahead of the rest of you."

"We'll see," he allowed. "So. Did you just come here to taunt me, or was there some other reason?"

"I work kitchen detail," the girl said. "Make this last; I might not be able to get you more." A water-skin slid through the slot in his prison wall. It was less than half-filled, Killian realized. Had it held more, it wouldn't have been thin enough to slip through. But it was water and, if it was tepid, it was still far better than nothing. He took two greedy gulps before he realized that he needed to make it last as long as he could.

"My thanks," he said.

"Thanks don't feed me or save me from lashes," Marga retorted.

"No," Killian agreed, coming to a decision. "But this might." He passed her the vial of dreamshade. "Be careful with it, love; it's deadly poison. But I doubt I'll be close enough to use it on the Black Fairy and if it should be found on my person, it'll surely be confiscated."

Marga took it gingerly. "How much do I…?"

"On a weapon, even the merest scratch means death. Perhaps in a moment. Perhaps in a day. Perhaps even a bit longer, but there's no cure to be found for it in this realm." He hesitated. "Sorry to say, I don't know its effectiveness if eaten or drunk."

"You keep it," Marga said grimly, passing it back. "The overseers make us taste the food before they eat it, so that's out. And if the taster can somehow avoid the poisoned bit, they don't all eat at once. Soon's the first group keels over, the second'll kill twenty of us for every one of them. Only reason they didn't do it when the snake bit Matcho is because they're twitchy about magic."

Killian shook his head. "I've no magic, love. I was as surprised as you when the serpent acted."

"Well, don't tell them," Marga retorted. "Long as they think you might've used it, they'll handle you more gentle-like." Her eyes widened. "I have to get back. I've spent too long here. Good-bye, clot. Maybe we'll meet again."

Killian gripped the water-skin fiercely. "And good luck to you, too, love," he murmured softly, even though he knew that she was already too far off to hear him.

"Gone," Regina repeated, her dismay plain on her face as she took in Paul and Lily's report.

Paul shrugged. "It'll save us walking back to the ship after we defeat her, now, won't it?" he said.

"It may not be the setback it appears to be at first blush," Zelena admitted. "This is the Black Fairy's domain. We were never going to take her by surprise. All she's done is ensure that we can't just grab our missing people and leave; we'll have to defeat her as well. And considering that she's taken my daughter," a vicious smile curved the witch's lips, "well, let's just say that if she wants a battle, she's getting one."

"There is a difference between knowing our plans and being able to prevent them," Rumple spoke up, his voice calm and deliberate. "Ideally, it would require careful planning—"

"It still does," Emma interrupted, sounding a bit surprised that he was suggesting it might not.

Rumple turned to her, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards as he clarified, "Casting the Dark Curse also required careful planning, but this time we shan't have two centuries to refine our strategy. We'll anticipate what's likely to await us as best we can and we'll take what precautions we must, but we will need to act—and sooner, rather than later." He shook his head and continued worriedly, "My mother's dream manipulation tactic… I don't like it. Belle is a good deal stronger than she knows, but that strength can be turned on us if she can be swayed to the Black Fairy's purpose. Under normal circumstances, I'd be less concerned; such indoctrination takes a great deal of time. Interfering in Belle's dreams will give her that time."

"Maybe," David said slowly, "but I can't help thinking that if I could reach through to Snow after she'd drunk that potion, when I barely knew her…" He paused, and it was plain to the others in the room that he was trying to find the right words. "Look, all I'm saying is that you called it: True Love is the most powerful magic there is. And right now? That's one thing the two of you share. The Black Fairy's going to lose. I know she is. No matter what she tries to pull, True Love will win."

Rumple thought he knew better. No matter how much the others might try to encourage him, they had no idea of the threat that they intended to face. But in that moment, the prince sounded so utterly convincing, that Rumple found himself nodding his head, his reservations temporarily vanquished. Then David broke eye contact and they all began trickling back. More to stem that trickle before it became a wave to engulf him, he said, "Perhaps, you're right."

And as he heard his own words pierce the quiet of the shop, he felt a stirring of the same stubborn hope that had spurred him on toward finding Bae, as the years dragged past and the prospect felt slim. Perhaps. Perhaps, he was.

"You know," Fiona said thoughtfully as the two stood atop the castle rampart, "I believe I know what my son saw in you."

Belle tensed and willed herself not to reply. Her captor was just waiting for her to take the bait and ask 'what'.

The fairy sighed, though whether it was from irritation or wistfulness was impossible for Belle to discern. "I think there's a part of him that keeps trying to reconnect with the destiny I cut him from."

Despite herself, Belle heard her own voice saying, "Sorry… what?" From out the corner of her eye, she saw that the fairy was smiling.

"Oh, yes. My son was born to be the savior."

Startled, Belle turned to face her captor directly. "Rumple," she repeated. "The savior?"

"Indeed. But the same prophecy that foretold his destiny also foretold his fate. My son was doomed to die in a battle against a great evil. To spare him such an end, I severed him from that which had been ordained. You see, Belle, it's easy to think of Darkness as a harsh master, but it's Light that demands self-sacrifice of its saviors. Noble, I'm sure. And often an act of love. It's just… well, it's not very pragmatic, now, is it?" She giggled slightly. "Darkness has always allowed for substitution. A… proxy, as it were. Quite a neat loophole, if you ask me. And if there were any loose ends left undone, well, one's free to tie them up instead of trusting to a successor to finish the task. Light is very good about giving second chances, but there's practically no end to the number of opportunities Darkness allows!"

"Light gives more than two chances," Belle protested.

"I'll concede that much," Fiona said at once, still beaming. "But for all that patience is a virtue, Light does tend to run dry of it, first. The Blue Fairy is practically Light's greatest champion, second only to its current Savior. And yet, how many times has she thrown up her hands and left an erring soul helplessly adrift?"

"Wait," Belle remembered. "Y-you took her heart. You can't blame her for—"

"Sparing her the anguish of vacillating back and forth before making the decision she knows she must? Well, perhaps not. But she's hardly the only Hero ever to turn her back on a supplicant pleading for help, is she?"

Belle felt her knees wobble as memory crashed in upon her. That night at the town line, she'd been so angry. So hurt. So betrayed. So…

"Please, Belle! I… I… I'll make it up to you. I… I… I've changed once before. I can do it again!"

No. No, she didn't want to remember this. But in her mind's eye, she saw Rumple cowering before her once again, and she heard her own voice, thick with pain and fury, flinging his plea back in his face. "You've never changed."

"Please!"

How many times had he begged her? How many times had she rebuffed him?

"No. It's too late. Once, I saw the man behind the beast. Now, there's only a beast. Rumpelstiltskin, I command you to leave Storybrooke."

He'd struggled. He'd fought like she'd wanted him to fight when she'd tried to break through to him in Zelena's cellar. Then, she'd thought that if he hadn't already been beaten down, if he'd loved her enough, if he'd believed hard enough… It hadn't been enough in the cellar and it wasn't enough at the town line. He'd still fought the compulsion as long as he could, pleading with her to change her mind, reminding her that he wouldn't be able to return, falling to his knees while she'd turned her back on him and on the last of his cries.

"Belle, please! I'm afraid! Belle! Belle! No! Belle! Belle! Please!"

Now, Belle closed her eyes and wrung her hands. Blue didn't have her heart. What was my excuse? Anger, betrayal, self-righteousness… All of that came from my heart. The 'good' heart Father and Mother constantly praised me for. She tried to remind herself of what had prompted her actions. She'd come across Rumple a split-second away from crushing Killian's heart, demonstrating clearly to Belle how wrong she'd been about the man she'd married. But… She'd had the dagger. She could have stopped him without banishing him. Her heart had gotten in the way. She blinked. No. No, that wasn't right. If her heart was the problem, then where did that leave Blue? And if it wasn't, then…

"C-could we go back inside, please?" she asked faintly. "I'm feeling a bit queasy."

Fiona laid a solicitous hand on her arm. "Of course, dear," she said with a concern Belle could see was genuine. "I think the breeze may be a bit stronger today. Let's get you back to your room; you need your rest."

Belle hadn't even noticed a breeze, but she nodded gratefully and let the fairy lead her back along the rampart to the doorway through which they'd first emerged from the castle into the humidity of the Dark Realm's mid-afternoon.

"All right," Regina said flatly, after Zelena bit her lip, turned, and headed back to the shop. "Do you want to tell me what's really on your mind now that my sister's gone?"

Robin heaved a sigh. "I'm not entirely sure I do," he admitted. "It's… Well, this whole…" he moved his hands apart, flailing them slightly as he groped for words, "this entire… situation is…"

"Complicated?" Regina supplied dryly. "Welcome to the club."

Robin didn't return her faint smile. "Complicated," he nodded. "Not to mention messy, deplorable, murky… I don't know what to do. I know my duty is to… What I mean to say is…" He sucked in his breath and exhaled. "I have a code, Regina. One I must live by."

"I'm well aware," Regina informed him tartly.

"Yes, but…" He took another breath. "It's not… helping me this time."

"Not the first time that's happened either."

"No," Robin shook his head. "No, when I thought Marian had come back… That was different. I knew what my code demanded of me then. I chose not to fulfill that demand—and I don't regret it," he added quickly, with a cautious smile. "But perhaps, I regret not regretting it. A little." He winced. "Not that I'm complaining about… us," he added hastily. "We both understood what we were doing then. Unlike, well, what happened between Zelena and me," he went on, shifting uncomfortably.

"I know," Regina said, dropping her snark and turning serious.

"I thought that for Lyncoln's sake, I could move on from there," he continued. "It's not as though the child's to blame for the circumstances of her conception. But…"

"But…?"

"My code reminds me that I have a duty to be a father to my daughter. But it also reminds me that I must do what's right for her. Initially, when first I took responsibility for Lyncoln, I perceived those two directives to be in harmony."

"They were," Regina said, eyes widening. "They are."

"Are they?" Robin asked. "Lyncoln is my daughter and I will always protect and provide for her. I had a hand in her conception and, no matter how I feel about those circumstances, she is still my child and I'll never deny her. But when Roland was born, I found that intertwined with my new responsibilities toward him was a thread of overwhelming… love. And with Lyncoln, try though I have, it's been duty alone. When Roland was born, I scarcely left his side for a week. It was only when Marian told me flatly that she needed some time alone with our son that I took it on myself to waylay a merchant caravan—and even then, I hurried back as swiftly as I could. With Lyncoln, I ensured that she was being looked after by a reliable caretaker, but I feel as though, in the short while that she was in my care, I spent more time trying to avoid my daughter than spend time with her. I care about her in much the same way as I would any infant. But I don't know that I love her."

Regina shook her head and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Not everyone bonds instantly. It can take time. And you were just barely getting to know her." She lowered her eyes for a moment. "Shortly after I got Henry, I almost gave him up. Okay, it was because I realized that his biological mother was probably going to be the one to break my curse, but I never would have looked into that if I hadn't been trying to find some reason why we weren't… connecting."

Robin's eyebrows shot up. "You knew his mother was…"

"Well, I took a potion to make myself forget or I never would have bonded with him. I'd have been too worried about the future."

"And in my case, I'm too… discomfited by the past. But I don't want to forget it; if I did, I'd be at a disadvantage if I were to find myself in similar circumstances again. In hindsight," Robin continued, "I suppose there were clues that Marian wasn't who she seemed. If I were to forget that I was duped once…"

"I understand."

"Meanwhile, I suppose I'm grappling with the notion that Lyncoln's best chance may not be with me. At least, I think I need to determine whether she's better off with a former outlaw who will protect and care for her, or a witch who will protect, care for, and love her."

Regina nodded sadly. "Well, since you're not asking for my advice, I won't give it. But I do understand your dilemma. And I'll support whichever decision you make." She paused for a beat. "So long as it isn't indecision. Children need stability. I have a feeling that Lyncoln will manage just fine with you, with my sister, or with some sort of shared custody arrangement. She won't do as well if she's constantly being fobbed off between the two of you without rhyme or reason, depending on whether you want to try living with her this month." She smiled again. "If you worked out something like what Emma and I have, where Henry alternates weeks between us, that would be very different."

Robin nodded quickly. "Of course, you're right." He took another breath. "Well. There's no point in making a firm decision now. First, we need to get her back. And then, I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"

"Yes. But it's not premature to consider your options, even if you can't commit to one quite yet. It's a great deal better than not thinking about them."

"I know."

Belle sat uncomfortably across the table from her mother-in-law. She was wearing the fusty gray dress again and, despite the cool air currents blowing through vents in the black-stone walls of the dining room, she was perspiring.

"You're not eating your cutlet," Fiona observed. "I trust it's not overcooked?"

Belle shook her head and took a bite, chewed and swallowed. "It's very good," she said with her best court smile. Truthfully, she barely tasted it. She was trying to remember the path she'd taken to get here, knowing that it might be handy, should she somehow find an opportunity to escape. She'd been kicking herself earlier when she'd realized that at no time since Fiona had taken her from her cell had Belle noted any guards. If the only thing keeping her confined was a locked door, then maybe she'd have a chance after all.

"You're not still upset over our earlier conversation?" Fiona asked, sounding somewhat distressed. "I hadn't realized the sore spot I'd hit until afterwards."

"After," Belle repeated. "You mean, you didn't…?"

Fiona laughed. "Oh, Belle. I don't know whether I'm flattered you think I'm all-seeing—or dismayed that you think I've nothing better to do than spend all my days observing you. Really, there are so many matters more deserving of my attention; matters that concern those who are of use to me or those who pose a threat. But really, you're just here to keep Rumple distracted. So long as I hold his heart—ready for the moment that he's ready to reclaim his Darkness and stand at my side—you're really almost incidental to my strategy. Almost," she added. "There's still the matter of my grandchild-to-be, of course. But otherwise? Well, you're a delightful dinner companion, Belle, but I'd hardly categorize you as any kind of threat." She laughed again and Belle lowered her eyes with a faint flush.

"Oh," she murmured. "I-I see." I see that, like so many others, you're underestimating me. I see that I might be able to use that to my advantage. I see that while you might not recognize me as a threat to you, the reverse does not hold true. And I see that rather than wait passively to be rescued or attempt to slip away and hope I can find a portal out of this realm, it may fall on me to stop your plans from succeeding!

Belle saw it all so clearly. All, that is to say, save for the quietly exultant smirk on her mother-in-law's face.

Chapter Text

Chapter Fifteen

Killian was asleep when they came for him. He'd been trying to stay awake; the heat had been oppressive enough that he'd gotten the idea that he might literally bake inside the metal box and sleeping had felt like surrendering to that fate. He'd drunk up the water Marga had given him an eternity ago—a phrase that might not be purely hyperbolic if time did have a mind of its own in this land. And cramped as he was in here, sleep hadn't come easily, but it did succeed in overpowering him in the end.

At least, until his prison began to sway back and forth, and he found himself buffeted by its still-uncomfortably hot sides.

This is why hammocks came into fashion aboard a ship, he thought, wincing as his elbow connected forcefully with the sharp corner of the rim of the slot through which Marga had earlier passed him the water skin. He struggled to press his face to the aforementioned slot, to see what was transpiring outside the box.

He could hear the scuff of leather boot soles on gravel and grunts interspersed with the occasional curse—mild ones, by standards he'd grown accustomed to in his seafaring days, though colorful enough that, had a parent been in the vicinity, some manner of admonishment might have been expected. Looking down, he saw the ground seem to move jerkily beneath him. He didn't think that he was more than a foot or so in the air and it was his guess that the box was connected to horizontal poles and was being carried on the shoulders of either overseers, or some of the stronger workers. Rather like those litters he'd heard tell were used to carry Agrabahn noblewomen, except that one generally rode such a conveyance above the support poles instead of hanging below them.

His musings came to an abrupt halt, as he saw a wooden wagon up ahead. Several barrels—he imagined them to be sealed, though he couldn't quite be sure from his angle—lined its interior. He was pressing his face closer for a better look, when the floor beneath him suddenly tilted, sending his knees into the front of the box. This time, it was his forehead that hit the slot rim. He clapped his hand to the injury and it came away bloody. And then, the box landed in the wagon with a jarring impact, to be pushed forward until his view was blocked entirely by the barrels before him. He heard more thuds and scrapes behind him, grating sounds that told him that more barrels were being loaded into the wagon, packing his prison in firmly. On the bright side, Killian doubted that he'd have to worry about any further sliding on the next leg of his journey.

He heard a dull thud behind him and realized that the back of the wagon had been raised. He heard a bolt slide into place and then a creak ahead of him and guessed that someone had vaulted into the wagon seat.

"Gee up!" a voice barked.

Killian thrust a hand in his pocket to assure himself that the dreamshade was still there. The wagon jolted and he clutched the vial and settled in for what promised to be a bumpy ride.

Belle half-rose from her mattress when her cell door opened, expecting the Black Fairy to enter. Instead, a helmeted guard beckoned to her to accompany him. Or her, Belle realized, remembering her first meeting with Mulan; there was nothing about the newcomer's figure or clothing that suggested a gender. "Uh… where are we going?" she asked.

The guard beckoned again.

"All right," Belle said, trying to sound self-assured while wondering if it boded ill for her that her mother-in-law hadn't come for her in person this time. "All right, I'm coming." Lyncoln wasn't back yet either. Belle wondered whether the infant had been moved elsewhere permanently. As difficult a baby as Zelena's child was, she had been company of a sort.

Once they were out in the corridor, Belle tried again. "So, where are you taking me?"

She wasn't really surprised that no answer was forthcoming.

"Uh… do you… talk?"

She didn't get so much as a nod or a head-shake, just a gesture that she thought meant that she should pick up her pace. She did, swallowing her apprehensions and making up her mind that if she was being marched off to her execution or some other unpleasant fate, she would meet her end with all the grace and dignity of the tragic heroes and heroines of some of her more melodramatic novels.

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known," she recited softly to herself. Not precisely true in her own case; she didn't believe for a moment that the best thing she would ever do in this life would be to lose it. But saying the lines seemed to steady her heart and she walked calmly beside her escort to an unknown destination.

Tia's breath caught and she rose to her feet. "I know how to get in," she said, smiling.

"I beg your pardon?" Rumple asked, his gaze intent on the woman who seldom spoke unless she had something worth saying.

"A wagon," Tia said. "There's a wagon coming from the mines. It'll pass this way in about half an hour and be at the Black Fairy's castle about three hours after that. If we can follow it unseen or hitch a ride…?"

"An invisibility spell?" Lily suggested.

Regina shook her head. "Those aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"I know. Ursula explained the drawbacks, but if we're all careful not to bump into anything or—"

"We'd leave tracks. And I really think it's asking too much to expect all of us to move silently," Regina said. "Not to mention that, all other considerations aside, I think we'll want to talk to one another at some point, and unless Tia was exaggerating the side effects of her telepathy…?"

Tia shook her head. "Sorry, no. And if you're asking me to link all of us, it'll be worse. I shouldn't think any of you have learned how to keep other minds from overwhelming your own. With so many of us in the mix, that's going to be a real problem."

"Well, if all we have to do is get inside the castle," Zelena said, "one of us can use the six-leaf clover, get in and unbar the gate." She frowned. "Come to think of it, even if we were to cast an actual spell, it wouldn't do much more than confirm to her that we're on our way and I'd say she probably already knows that. But, if we're going to continue playing things safer," she shrugged, "make sure the person we send ahead is capable of procuring some manner of inconspicuous disguise for the rest of us…"

"If she has guards like," David nodded in Regina's direction, "your old black knights, maybe whoever we send can rustle up some armor and fall in with them."

"That's rather a large 'if'," Rumple remarked, but there was a speculative gleam in his eyes.

"Zelena or I could probably manage it if we're going up against ordinary foes," Regina said, "but if it comes down to using magic, particularly against the Black Fairy herself, I don't think I need to remind anyone that all magic comes with a price. Even if the one we send is able to avoid capture, the cost of doing so might mean a future lack of power—right when it's most needed." She considered for a moment. "Emma, I know you haven't much combat training, but if you're willing, I think your Light magic might just be a match for her Dark, at least in terms of raw power. That could be enough."

"Or she could clobber me with experience," Emma said ruefully. Regina nodded, her expression serious. "Yeah," Emma said with a sigh. "Sure, if it's our best chance." Her eyes opened very wide. "Wait. If we could all shrink somehow, maybe we could just hop on that wagon and get inside that way."

"And stepped on once there, like as not," Paul sniffed.

"It won't be my first time in a giant's stronghold," Emma said. "I think I can handle it."

"You don't know what you're getting into," David said.

"I didn't that time either."

"Enough of this," Regina snapped, but her expression turned more thoughtful as she nodded slowly. "It's not such a terrible idea. Rumple, have you got a supply of Wonderland mushrooms here, or should we risk a trip to my vault?"

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "I believe I might have a sufficient quantity, now you mention it."

"And sufficient to enlarge us later?" Robin pressed.

Rumple smiled.

Belle was somewhat nonplussed to realize that her escort appeared to have brought her to the Black Fairy's boudoir. Fiona was sitting at a vanity mirror mounted in the same polished black stone that covered the walls, floor, and ceiling. Flames from candles mounted in wall sconces and hanging from an ornate chandelier made flickering waves of light on the smooth surfaces.

The fairy's back was to Belle, as she gently lifted a dull black stone out of an ornately-carved jewelry box. From where Belle was standing, she thought it looked familiar. It looked rather as though someone had taken rough oval and split it along the diameter. It wasn't a clean break either, Belle noted. Even from some distance away, she could tell that the 'flat' side was far rougher than the rest of the smooth exterior. Clearly, Fiona valued it, though why—

Belle's eyes widened as recognition hit. The Black Fairy was holding Rumple's heart. Silently, she watched, as her captor pressed the smooth surface of the heart to her cheek, a triumphant smile on her face. Then the fairy set the heart back in the box, closed it, and rose from her chair.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting, dear," she said calmly. "I see my attendant fetched you here a bit more quickly than I'd anticipated.

Belle nodded, not certain whether to disclose what she'd just seen, but Fiona only smiled. "Well, surely you must have guessed by now that I had his heart," she smiled.

"Y-you don't mean to use it to control him?" Belle asked.

Fiona laughed merrily. "Of course not, dear. Even if I wanted to, I can't quite undo the protections he's woven about it to guard against that sort of thing. I'm surprised you don't know that." She raised an eyebrow. "Oh. You did. But you were hoping that I might be unaware." She gave her captive an apologetic smile. "Sorry?"

Belle felt her face grow hot. "I don't know what you're talking about," she lied unconvincingly.

"Of course not, dear," Fiona nodded, her tone making it clear that she was humoring Belle. "Well. Rumple protected his heart against any who might attempt to use it to enthrall him ages ago. Understandable; I can certainly see how he'd consider it onerous enough to be enslaved to that dagger without also having to consider the vulnerability of his heart."

Her smile broadened. "Of course, there's more than way to command the latter. That's why you're here."

"Me," Belle repeated, feeling a chill pass over her.

"Well, yes. I may hold his heart physically, but you hold it figuratively. And while, in the past, his Darkness intervened, now that he's free of it, there is literally nothing he won't do to guarantee your safety." Her voice hardened, but her smile never wavered. "Even reclaim that Darkness and pledge himself to my service…"

"You're a seer," Rumple said to Tia accusingly.

Tia seemed to shrink a bit as she mumbled, "It's not that big a deal. It's just… something I do."

"Quite a bit more reliably than most," Rumple retorted. "Did you get any other tidbits you're hiding from us?"

"Gold." David's voice carried a note of warning. "Take it easy."

"Oh, sorry," Rumple snapped, not sounding sorry at all. "I suppose I'm just finding the whole business of my wife's being abducted by my mother and discovering that she's being groomed to become the new Dark One and precipitate the final battle to be ever-so-mildly stressful. And to learn that there's one among us who might be able to give us some advantage? Well, you'll excuse me if I'd like as many details as she's able to provide!"

Tia sighed. "I guess this is another one of those, 'my magic isn't quite like yours' moments. Although, from what Uncle Bené tried to explain when he discussed your sort with us…" Her voice trailed off for a moment. "As I understand it, most seers in your land get bits and pieces of the future, and most of your training has to do with filtering out what will be from what could be."

"Accurate," Rumple said impatiently, "if a bit over-simplified."

"I apologize," Tia ducked her head. "My explanations don't really have a middle ground; they're either overly simplified or overly complicated. And since we've got a wagon to catch…"

"Go on," Robin said. "Not all of us are as familiar with future sight as the two of you."

Tia nodded. "All right. I can't really speak to Rumpelstiltskin's experiences, of course. Except," she turned back to Rumple, "to guess that, for you, sorting it out must be somewhere on the level of what I go through trying to decipher unshielded thoughts in a densely-populated area. Let's just say that blocking out as much as I can isn't just 'good manners'; it's a survival technique." A quick smile flashed across her face at Rumple's quick, almost involuntary nod.

"My future-sight is a good deal more concrete and specific, yes. But it's also more immediate. Some of my visions have been of things happening three or four days ahead. Once in a while, maybe a week—but in those cases, it's never been random; it's been about something I'd been thinking about and examining possibilities ahead of time, to the point where I wasn't sure whether I was getting an actual vision of the future or just making use of a better-than-average imagination. Most of the things I see are things that are only taking place within a few hours' time."

Rumple absorbed that. Then, he said heavily, "So you don't know."

"About Belle?" Tia shook her head sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I've been trying to focus on her," she turned to Zelena then, "and on your daughter, of course. It's harder, because I've barely met either of them. And because my talent seems to focus more on what's going to happen in a place, rather than to a person. Tony's better for people, but his gift lets him see their pasts. I'm sorry," she repeated. "If I could see anything relevant, I'd tell you. So far, that wagon is all I know about."

Rumple's shoulders slumped as he nodded. "Understood."

"How long do we have til we can rendezvous with it?" Emma asked.

"It'll be passing the shop within the next hour," Tia said. "Remember, once we shrink, it's going to take longer to cover ground. And if we're too short to reach the shop's doorknob, but too big to fit under the door…"

"You go," Regina said abruptly. "Tia, will you be able to tell when the wagon is about five minutes away?"

"If not from my sight, then from the wagoner's thoughts," Tia nodded.

"All right. Then when they're that close, all of you stand by the…" she frowned. "No, the door opens inwards; I don't want to take anyone's head off," she said under her breath. "Stand to the left of the door, eat the mushroom, and I'll let you out. I'll teleport myself to the Black Fairy's castle and meet you at the gate."

Rumple nodded. "That will work rather nicely, your Majesty."

"So, we're agreed?" Regina looked around the room. "And before you ask, Emma, my being a couple of inches tall would be relevant if I had to cover the distance on foot. Teleporting is something else entirely."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Emma protested unconvincingly.

Regina let that pass.

"Let's do this," Lily nodded.

Rumple brought a glazed clay jar out from behind the counter, set it down, removed its lid, and pulled out several blue mushroom caps from within. Wordlessly, he began breaking the caps into chunks. Paul heaved a sigh of relief. "I was wondering when the exciting bit was going to start," he remarked, as he took his portion.

Facing Fiona across a basalt table that resembled nothing so much as stiff black lace, Belle kept smiling, nodding, and deflecting, doing her best to keep her thoughts hidden. She wasn't really surprised to learn that the Black Fairy had Rumple's heart. After all, when Ursula had been unable to retrieve it from the well, the sea-witch had mentioned that she was picking up traces of powerful Dark magic and Fiona's certainly fit that bill.

But Rumple had come too far to fall back into the abyss he'd hauled himself out of, hand over fist. Belle wasn't going to kick him back down now. Fiona couldn't win. And Belle wasn't about to let herself be used as a… a pawn in that campaign. She'd been that for far too long.

A memory floated into her mind then, an early lesson from the tutor who'd first instructed her in the game of chess.

"Never discount your opponent's pawns. Oh, don't hurry to capture them when there are more powerful pieces within your reach. But never be so quick to dismiss one as inconsequential, lest you discover that when your attention was diverted, it managed to transform itself to a queen."

Maybe she could play the pawn for a bit, at that. Her gaze flickered briefly to the passage behind Fiona that led to the boudoir. She knew where Rumple's heart was kept now. And, although it was possible that there was a blood magic seal on it, Belle had seen no telltale puff of magical smoke when Fiona had replaced the heart in its casket and shut in in her dressing table drawer. Maybe there were no other safeguards. All magic came with a price after all, and perhaps this castle had enough magical security without wrapping enchantments on the objects contained therein.

She felt her heart skip a beat as a new possibility occurred to her. She was pregnant with Rumple's child. She didn't know for certain, and it wasn't as though she could ask her captor, but maybe so long as she was carrying a child of Rumple's blood, maybe that would allow her to get around a blood magic lock, if there even was one in the first place!

And when Rumple came for her, as she knew he would, she would be able to present him with that which she'd carelessly allowed to fall into his mother's clutches in the first place!

"We may have a problem," Regina admitted.

"Only one?" Zelena drawled. "Things must be improving."

Regina gave her sister an irritated look but didn't rise any further to the bait. "Once you shrink, you're going to have to get into the wagon without getting trampled. Even if I wanted to risk using magic to give you a boost," she frowned worriedly, "I've never teleported so many people before. And moving targets present their own challenges." Seeing Paul's frown, she elaborated. "Normally, the magic has some safeguards built in. It's almost unheard of for a teleporter to materialize partly inside another object. Or fifty feet in the air. Or teetering on the very edge of an unstable cliff."

"Unless that's the desired result," Rumple added. At the questioning looks on the faces of the others, he shrugged. "I never did see why flying held such attraction for my father. There was a time when I thought I might attempt to master the art. But when leaving the ground proved difficult, I thought that there might be a way to start when I was," his lip curled in a self-deprecating smile, "already up there?"

"You couldn't have just jumped off a ladder?" Emma asked.

He gave her a hard stare. "No," he retorted curtly, not wanting to get into how that had been the original plan—and how he'd stood on the top rung of a ten-foot ladder for a solid quarter hour, unable to get up the nerve to step off. Particularly not when the witch was standing within earshot.

Emma's puzzlement was plain, but she let the matter drop, as Regina nodded.

"All right. But dropping the eight of you into that wagon is going to be tricky unless we can get it to stop for a minute."

Rumple nodded slowly. "I do see your point," he admitted. "Perhaps, you'd have better luck with a smaller number?"

"Hang on," David said, projecting his voice so that it drew all attention toward him. He opened the front door and gestured to a lamp post several yards to the left of the shop. "Can someone knock that over so that it blocks the street? Preferably, just before the wagon passes?"

Regina and her sister exchanged a glance. "Rust at the base would weaken it. I'd think a stout wind would finish the job when the time comes."

"About twenty minutes," Tia supplied helpfully.

"So, rather like a deadfall, then?" Paul asked with a smile. "Smashing. Uh… no pun intended," he added.

David grinned. "Having been inside a coach that ran up against one, I can assure you, it's effective."

Emma, who had not only read Henry's book, but also witnessed the scene her father was referencing first-hand, stifled a laugh.

Rumple spared her a mildly annoyed look, before nodding in Zelena's direction. "You'd best get started, dearie," he said coolly. "If you go about it slowly enough, it will spread out the effect of your spell. Much more likely to avoid being detected that way. But should that wagon pass before you accomplish the task, it'll all be for naught."

"I'm aware of that," Zelena snapped. "So, I'd suggest you lot keep quiet and leave me to my work."

Lusty squalls echoed down the corridor and seemed to strengthen in volume and intensity as Belle's guard escorted her back to her cell. She fought not to groan. She should have known it was too good to last.

Almost as soon as the thought formed in her mind, she felt ashamed of herself. Lyncoln was far better off with her than with Fiona's… nursemaid. How could she be so… self-centered and-and lazy and…?

But she couldn't think straight with all of that wailing going on and she needed her thoughts about her.

Fiona had Rumple's heart. And while she might have threatened to use Belle to force Rumple to her side, Belle could also recognize the threat that Fiona hadn't uttered. If her plan failed, if Rumple held firm, then she could always crush Rumple's heart. No, crushing the half in her possession wouldn't kill him. At least, to hear Regina and the Apprentice talk about it, it shouldn't. (But would it? Did they know it for a certainty, or were they merely speculating?) But Rumple was coming for her and he didn't have nearly enough magic in him now to truly fight his mother. He wouldn't try, Belle realized. Not with magic, not at first. He'd try to negotiate for her release, make some bargain that seemed to work in his mother's favor and hope all the while that she wouldn't spot the loophole that was certain to be present. And maybe it would even work. But if it didn't, once Rumple stood before Fiona, once he'd delivered himself into her power…

…There would be nothing to prevent the Black Fairy from seizing the other half of her son's heart.

And crushing them both.

Lily perched lightly on the sign outside the shop, holding so perfectly still that if one didn't know better, one might have thought that a dragon had always sat atop the legend proclaiming, 'Mr. Gold — Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer'. From some distance away, emerging from what would have been the woods in Maine's Storybrooke but what was a series of low sand dunes in this realm, she could see movement. At first, she wasn't certain whether it was some sort of wildlife or even tumbleweeds, but after several moments, she recognized the shape of a wagon behind two large, lumbering beasts that looked vaguely like buffalo. Carefully, she uncurled her tail and rapped sharply on the outer wall.

"Yes, all right," Zelena grumbled from the doorway below. "How long have we got?"

"I don't know," Lily admitted. "They don't look like they're moving that fast, but it's hard to tell."

Zelena sighed. "Well, we don't need much longer at any rate," she said. "Actually… I don't suppose you could give it a bit of a nudge? And change back," she added. "It's more than a little disconcerting seeing a human face mounted on a dragon body.

Lily glanced at the lamppost and gave a shrug that seemed almost comical, coming from a dragon. "I don't even think I'll have to get up for it," she muttered, flicking her tail almost idly. It felt as though she'd barely tapped the post, but it fell forward onto a blue Miata with a grating screech to block the way. While the pole wasn't quite long enough to totally bar the street, it was long enough that there could be no detouring around it. "And make up your mind; if you want to have a conversation, I can't be full dragon for it."

"I think our conversation's run its course, actually," Zelena retorted. "Here." She held up a portion of blue mushroom. Lily's human features shifted to reptilian as she tried to take the morsel with her tail, but the appendage wasn't nearly so useful when it came to fine-motor skills. Giving up, she gripped the sign tightly in her back claws, hung down until she was almost beaky nose to beaky nose with the witch. Then she stretched out a front claw, took the piece of mushroom cap daintily and brought it to her lips.

"Not yet!" Zelena cautioned. "Wait." She opened the shop door and poked her head in. "Snack time!" she called. "And once you're done, climb the dragon's tail to the top of the sign." She glanced at Lily. "I'd think that once we're a few inches high, it'll be far easier to get into the wagon if we can jump down, rather than climb up. And it won't take any more magic to do it."

Lily nodded slowly and although her lips didn't move, something about the glint in her reptilian eyes made Zelena think she detected an approving smile.

Belle rocked Lyncoln softly in her arms, trying not to allow her inner turmoil to surface. Babies were supposed to be good at picking up on that kind of thing, at least, she thought she remembered reading that somewhere. Or maybe Snow had mentioned it in passing; Belle couldn't recall that now.

She couldn't let the Black Fairy win.

She couldn't let Rumple lose.

He'd come so far these last few months; they both had. He'd clawed his way out of that Dark abyss hand over fist, and now his own mother was ready to kick him back down.

All those times he'd struggled to conquer his Darkness, tried to be a better person, for her. And yes, Belle could see now that he'd needed to find reasons to conquer it for himself instead—and he had, he had… But the Black Fairy meant to use their love now, turning it into a weapon to force Rumple to reclaim that Darkness anew! And there was nothing Belle could do about it!

…Or was there?

Belle felt her hands tremble and she quickly braced Lyncoln against her shoulder.

Love was weakness, but it was also strength.

Love was a weapon, but the Black Fairy wasn't the only one who could wield it.

Love was sacrifice, and Belle felt her breathing slow and her heart steady as she realized that she was ready to make it.

She would not stand idly by while the Black Fairy compelled Rumple to assume a burden he'd finally shed. She would do everything in her power to prevent it!

Everything.

Including assume that burden herself.

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen

The fallen lamppost had, perhaps, done its work a bit too well. When the wagon stopped, the eight (in the end, Regina had opted to join them rather than risk teleporting to the Black Fairy’s castle on her own) leaped from the top of the shop’s sign to land lightly on the tarpaulin covering the wagon’s contents. Quickly, they scrambled to the edge, slid under the tarp and waited for the wagon to start moving again.

And they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“Maybe we should have thought this out a bit better,” Paul muttered.

“Well, they can’t stall here forever,” David said in a placating tone. “I’m sure they’ll figure out how to move the post soon. Meanwhile, we should try to find someplace better protected to hole up for when they pull back the tarp; I know we’re small, but we’re still big enough to be spotted.

“These barrels might work,” Zelena remarked. “If we could get the lids off.”

Tia frowned. “If they’re nailed down, it’ll be harder. But if they’re just wedged, I might be able to do something.” She hesitated. “That is, if we’re right about my magic being able to pass undetected.”

“Well, let’s hope we’re right, then,” Zelena said. “Try that one.” She motioned to a barrel that was half the height of its companions, so that there were several feet of space between its top and the tarp overhead.

Tia nodded. She closed her eyes, raised her hands… and floated smoothly upwards. “I don’t see any nails,” she called down. She raised one hand higher, fingers outstretched. “It’s pressed down pretty tight, though. Might take a minute.”

Rumple felt it first; an icy wave of malevolence that washed over him with enough force to make him suck in his breath and shrink back against the side of the wagon.

He looked about quickly and saw that it was affecting the other three magical practitioners as well.

“What is that?” Emma whispered.

Rumple held her gaze for a moment. Then he pushed himself to his feet. “Tia,” he called up softly, “can you see what’s in the barrel?”

“Yes,” Tia called down. She turned in mid-air to face him, her expression puzzled. “It… it looks like dust. Black dust. It might stain our clothes, but at least it’ll give us some cushioning if the road’s bumpy.”

“NO!” Then seeing the startled look on the woman’s face, he repeated more softly, “no. Now, Tia, I want you to listen to me very carefully. You need to replace the lid just as tight as it was before, if not tighter. And you need to do so before the wagon begins to move anew. Our lives depend on it.”

“Wha…?” Lily gaped at him from her position. “What do you…? What is that stuff?”

“Dark fairy dust,” Regina said grimly, not really needing Rumple’s quick nod of confirmation. She’d felt the same power he had and there weren’t many substances capable of giving off that vibe and answering to Tia’s description of the barrel’s contents. “Trust me, Lily, you don’t want it touching you.”

“Not unless you want to spend the rest of your existence as a cockroach anyway,” David put in.

Zelena glanced about them. “You don’t suppose that the rest of these casks are filled with more of the same, do you?”

Rumple looked nervously at the barrels surrounding them, as Tia floated back down. “Knowing that we might be underway at any moment, I think I’d like to forgo satisfying that curiosity for now. I’m afraid we’ll just have to make do with hiding amongst the cargo rather than inside it.”

“Come on,” Henry glared at the quill in his hand. “Give me something!”

“Ya wanna toffee?” a childish voice piped up, startling him nearly as much as the cellophane-wrapped square now being thrust under his nose.”

“Aggie!” an older girl remonstrated.

“He said to give him something!”

Henry put down the quill and tried to smile at Cecily and her younger sister. “Sorry,” he said. “I was talking to the quill.”

“Well, that’s silly!” Aggie snorted with four-year-old scorn. “Quills can’t talk!”

“Aggie…”

Aggie looked up at her sister. “Well, they can’t!”

Henry sighed. “It’s a magic quill. I was hoping it might listen.”

Cecily’s eyes widened. “Magic?” she repeated.

“Cool! What’s it do? Can it fly? Does it make pictures come to life? Clean my room? What?”

Cecily clapped a hand to her mouth to smother a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to sound serious. “Aggie, leave Henry alone, will you?”

Henry shook his head. “It’s okay. I’m just worried about my moms.” He quickly filled the two girls in on recent events. “…And somehow, knowing that if everything goes right, they’ll come back a minute after they left and none of this will have happened just feels wrong. Like, does anything we say or do now matter if it’s all going to be erased anyway?” He sighed again. “I mean, I guess I shouldn’t worry. Good always wins and they’ll be fine. I know that.” He hoped so, at least. “I was just trying to see if I could find out what’s going on over there, only,” he glowered at the quill, “it’s not writing!”

“So you can’t make it do magic?” Aggie whined.

Henry reminded himself that she was just a little kid and bit back an angry response. “I’ve been trying to,” he said, just a bit tetchily. “I’m starting to get the feeling it only does it when it wants to.” He thought about something Tony had said earlier. “Or maybe I want it to happen too badly. It works better when I’m calm.”

“And you’re not calm because you’re worried,” Cecily realized.

“Yeah.”

“Want to go for a walk? I’m taking Aggie to the Merry Men’s camp to play with Roland. Mama said not to let Skippy know, because he broke the clothesline trying to… I don’t even know what he was trying to—”

“Slide on it with his hands till he got to the pole like a monkey!” Aggie giggled. “Only it snapped before he got halfway!”

“Is he okay?” Henry asked quickly.

Cecily sighed. “He got scraped up a bit, but Dr. Whale patched him up okay. Anyway, Mama said he’s grounded for a week. And since you know he always wants to go visit Robin Hood, we’re kind of not telling him.”

Henry nodded. “Robin actually went with my moms,” he said.

“Oh.” Cecily said and her expression turned serious. “Then I think it’ll probably be good for Aggie and Roland to play together; I bet Roland’s missing him. If you want to walk there with us, maybe it’ll take your mind off things, so you can relax.”

“Maybe,” Henry said doubtfully. But, he realized, it would get him into the woods and that was where he’d had the best results earlier. He smiled. “Sure. Let’s go.”

“How are you holding up?”

Rumple looked up as Emma slid down beside him with a concerned expression. “Fair warning, savior,” he said grimly. “Don’t ask if you aren’t sure you want the answer.”

“That’s why I am,” Emma replied. “Look, I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, but if you want to talk…”

“And what good will that do me?” Rumple demanded, practically spitting the words out. “Will that defeat my mother? Or rescue Belle? Or the captain? Will it restore my power? Tell me, savior: will talking accomplish anything other than, perhaps arousing pity in some of you and annoyance in the rest?”

“Hey,” Emma said. She reached out to him, just as the wagon began moving again. Caught off-balance, she slid into the side of the wagon and grimaced when, as she scuttled forward again, the sleeve of her shirt caught on a bit of projecting wood. The fabric tore. “Damn,” she muttered, twisting the material so that she could get a good look at it. “I know, if this is the worst damage we take when all this is over, I should be happy, but… I really like this shirt. Sorry,” she added.

Rumple shook his head. “Had I the proper equipment here,” he said, “it would be no great feat to repair that.”

Emma frowned, even as she remembered something Rumple had told them earlier and an idea began to form in her mind. “Are you sure?” she asked carefully. “I mean, it’s not on the seam, or I could probably do it myself.”

Now that he had something else to focus on, he could feel his agitation diminishing. “I grant you that spinning is the craft I find most soothing when I need to calm my thoughts,” he said, taking out his drop spindle for emphasis and regretting that he hadn’t had the presence of mind to bring along any straw or wool fiber. Either might have helped more than the savior’s offer to talk. “However, mending and weaving are other skills I worked to acquire. And torn threads can be rewoven easily enough, when one knows how.”

Emma smiled. “Glad to hear it,” she said. For more than one reason. She leaned back against one of the barrels again, thinking about how to ask the question she wanted to next.

“Gold? Is it any different for cut threads?”

Rumple frowned. “Are you that interested, then?”

“Well…” Emma said slowly, “I’m nervous. And maybe you’re right and talking about what’s coming up isn’t going to help, but maybe talking about other stuff will stop me from freaking out before I have to. Or both of us,” she added.

Rumple raised an eyebrow and his lips twitched briefly. “Well. Perhaps it might, at that. And to answer your question, if it’s just a question of cut threads, it’s more or less the same technique. If one’s cut away a piece of fabric, a patch would be required.”

“But if it’s just threads…?”

“Much simpler, in that case, Dearie.” He shrugged. “If you’re that interested, I suppose I can teach you.”

“Yeah!” Emma’s eyes widened a bit. “If you wouldn’t mind, sure.”

They shared a smile.

“Gold?” Emma ventured after a moment. “Before we came here, you were telling me what Blue told you. About how your mother used the shears, to—” She broke off abruptly, as she saw his eyes harden. “Sorry! I was just wondering. I mean, you use shears to cut… threads, right? So if you know how to repair those, is it possible that you could repair what she did, too?”

The scowl that was already forming on his lips seemed to freeze and his jaw dropped slightly. “That,” he said slowly, “is one idea that hadn’t occurred to me. And while I don’t believe I can answer you presently…” His voice dropped to a whisper, even as his fingers reverently caressed the drop spindle. “You might just be onto something…” He frowned then, not in anger, but in thought. “Although,” he added worriedly, “considering that that my original destiny was not merely to face my mother but to die in the process, perhaps I ought to leave well enough alone.”

Emma nodded. Then she moved over to talk to her father, leaving Rumple behind with his thoughts spinning in frighteningly new directions.

Belle sat on the edge of her cot and hugged herself. Now that she’d had time to think things over, she didn’t really know that she could go through with her idea. She didn’t know that she’d wanted to. Rumple had been a good man once; she knew he had been. If she hadn’t been seeing it these last months for herself, well, Baelfire had regaled her with as many stories of his childhood as he could recall during their long trek through the Enchanted Forest, first to Rumple’s Dark Castle and then north to the Vault of the Dark One.

Rumple had taken on the Darkness to save his son from being conscripted to a war that had already claimed so many soldiers that the army was drafting children as young as fourteen to fill its ranks. He’d wanted to bend its power to become a force for good. Instead, it had bent him.

Why should Belle think she’d be any different?

Belle clenched her teeth. Was she back to this again? She’d always wanted to be a hero. And when push came to shove, she always stepped away from that dream and gave pettiness and selfishness free reign.

She’d let a friend fall to what might have been her death because she’d valued a magic pebble more than a human life.

She’d turned away from her husband when he’d most needed support, but not before making him feel that confiding his truths to her would drive her away.

She’d gone after Ursula and Cruella alone and become a murderer.

And now, she thought she could take on Darkness and come away unscathed? Who was she fooling?

Back away then. Trust that the others will know what to do. Sit passively on the sidelines and wring your hands. And if Fiona wins, you’ll always wonder what might have happened if you’d taken that leap of faith and done what you knew was right.

Did she, though?

The Darkness had corrupted Rumple. But Rumple had yearned for its power and so been ripe for its influence. She only wanted to keep the power away from Fiona; she had no desire for it otherwise. It wouldn’t corrupt her because she had no intention of ever using it, not for evil, not even for good.

August had done something similar, she recalled. And in so doing, he’d saved not only Rumple, but himself. Well, Belle would be content to save Rumple. Perhaps that would be enough to defeat Fiona; if not, she had no doubt that Emma would manage it—her being the savior and all. Either way, once Belle became the Dark One, she would happily sit on the sidelines rather than aid the Black Fairy’s cause.

And she wouldn’t be wringing her hands either!

“You alright, love?”

Tia looked up from her seat on the wagon floor to see Paul standing over her, a bottle of some clear brown liquid in hand.

“It’s just ginger beer,” the elderly youth said with a smile. “I think I recollect you telling me once that the stronger stuff didn’t mix well with some of your talents.”

Tia smiled. “Thanks. I’m all right, I guess. I’m just finding shrinking a little disorienting.” She made a face. “Or maybe it was that mushroom.” She shook her head. “I know it was a magical mushroom, but maybe it was also a magic mushroom?”

“Doubt it,” Paul replied, sliding down beside her with cheerful laugh. Else we’d all be affected. And if you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look to me like you’re tripping. More like you were bladdered the night before and now you’re facing the consequences, though I know you weren’t. I mean,” he chuckled, “even if I’d thought you’d had a daft moment and decided to try a pint or two despite the troubles it causes you, where would you have got it from and when would you have had the chance, eh?”

Tia nodded. “I think it’s just that I was already trying to adjust to a place that’s so… different. Time, magic, landmarks, people…” She winced. “Being a couple of inches tall is just one more wrinkle.” She massaged her forehead. “As is being so close to people who can’t shield their minds. I used to block it out more easily, but,” her shoulders slumped, “I’ve been at Witch Mountain for a long time now.”

“It’s probably like riding a bike,” Paul replied. “You’ve not forgotten.”

“No.” Her expression brightened. “And at least, if they can’t shield, I can track where they are.” Her forehead creased in concentration. “Zelena, Regina and Robin,” she pointed to a crevice between several barrels. “Emma and Rumpelstiltskin,” she gestured toward the opposite side. “Lily’s up there,” her hand waved toward the top of a shorter barrel situated between two larger ones. The tarp made a sheltered cave, draped over them. “David’s over there,” she waved her hand behind her over her shoulder. “And…” She frowned. “Paul? Get the others. Tell them Killian’s here, too.”

Killian had already probed every inch of his prison searching for some weak spot. Resigned to his situation, he did his best to tune it out. Sleep was impossible, but he tried to let his thoughts drift, as the rocking motion of the wagon lulled him.

Something alighted on his shoulder; he couldn’t see what it was in the scant light filtering through his air slot, but it made a series of shrill sounds in his ear. Irritably, he brought his hand to his shoulder and flicked it away.

A moment passed, then two, and then the shrill sound returned, though there was a slight difference in the rhythm. It seemed to him as though the insect (if that was what it was) sounded confused. He slapped at it.

This time, it did not return.

Still smarting from having been slammed into the metal walls, Emma levitated herself up to the slot and then, painfully, out of the box.

“We’re too small,” Regina sighed. White light shone from her fingertips as she brushed a cut on Emma’s temple. “He can’t hear us. Or at least, he can’t make sense out of what we’re saying; it probably sounds like buzzing or chirping or…” The cut closed. “Is that all?”

Emma winced. “I feel like I’m one massive bruise,” she admitted.

Regina frowned. “No, but you’ve a number of smaller ones. Here.” This time, the light engulfed her like a wave. “Much better.”

“Yeah,” Emma nodded, eyes widening slightly. “Thanks.”

“Why would he be on this wagon in the first place?” David asked. “Do you think the Black Fairy knows who he is?”

The others exchanged glances, but it was Tia who spoke. “She knows he was taken, but she doesn’t know he’s being brought to her. She ordered the overseers to send her any workers who might have magic.”

Zelena let loose a startled laugh. “Magic? Him? What in all the realms could make them think that he had any?”

Tia shook her head. “It’s harder for me to read the past,” she admitted. “That’s Tony’s gift. But it had something to do with the snake I sent.” Her eyebrows lifted. “They think he might have controlled it.”

Emma blinked. “So, what, are Parselmouths a thing here?”

Lily rolled her eyes.

“Hang on,” Regina said. “Rumple, how would one go about verifying whether someone possessed a magical gift?”

Rumple frowned. “While study and training can call forth such a gift, a test under fire achieves faster results. For example,” he turned to Emma, “how did you first discover your power?”

“Cora,” Emma said at once. “She tried to take my heart. Well, my mom’s; I got in the way. But I stopped her.”

“Even though you’d never done anything of the kind before.”

“Right.” She frowned. “Wait, there were a couple of times… once with Ingrid and once, just when Henry was born, when the lights went a little weird. I don’t know if I did anything, but when I use my magic now, I feel this kind of… I guess it’s like a pressure. I think I felt it then too. Maybe.”

Rumple nodded, unperturbed. “That’s common enough. A magical talent manifests in small, innocuous ways initially, but it’s a harbinger of what’s in store. If the overseers observed the actions of Tia’s serpent and believed the captain to be responsible, I’m not surprised that he’s in his current predicament. And the stress brought on by a dire situation is generally enough to force any such talent to the surface. So, in all likelihood, she intends to place him in one.”

“But Killian doesn’t have any magical talent.”

Rumple nodded. “Well, then, it’ll probably kill him,” he said, with far less jocularity than he might have in the past.

Emma caught her breath. “Not if I’m there with him,” she said slowly. “Not if I’ve got my magic.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going back into that… crate. And I’ll try not to buzz in his ear this time.”

“Wait,” Rumple ordered. He reached into his pocket and extracted a pouch, from which he took a dried mushroom cap. He tore a piece from it and handed it to her. “It will be more palatable if you can moisten it first,” he advised. “But when you’re ready, eat it to resume your proper size.” His expression was troubled, as he reached into his other pocket and pulled forth a small oval that reminded Emma of a Faberge egg. He twisted it in half. “Remember, the moment you use magic, my mother will be able to pinpoint your location. With any luck,” he added, “we’ll have her occupied by then.” He frowned. “I don’t believe you’ve attempted a travelling spell before,” he continued. “The theory’s simple enough: much like translocation except that in this case, the object you’re moving is yourself. Picture the place you wish to go in your mind and then will yourself there. However,” his frown deepened, “There will be a wrinkle.”

Emma sighed. “There always is,” she said, not in irritation, but in resignation.

Rumple let it pass. “Since you won’t know my mother’s home well enough to select a target location, focus on the other half of this,” he said, handing her one piece of the egg, “and you can rejoin us with the captain when you’re able.”

“Thanks,” Emma said. She frowned worriedly. “You’ll be okay?”

Rumple snorted. And with a bravado he didn’t quite feel but refused to eschew in Zelena’s presence, he shrugged and said, “Well, I’ll just have to manage, now, won’t I?”

The path the wagon was taking turned bumpy as Emma started her climb. A few times, she lost her grip on the rough wooden barrel, but eventually, she reached its lid and from there, leaped to the roof of Killian’s prison. Seven pairs of eyes watched as she lowered herself onto the ledge of the air slot and dropped inside.

“She’ll be okay, right?” David asked.

“Assuming the captain doesn’t mistake her for a mosquito,” Rumple remarked.

The wagon stopped then. The tarp moved and, at a signal from Regina, all darted out of sight as it lifted. There was a deep bass rumble that rather made Rumple think of a phonograph playing a record on slow speed. He couldn’t pick up more than that, certainly not enough to be certain whether the cause of the sound had spoken or merely grunted. The tarp was replaced and the wagon moved forward several yards. Then, with a deafening bang, the wagon back slammed down and with loud, stomping footfalls, figures swathed in loose fabric came forward. Robes, Rumple realized. This perspective was going to take some getting used to.

There was more creaking and banging and the stowaways shrank back further in their hiding places. They could only watch, as the newcomers slid the box holding Killian—and now Emma—toward the open back of the wagon, carrying it away on a set of poles that had gone unnoticed until now.

Robin stepped hesitantly out from between two barrels. “I think it might be a good idea to get down before they unload the rest of the cargo,” he said, and though his tone was somewhat diffident, it was far more a directive than a command.

They made for the wagon back. “Stay close,” David warned. “And don’t get stepped on.”

Paul eyed Rumple with concern. “Think this’ll help?” he asked, pulling a coil of nylon rope from his backpack.

Rumple smiled. “Well, I won’t pretend I’m not obliged, he murmured, as Paul fastened one end of the cord to the bolt hasp. Paul gave it an experimental tug. Assured it was securely tied, Rumple half-climbed half-slid to the ground below. Paul tried to unfasten the cord, but after a moment, he shrugged, pulled out a hunting knife, and severed it just below the knot, before leaping from the wagon.

“Won’t they notice the remnant?” Zelena demanded.

Paul shrugged. “They’ll notice a hanging cord a lot quicker, love,” he replied.

Zelena started to say something, but before she got a word out, a small dragon took to the air. A tongue of flame shot forth from her mouth, burning the leftover rope to ash. She touched down once more lightly and assumed her human form. “We’re wasting time, people,” she snapped. “And at this height? It’s going to take us a little while to get across the courtyard. Let’s move.”

Without waiting for a response, she stomped off, arms swinging.

Paul chuckled and took off after her.

The others exchanged rueful glances. “She’s right,” David admitted.

Regina fell into step beside him. “Emma can take care of herself,” she said quietly.

“I know,” David sighed. “But I’m still going to worry.”

Behind him, unseen by the others, Rumple gave a slow, feeling nod. Then he gripped his cane tightly and tried to focus on the immediate task of reaching the castle. He had to think of Belle. Not the confrontation with his mother. Not the witch stalking several paces ahead who had, so recently, been his tormentor. Not the possible fates awaiting two of the small number of people he now counted as friends. One step in front of the other. Don’t fall behind. Belle is depending on you.

And that thought was almost more terrifying than that of the imminent confrontation with his mother.

They were here. Fiona smiled to herself, as she looked from her divan to the bed where lay her captive. A bit sooner than anticipated, but still within expected parameters. Soon, very soon, she would be greeting her son once more. And this meeting would more than make up for the last one. For one way or another, mother and son would be united anew. All that was required was the right catalyst.

“I do believe you’re ready, my dear,” she murmured to her slumbering companion. “I would have preferred playing it safer, giving your subconscious a bit more time to prepare you for your part, but on the whole? I must say you’re meeting my expectations admirably.”

She waved her hand and Belle vanished.

“Clear the corridors,” she directed her attendant. “It’s imperative that she believes herself unobserved when she comes here.” Her smile grew broader.

“I do believe it’s time for my sleeping beauty to awaken.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen

It was a good thing that Killian's clothes hadn't shrunk with him. Whoever was carrying the crate didn't seem to be expending any effort to keep it steady and Emma had found herself sliding from one wall to the next before she'd latched onto one of the rawhide thongs that the pirate-turned-child had used to tie back his rolled-up leggings. From there, it had been easy enough to clamber into the cuffed-up sleeve of his leather jacket. It still wasn't comfortable, and there was an accumulation of rock dust in the creases that had her tear off the sleeve of her already torn shirt to tie over her face as a makeshift mask. Still, it was safer than rattling around in the box.

"Hang on, Killian," she muttered. "I'll get you out of this somehow."

In Rumple's opinion, they weren't crossing the courtyard at anywhere close to the rate they needed to. How many steps taken now would be eclipsed by a single stride made at full size? And yet, every step still brought them closer.

Closer to Belle.

Closer to his mother.

Closer to any number of outcomes, each of which seemed bleaker than the last.

It was one thing to remind himself that he was no longer a villain and that a happy ending was even now within his grasp. It was another to think of everything that Regina had suffered since her journey away from her own Darkness. There was no indication that Fate was done toying with either of them yet.

He was trying not to dwell overmuch on the future his mother had in mind for Belle. If she succeeded… He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd outlined the task before Emma if she did—even if he had appreciated the savior's initial refusal. He hoped that fate could be averted, hoped with all the heart he had left. But if it couldn't be... If it couldn't be, then someone would have to do all that was necessary to prevent his mother's plans from engulfing all the realms in a tidal wave of Darkness.

He wished Emma were still with them. He wished Belle were here too, of course; that wasn't even a question. But when he found himself falling into pessimism, Emma seemed to have a knack for pulling him back from that brink. He'd come to rely on that. And now, she was off with the captain. Belle was with his mother. And he…?

He was trudging toward what might well be his doom, in the company of several people he couldn't quite class as friends (though in some cases, he thought he might be getting there), and one whom he knew for an enemy—truce or no.

His discomfort grew with each step. Part of him wanted to strike out on his own as he always had. At least until recently. But if he did that, alone, with his magic unpredictable, even if he ate the mushroom and resumed his natural size, he'd be no match for his mother.

The mushroom, he realized abruptly. He was the only one with the mushroom supply. Yes, he could contrive to dole them out now, claim it was a safety precaution in case they were separated, but Regina and Zelena knew him and they knew how he thought. They might suspect…

…But would they care?

Emma would. August would. Belle would. Henry…

None of them were here. It was just him, his current companions, and his steadily increasing fears.

And then a hand came down on his shoulder, startling him and his eyes jerked up and met the outlaw's.

"You were starting to trail behind," Robin said. "Are we moving too fast?"

Rumple started to shake his head. Then he realized that it was a better excuse than the truth would have been. "Perhaps, just a little," he allowed.

Robin nodded. "Sorry, mate. We all want to get there, but not at the cost of our numbers dwindling more than they already have." He smiled easily. "Hold up ahead," he called, and the others slowed. He turned back to Rumple. "Come on. We'll take it slower. And next time, for pity's sake, say something!"

Rumple nodded, but Robin was already looking straight ahead as he began walking forward—at a pace Rumple could match. Maybe it would be all right. Maybe he could manage. Maybe…

Zelena was tapping her foot impatiently and he fought the urge to drag his heels even more.

Even riding in the cuff of Killian's jacket made for a bumpy ride. Emma's stomach felt like it was turning somersaults and her chin itched under her hastily-fashioned mask. She was keeping her eyes closed, too; the dust was irritating when it got in. At least, she reminded herself, it was ordinary dust; not that stuff that turned you into a bug.

They were set down abruptly, and the impact was jarring without being injurious. The box tilted without warning and Killian slid forward, his knees pressing against the side of his prison.

And then the side vanished and, with what sounded to Emma's shrunken ears like a wordless bellow, Killian hurtled into empty space! Emma clung to the cuff's edge for dear life as she let loose with a shriek of her own.

The sun beat down as the company made their way across the sandy courtyard. They did their best to conserve their water; not knowing when they'd be able to find more, but all were perspiring heavily by the end of the first hour. Those wearing jackets had long since removed them, but the relief granted by such a measure was scant.

Robin wasn't obvious about it, but whenever Rumple found himself trailing, the outlaw seemed to be at his elbow, and as much as Rumple tried to act as though he didn't need such oversight, his snide retorts were absent their usual sting.

"We can't keep this pace up," Regina said, and Rumple realized that she was gasping a bit. "There's a bit of shade there. We'll rest for a few minutes."

Somehow, exhausted though they were, the promise of a cooler spot and a breather seemed to spur them all on and they quickened their pace until they reached a pile of rocks that would have been scarcely more than pebbles had they been full-sized. Now, though, they appeared as boulders and their cooling shadows granted no small measure of refreshment. Rumple sank back against one of them and closed his eyes. He had to be careful about over-exertion, he reminded himself. He did only have half a heart and he couldn't overtax it. Right now, it felt as though it was thundering in his chest.

And then he realized that the thundering was actually coming from the ground beneath them. He rose carefully.

"Rumple?" Regina asked.

"Move," he said calmly. And then, louder, "Move! Everyone!"

Not entirely certain why, they all got to their feet and out of the shadows.

And then, the ground exploded as a large invertebrate shot toward them, its mouth wide open, displaying two rows of jagged teeth!

The company ran.

Come on, Emma told herself. It's not the first time someone sent you plunging toward certain doom. It's just like that time on the suspension bridge. You got through that. Come on, do it again! She'd had further to fall that time, but she'd risen to the occasion—with most of the bridge in tow. Killian was quite a bit lighter! True, she was smaller now, but she also didn't necessarily need to rise back up, just slow their descent. She leaned over the sleeve cuff, raised her hands, and called her magic to her.

The winds roaring in her ears ceased their shrieking. Killian didn't. Not at first. But then, as he realized that he was floating gently to the ground, his bellows ceased. He stretched his arms forward, as though he were trying to fly. Emma tried to twist about to get a look at his face, but his features were a blur to her at this size. She rather thought he was smiling, though, as she drew her attention back to the task at hand, and focused on getting them down in one piece.

The landing went more smoothly than she'd hoped for, and once she'd caught her breath, she tried to take in their surroundings. Through dim light filtering down from above, she guessed that they were in some sort of dungeon. The floor was made of dark, square stones and from what she could tell, the walls were the same. Nothing about them suggested a door. And then, from above, Emma heard… well, it sounded almost as though thunder was trying to monologue. The rumbling seemed to have a distinctive cadence, and an amused tone. And while whatever it might be saying was unintelligible to her ears, from the way Killian's heartrate jumped, she guessed he could understand it just fine.

A series of rhythmic aspirations from above sent a chill down her spine. If she hadn't known better, she could have sworn that the thunder was laughing!

And then, stone panels in the walls slid back and the rasping sound of scales on stone coupled with the sibilant hisses of a myriad of reptiles filled her ears, as Killian leaped to his feet with a bellow that Emma was kind of glad she couldn't understand.

Killian was going to die. He knew it the moment his prison opened, dumping him out over a pit so deep he couldn't see the bottom. And though he'd promised himself that he would meet his end bravely, when he found himself plunging into emptiness, he hadn't been able to stifle a cry…

…Until he found himself flying! Flying like he'd plunged through a cloud of pixie dust, flying like a fairy, flying like the demon boy who—How was this happening?

As he touched bottom gently, he found himself considering an intriguing premise. Perhaps, he did have magic after all!

But if he did, he realized almost on the heels of that supposition, then why hadn't centuries in Neverland unlocked the talent? Or his youth as an indentured slave to Captain Silver? Magic required intense emotion to unlock; he remembered that much from his time with Cora. As frightening as plunging toward certain doom might be, this wasn't the first time he'd been in such a situation.

Perhaps, the atmosphere in this realm was more conducive to magic, capable of drawing forth some latent gift that might never find voice elsewhere. But even so, wouldn't he feel as though he'd done… something? Whatever had just happened, he thought, he didn't believe it had come from him.

Then how…?

Laughter from above startled him from his wonderment. "Well, well," a voice chuckled. "I can see why you've been brought here. That was quite the trick! Well done. And now," the voice continued, "we shall test your other talents. The overseers at the mine inform me that you are able to exert control over reptiles. Or, at the very least, serpents. Well, we can certainly indulge you in that…"

The voice laughed once more. And then, Killian's eyes widened as, in the dim light of his new surroundings, apertures no larger than the portholes on the Jolly Roger appeared in the stone walls. And streams of teaming, hissing vipers slithered through each one, streaking right for him!

"I'll deal with that!" Lily snapped. "Keep moving!" Her eyes went flat, as scales flowed about her rapidly-growing form. She still wasn't much bigger than the average housecat as she took to the air, but she ought to be more than a match for that saber-toothed earthworm, or whatever the hell it was.

Sparing no attention for her companions on the ground, Lily reared up and let loose a fiery blast. She hoped that the others were doing as she'd ordered and running for the castle, but she couldn't risk checking. She'd never been in a real fight, not against something that could fight back!

The worm squealed and veered to one side, narrowly missing her flame.

Great. It wasn't just fast, it was agile. She extended her neck, poised to deliver another blast.

It never came. Instead, the hind end of the worm—and it wasn't until the thing rose up from underground, trailing showers of sand, that Lily realized just how huge the creature was—angled sharply upward, smacking across her midsection. The wind knocked out of her, Lily careened backwards, hurtling toward the castle, but losing altitude fast. And then she was sliding on the ground, sand scouring her scales and getting into the tender spots between them as it finally slowed her velocity. She lifted her head weakly, to find that the blow had flung her almost to the castle. She tried to spot the others, but sank back down with a groan. Next time, she thought dazedly, I gotta get that thing's license number…

Moments earlier…

"Run!" Regina shouted, as Lily took to the air. Nobody had to be told twice. The worm was bearing down on them and they weren't prepared for a fight.

"I can't reach its mind!" Tia gasped. "If it even has one!"

"No magic," David cautioned, drawing his sword. "We're right on her doorstep; we can't risk it."

"Brilliant," Zelena shot back, "we have to risk letting it kill us, so the Black Fairy doesn't finish the job!" All the same, she refrained from casting the spell she'd been readying.

"Aye, but this thing doesn't bear any particular malice toward us," Robin pointed out. "If we get out of its range, it's like to leave us alone. Whereas the Black Fairy…"

"Less talking!" Paul snapped, running past them.

"Wait…" David slowed, and then turned. His face fell. Rumple was moving faster than he had a right to, given his ankle, but he was still trailing behind, as Lily shot overhead, looking rather like a baseball on its way out of a ballpark. In another moment, the worm would turn its attention toward them, and… "Rumpelstiltskin!" He hesitated only a fraction of a second, before starting toward him. "Come on! Hurry!"

Rumple nodded jerkily, panting as he tried to narrow the gap. His face was bright red, as he strained to put more distance between himself and his pursuer, but he was slowing and, to David's horror, the worm was—

"Chop-chop, Dearie!" a mocking voice rang out. "Move it, Rumple!"

And suddenly, Rumple wasn't where he had been. David blinked. And when he looked over his shoulder, he saw Rumple several paces ahead of the rest of them. Magic, David thought. But Rumpelstiltskin knew—they all knew—how dangerous it was to use it here, so close to— He didn't mean to, David recognized with sudden insight. All those months when Zelena had him enslaved, he must have gotten to a point where he…

The worm was advancing and David realized that right now, he was the closest one to it. Now wasn't the time to process what had just happened. He spun on his heel once more and, together with the others, ran toward the castle.

As they approached their destination, they noticed that the sand beneath their feet was yielding gradually to soil. Not particularly rich soil—David had been born on a farm; he knew good soil, and this wasn't it— but still better than sand. At the sand's edge, the worm broke off its attack and, with a shrill shriek, turned back the way it had come.

As one, the party of adventurers sank to the ground, breathing hard. "Look for Lily," Paul gasped. "She should be here."

"In a…" David coughed, "…minute."

He looked up, hoping that he could see where the dragon had landed, hoping that Lily was all right. Instead, he saw Rumpelstiltskin sitting in the shadow cast by the castle's stone wall, his head buried in his hands, as his shoulders heaved and shook.

Belle awoke slowly, feeling more refreshed than she had in a long time. She looked around, frowning a bit. Her cell hadn't changed in the slightest, and yet, everything felt somehow clearer and sharper. She felt almost as though she'd stepped out of a watercolor painting and into finished oil.

She looked to the cradle. Actually, one thing had changed, Lyncoln was sleeping peacefully. She got up to check on the child and spied a crystal flagon on her nightstand. A label attached to it said only, 'Colic Remedy' in spidery script. Belle smiled and left it where it was. Lyncoln certainly didn't need any of it now, but later would be another story. She peered down at the baby with a wistful expression. As piercing as her wails were while awake, Lyncoln really was adorable when she slept.

Belle shook her head sadly and turned around. She noted a fresh bowl of soup and loaf of crusty bread on the shelf where her food generally appeared. Well, that was welcome; she had to admit that she was hungrier than she should have been. It wasn't until she was nearly halfway through the bowl that she noticed something else.

The door of her cell was not flush with the stone wall that surrounded it. It seemed to be ever-so-slightly ajar.

"Some illusion," she said aloud. "Or some trick." But almost as if in a dream, she got up, walked toward the door, and tugged at the handle.

The door was unlocked. And Belle found herself staring down the long corridor.

The long unguarded corridor.

Belle's eyes widened. She turned around and took two steps toward the cradle. If she was getting out of here, then she couldn't leave the baby. She had to...

She had to remember that Fiona had Rumple's heart and that so long as she did, Rumple's life was in danger. Wasn't it? Belle frowned. The Black Fairy was his mother, after all. Surely she wouldn't kill her own son!

Memories crashed in on her. Rumple standing before Fiona, demanding why she'd abandoned him, only to have her seize him by the throat and fling him away like an unwanted shoe with a merry laugh.

That still didn't mean she'd kill Rumple, Belle told herself. But Belle wasn't prepared to gamble Rumple's life that she wouldn't.

Belle's mind started running through possible scenarios:

Fiona, already in an ill temper to find Belle gone, unleashing the full force of her magic on Rumple when he refuses to stand beside her…

Rumple accepting the offer and becoming the Dark One again after all…

The Black Fairy deciding to crush Rumple's heart and become the Dark One herself, adding that power to her own, already considerable, might…

Rumple…

The Black Fairy…

The heart…

The heart could not be left in the Black Fairy's hands. No matter what happened, Belle couldn't leave without it.

She rather thought she remembered the way to Fiona's boudoir, and she started cautiously down the corridor, leaving Lyncoln in her cradle and the colic remedy on the nightstand.

Hades scowled at the scene that played before him in his scry-glass. Why, why had the brat been sleeping so angelically? Had she been screaming, had Belle awakened to piercing wails, then she might have administered the contents of that flask without hesitation. And once the infant tasted the fruit of the Underworld, he would be able to claim her.

He ground his teeth together, as he let his hair take flame. While he could traverse realms at will—albeit briefly—bringing a living soul to his domain was near-impossible, unless certain conditions could be met. The blood of one who had died and returned to life could open a portal capable of doing so—but it wasn't as though that kind of thing happened very often! There were a few magical items that could do it, but they were rare indeed, and scattered through the realms of the living.

If all dead souls had been his permanent property, then he wouldn't be facing this problem. While people in many realms looked askance at infanticide now, such had scarcely been the case when the realms had been younger. Unwanted babes had often been left to perish on mountaintops or in some other wild place. Hades snorted a bit at the recollection. If the parents wanted their child dead, it would have been more merciful to dispatch it quickly; starvation and exposure to the elements were hardly pleasant ways to go. Neither was being devoured by some wild beast. Of course, dead was dead, and ultimately, it didn't matter to him how it happened. No, it mattered to him that he could only lay claim to such souls that had unfinished business. And babies, almost by definition, did not.

He wanted the child in his domain in order to lure its mother to him. But since he could—under most circumstances—only bring in the dead, and then only those with unfinished business, getting her had been a conundrum. At least, until he'd remembered that anyone who ate or drank the sustenance of the Underworld would also be bound to it. Once Zelena's daughter drank the pomegranate juice in the flask he'd left by Belle's bed, he would have her. Once he had her, the child's mother would find a way to reach him.

And once that happened, either Zelena would be able to restart his heart so that he could leave this realm for good, or she and her child would stay with him forever—one happy family.

From where he was sitting, either option was acceptable.

Portals did not randomly open when one wished them to. The earth did not suddenly open itself and swallow one. Maybe, Rumple thought seriously, he ought to retrace his steps and face the worm. It would be an easier ordeal than the one now awaiting him.

They'd seen. They'd all seen. The witch had barked an order and he'd obeyed like the craven, servile creature she'd reduced him to. And now, that was all they'd ever see. Cringing, cowardly, panicked, hadn't even needed the dagger's tether to enforce his obedience.

The obedience had just saved his life.

And all that lot would register was that he owed his continued existence to that humiliation. To the witch. After everything she'd done to him, everything she'd taken from him, they'd wring every positive element they could from it and self-righteously inform him that he ought to be grateful for that demeaning favor. They'd…

He nearly jumped when he realized that the prince had joined him. "In the old days," David said, staring straight ahead, even as he slid down next to him, "I used to carry brandy with me when I travelled." He held out an insulated flask. "Unfortunately, all I have now is cinnamon tea. Hopefully, still hot."

Rumple shook his head slightly. David started to put the flask back in his pack, but then seemed to change his mind and set it in the sand between them instead. Rumple eyed it, even as he steeled himself for whatever tone-deaf, condescending lecture had to be forthcoming. Instead the prince simply sat silently beside him, close, but not close enough to make him uncomfortable. The minutes seemed to drag on, but David gave no indication that he was impatient to get moving. Finally, still not looking at Rumple, he cleared his throat.

"I…" He reached into his jacked, pulled out a plastic water bottle, twisted off the cap, and took a swig. "I guess," he began again, "I don't have to tell you about how we—Snow and I—sent Emma to Maine ahead of the curse."

Rumple turned to him with a puzzled frown, but the prince was still staring straight ahead.

"At the time," he continued, "I didn't see that we had any other choice. Maybe if there'd been more time, if Snow hadn't gone into early labor, if Regina hadn't cast the curse, if I hadn't just been stabbed by one of her guards, we could have found another solution, but under the circumstances…" He took another breath.

"To this day, I don't know what we could have done differently. But that doesn't change the fact that for twenty-eight years, our daughter believed that she'd been abandoned, unwanted on the side of a road. And after the curse broke, even when she knew the truth, it… wasn't exactly the warm reunion I'd hoped for when I put her in the wardrobe."

"Why tell me this?" Rumple rasped.

David sighed. "I don't believe that we were wrong to send Emma away. If there was another way, I still don't see it. But, by the same token, I don't think Emma was wrong to be… angry at us for what we did. No matter how necessary our actions were, she suffered and she didn't deserve to. If anyone were to ask me, I'd have to say she had every right to be upset, no matter how things worked out in the end." He took another breath.

"Uh… we probably should think about getting underway. Do you think you'll be ready in about fifteen minutes?"

Rumple could feel his face twisting as he fought for control. It was more than a full moment before he could trust himself to speak. "I might need twenty," he said, in a voice nearly as ragged as he felt.

David nodded. "I'll let the others know. And…" He hesitated. "Look, I'm not saying Zelena should have done what she did, but I'm glad you're not worm food."

His tongue was heavy; his throat was dry, and he seized the flask and poured out a cup of tea, taking a gulp before he managed a thank you. The two situations weren't what Rumple would have deemed comparable. Emma's parents had been motivated by love, for one thing. Zelena's action stemmed, he imagined, from far darker impulses. Still, he could see the superficial similarities. And while he doubted that the prince truly understood what Zelena's command had done to him, Rumple realized that he was trying to. He downed another sip and felt some of his tension ebb away. It was, he reflected, a fine thing to be understood, but to be accepted was no small matter either. And it was far better to be accepted than to merely be tolerated. For the first time since he'd escaped the worm, a small smile graced his countenance.

David returned the smile with one of his own. He started to rise, gripping Rumple's shoulder as he did. Rumple wasn't quite certain whether the prince was doing it to gain support or grant it, but he gave the hand an acknowledging squeeze all the same. "Oh," the prince said. "Um… Does this mean your magic's back to normal?"

Rumple's eyes widened. He had used magic to transport himself away from the worm, hadn't he? His own words, uttered only some two hours earlier, echoed in his mind: the stress brought on by a dire situation is generally enough to force any such talent to the surface. He turned his attention inward for a moment and realized that, for the first time since his return from New York, he could feel magic pulsing, strong and steady in his veins. "It would appear so," he managed.

David's grip on his shoulder tightened for a moment. "Well, good," he said, smiling. "I mean, even if the Black Fairy does know we're here now—and maybe she still doesn't—we couldn't have expected to keep the element of surprise much longer anyway, right?"

"I-I suppose not," Rumple answered. He took another gulp of the tea. It was still tepid and a bit overly-sweet, but he didn't care. The prince understood. Oh, not everything—how could anyone who hadn't been through what the witch had put him through understand everything—but enough. Enough not to castigate him for ingratitude or expect him to be any kindlier to the witch or…

And his magic was back, coursing through him with a controlled power he didn't think he'd felt since the night of his banishment. He cast about, looking for his cane. Then he realized that he wasn't going to need it anymore. A faint nimbus of white light misted from his fingertips as he brought his hand to his ankle. Cool tingling infused the joint as pain receded. For a moment, he leaned back against the rock with a sigh. Then he drained the cup, replaced it atop the flask, and got up to rejoin the others.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eighteen

Fiona peered into her mirror with a puzzled frown. "Where did it come from?" she muttered under her breath.

"My lady?"

She whirled furiously on the attendant in the doorway, who hastily bowed and withdrew. She had half a mind to pursue her and use the hapless servant as an outlet to vent her frustration, but good help was hard to come by, and her plans were so close to fruition that she couldn't afford to get careless or sloppy at this juncture. Even if it meant restraining her temper when it yearned for a freer rein. But where had that burst of magic originated?

She'd been aware of a spell cast aboard the cart bringing the latest shipment from the mines. She hadn't given that much thought, since the head of the overseers had reported that one of the workers appeared to have magic, and that they were sending him to the castle for further testing. If a child possessed magic but lacked the necessary training, it was to be expected that the talent would spark and flare. And while the vessel in which said child was transported was designed to block such gifts, if one allowed a hole for light and air to come in, one had to allow for some magic to leak out.

But what had accounted for the magical surge in the courtyard? Whatever it had been, the spell had been acute; she could find no such presence now—and had the caster been concealed by an invisibility spell, for example, she would have detected the presence of that enchantment and, though she wouldn't be able to pierce the veil to see who was under the spell, she would be able to track the caster wherever they might go. But there was no such spell; whatever magic had been present in the courtyard was gone now.

Fiona tapped an elegant nail against her polished table. She didn't like this. She knew Rumple and the others would be here soon, but where were they now? Had one of them been responsible for this mystery magic, or was something else afoot?

She waved her hand, and the scene in her mirror shifted. Belle was picking her way carefully along the corridors, pressing against the walls, ducking into alcoves whenever she heard footsteps, waiting until they passed. Fiona sighed. She'd debated whether to include such deterrents; they were slowing the young woman down considerably. But the last thing she wanted to do now was make things too easy. If Belle became suspicious, even at this late moment, if she really started analyzing what she was about to do… No, Fiona definitely did not want her thinking too hard about what she was planning. She wanted Belle nervous and jumpy, but determined on her course of action, so afraid of the potential consequence of failure that she didn't stop to examine what success might mean. And if she had to throw enough footfalls, sounds of opening and closing doors, and muffled conversations Belle's way to keep her apprehensive and off-balance, then letting the wench take her time was an acceptable trade-off.

Meanwhile, Fiona reflected, she really ought to see how the boy from the mines was faring in his testing…

Killian was going to die. He knew he didn't stand a chance against the slithering serpent swarm advancing toward him, but he was going to make sure he took a number of the vermin down with him. He reached into his pocket for the vial of dreamshade. Pity the spell that had turned him to a child had seemingly given him the body he'd had as a child; while having two good hands was appreciated, he could have made things a bit more personal, had he been able to coat his hook in the toxin. Instead, he sprinkled the liquid in a circle about him, trying to do gauge how wide an area he could cover before his supply ran out. When the ring was closed, he realized that he'd erred on the side of caution and had a few drops left over. He could live with that. Well, actually, no, he wouldn't—not for much longer, but he would make every last second count.

The snakes were coming from all directions and try as he did, he couldn't see one area where they were more tightly clustered than another. With a mental shrug, he hurled the glass vial before him, deliberately aiming a bit short of the reptilian horde. The glass struck the stone floor and shattered. Good. With any luck, some of the creatures would cut themselves on the shards which were almost certainly coated with the dregs of the dreamshade, before crawling through the droplets he'd scattered. He couldn't hope to survive this, he thought, as he pulled his hands back into his oversized sleeves, but he'd last as long as he could. At least, his leather garments afforded him some protection. Sooner or later, though, one of them would crawl into his sleeve or trouser leg, or worm its way up to within striking distance of his face. He made his peace with that, even as he prepared to sell his life dearly.

"You're watching this, aren't you?" he shouted at the ceiling. "Well, I hope you enjoy the spectacle!" He wished he had a torch or a blade. Or some of that magic they suspected him of possessing. Magic would be handy right about now—

Something that looked rather like glowing orange pellets, each no larger than a grain of barley, emanated from his sleeve cuff, piercing the army of snakes. An odor reminiscent of scorched potatoes and cucumbers wafted in the air.

And then, Emma was standing beside him. "Hey," she said.

"Swan?" Killian wasn't sure he could trust his eyes.

Without turning to face him, she lobbed a fireball into another section of the swarm. "I was trying not to blow my cover, but it seems like when I'm only two inches tall, my magic doesn't cover as much ground."

"You'll not hear me complaining, love," Killian replied, and pretended he hadn't seen Emma flinch. While shedding a number of decades hadn't changed his thoughts or feelings, perhaps it was a bit incongruous to have such words emanating from a boy who appeared, on the surface, to be several years Henry's junior. To cover the awkwardness, he added, "I suppose that was you softening our landing earlier?"

"Yep. And that annoying buzzing in your ear on the way here."

"You didn't soften that annoying buzzing," Killian said.

"I was that annoying buzzing," came Emma's retort as she hurled another fireball.

Killian froze. "Come again, love?" He'd called her that again, but she didn't seem to notice this time.

"I've been the about the size of a-a chess pawn for the last couple of hours. We all have. We hopped a ride on your wagon to get here, and when we realized you were aboard, I tried to talk to you, but I guess you couldn't hear me." Her explanation was punctuated by more fireballs, and Killian wished that he could do something to assist her, instead of standing at her side feeling superfluous.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, horrified.

"Nothing Regina couldn't fix; I'm fine." When he didn't answer, Emma finished dispatching the snakes, before she turned to him. "Sheesh, I know you didn't realize it was me. I'm okay. Let's get back to the others."

She took his arm with one hand, and thrust her other into her pocket, feeling for the object Gold had given her earlier. She felt... something, but almost at once, she came up against the stone wall of their cell. "Ow! What—"

And then, a mocking and not entirely unfamiliar voice rang out. "Oh, come now, Savior, did you really think I'd keep a captive suspected of possessing magic in a cell that could be quit by magic? Enjoy your stay."

Emma and Killian exchanged a horrified look.

"Well, there has to be some other way out," Killian said finally in an undertone. "Much though I know you'll dislike this suggestion, I propose we sit down and pretend our situation's hopeless. We shouldn't flatter ourselves that we're our captor's sole point of interest. So, rest up, give her time to grow bored with observing us, and I'm certain she'll choose to divert her energies elsewhere. Meanwhile… let's ponder our circumstances and see whether we can't conceive of an alternate solution."

"We're going to have to eat those mushrooms fairly soon, aren't we?"

Rumple started. He hadn't noticed the witch's approach. His voice, however, was even, as he calmly replied, "Not quite yet, dearie."

"At this height, it might take us days to find my daughter, and Belle's likely to step on us before she knows we're here." She took a breath. "I was saving your life, you know."

Rumple stiffened. "Really, dearie? And what do you expect in return for such generosity now, I wonder?"

Zelena shrugged. "When Ursula and the others took Lyncoln, you said you'd look out for her. I appreciate that. Given everything that's happened between us, I mean. And I wanted to demonstrate my gratitude," she continued, a sharp edge coming into her voice, "because I know that what you said then doesn't necessarily have any bearing on the current situation. Of course, while I intended to secure your promise that you'd continue to protect my daughter at all costs, well, now that your magic's back—again thanks to me—it's not likely to come down to 'all' costs, is it?"

Rumple drew a breath. "So, that's it," he said coldly. "You want my word that I'll put your daughter ahead of Belle."

"I think it's safe to say, it's probably not going to come to that, now," Zelena shrugged. "But it's a possibility."

Rumple regarded her searchingly for a moment. "Well," he said slowly, "I won't deny that your actions a short while ago saved my life. I won't even pretend that I'd necessarily have regained my magic without that assistance. I'll offer you my thanks for that if you'd like," he said, doing his best to feign a graciousness he was yet far from feeling. "But," he added icily, "if you're entertaining any thought that those actions even come close to wiping away the debt you owe me, forget placing me in yours, I'm afraid you're much mistaken." His voice was soft, his tone almost gentle, but there was a thin, keen edge behind them, so sharp it was barely noticeable until it struck.

"This isn't the first time you placed a choice before me that threatened the life of one whom I not only loved, but who loved me in turn. You'll not jeopardize Belle's well-being with that tactic. That first time, you forced a choice on me and I allowed you to bind me to your purpose. It won't happen again, dearie. Notwithstanding the help you gave me today, your ledger page still shows a sizeable debit balance on your side of the account. Nevertheless," he continued, advancing as the witch took an involuntary step back, "I will help your daughter as much as possible, not because she's your daughter, but because she can't help being so and being your daughter is like to be suffering enough without my mother's plots adding to that burden. But if another choice is to be forced upon me, then I tell you now that I'll choose Belle. If you can't accept that, then I'd suggest you plead your case to your sister or some other self-proclaimed hero." He shrugged again. "But you've magic of your own, surely."

Zelena lowered her eyes. "I don't know that it'll be enough," she admitted reluctantly. "Not from what little I've heard of the Black Fairy. And with Emma who-knows-where, it's likely going to take all of us who are left. Including you."

"How fast you are to include me when you need something." He shook his head. "And to act put out when I decline the offer." He debated with himself for a moment. Really, he didn't have to do this, but holding onto it served no purpose and declining her request was, he knew, certain to foment resentment. Perhaps some minor concession was warranted, particularly now that he'd clarified precisely whose account showed owing. "I suppose," he continued smoothly, "that it would be somewhat uncivilized to send a supplicant away empty-handed. Hard-hearted, even," he added, as he reached into his pocket and drew out Pandora's Box.

Zelena's eyes widened. "You brought it with you?"

"Knowing what my fate would be if it were crushed, do you think I'd leave it behind?" he demanded. "But knowing what your fate would be if it were crushed, well, I suppose it's safe enough to return it now, in the absence of an overprotective dragon." He raised an eyebrow. "And just how is Lily, by the way?"

Zelena pointed vaguely over to where the young woman—in human form once more—stood talking with Paul, a newly affixed gauze bandage wound about the top of her head. "She seems fine to me," the witch replied. "And… thank you."

"It does place you a bit further in my debt, dearie."

"Well, if I'll never dig my way out of it, a little more barely makes a difference," she said, as Rumple opened the box and handed her the heart. "And Lyncoln deserves better than to have a heartless mother."

Rumple nodded, as she made her way back to the others. "Yes," he said in an undertone. "Indeed she does."

Belle wasn't entirely sure she knew where she was going. She generally had a fair sense of direction, but one corridor looked much like another in this place, with no artwork or furnishings to distinguish one passage from another. She should have paid more attention each time the guards had come to fetch her. She'd tried. But her fears and worries had occupied a significant portion of her thoughts, and her recollection wasn't anywhere near as sharp as she would have liked.

What would she do if Fiona was present when she got there? She was unarmed, not that any weapon she might have found was likely to harm the Black Fairy. Belle remembered her first meeting with Robin Hood when the outlaw had come to steal from the Dark One's castle. He'd been carrying a bow enchanted to never miss its target. The bow had been true to its reputation, but its arrow hadn't caused Rumple the slightest of harms.

Of course, Rumple was immortal. Belle wasn't entirely certain whether fairies were as well, or whether they were just extraordinarily long-lived. Being immortal, Rumple had explained once, meant that in the normal course of events, one would continue to live, not succumbing to famine, illness, or any other natural method. However, one could still be killed by unnatural methods. Magical methods. But if the Black Fairy had some sort of vault where such items might be kept, Belle didn't know where it might be. And in this maze of passageways, each looking like the last, she couldn't afford to go exploring down corridors she'd never been shown. At least, she had a rough idea of where to find Fiona's boudoir. If she went poking about in parts of the castle she'd never been taken through, she might never find her way back.

She passed through an arched doorway. It only led to a slightly wider passage, but Belle thought she remembered being here before. Now, where…

First passageway to the right, she seemed to hear her own voice in her mind. Not far, now.

For a moment, Belle hesitated. It was her own inner voice that she was hearing, and yet, there was something… off about it. Almost like the voice of her image in Ingrid's mirror; the reflection that both had and had not been her own. With some trepidation, she stole to the first doorway on the right-hand side of the hall and smiled with relief. At the very end of this corridor, she saw two doors that stretched nearly three stories high, almost to the vaulted ceiling with its amber-and-obsidian stained glass pattern. She remembered those doors. But the last time she'd come here, they'd been ajar. Was Fiona on the other side of them right now? Or was it safe to venture inside?

Belle frowned. Really, if Fiona was within, then she was walking into a trap. That she might be doing so regardless wasn't lost on her, but her odds of escape would be considerably smaller, were she to face her captor directly. She couldn't stand here dithering; someone would see her soon. But perhaps, she didn't need to risk a confrontation quite yet.

She turned and stepped back into the hall she'd just come through. "First to the right," she murmured to herself. "Remember that."

Then she walked across the hall to take the left-hand passage directly opposite, her eyes barely taking note of the bed with the iron rails that was missing a knob on one post. She wasn't going to go far. And she was only going to proceed in a straight line. But she had to see whether there wasn't something useful in any of the rooms branching off of it. Because if Fiona was in her boudoir, Belle had no intention of facing her unarmed.

Fiona shook her head in exasperation at her mirror. "Now, where's she off to?" she muttered. "I should have kept her dreaming longer. Or arranged for her to be brought to my chambers a few more times." Elegant, tapered fingernails that precisely matched her kohl eye make-up drummed on the armrest of her cushioned onyx chair. "She doesn't appear to have lost her way. Is she exploring?"

It occurred to the Black Fairy that she might have miscalculated. Perhaps, Belle had no intention of going for her husband's heart. Perhaps, she was merely seeking the closest exit. Were that the case, the chit would quickly find all doors and windows sealed or guarded. Fiona hoped it wouldn't come to that. From what she'd observed of her daughter-in-law, Belle reacted badly to being forced into things. She had to believe that she was making her own choices.

And Fiona had to subtly encourage Belle to make the choices that would suit Darkness's aims, all while letting Belle think that she was serving Light's.

The Black Fairy smiled to herself. When one spelled it out that way, it always sounded like an impossible task, but even those who possessed the most brilliant Light had a tendency to blind themselves when the right circumstances presented.

Merlin had never realized that on his path to surrender his immortality for love, he'd been providing the Darkness with all it needed to sway the object of his affections toward vengeance and in so doing, given it one of its most powerful vessels.

Her own son had never realized that his desire to save his son and the other children was being carefully manipulated as that same Darkness sought a successor for its latest champion.

Desperate people with noble aims could frequently be convinced that dire circumstances warranted drastic solutions. And if those solutions weren't quite as noble as they might have liked, they could always find reasons to justify and rationalize taking only the smallest and most careful of steps into Darkness's net. Somehow, they always seemed so surprised when they found themselves enmeshed just like all of their predecessors.

For the merest instant, a look of sadness crossed Fiona's face, as she thought about the steps of her own journey and how her aims in turn had been twisted and subverted. If she'd had it do over, though, she still didn't think she would have chosen any differently. She'd had to keep her child safe at all costs. The child who had come here now, trailing after his beloved.

The beloved who was, even now, turning back while clutching a… Was that a fire poker? The Black Fairy shook her head in amusement as the image in the looking glass showed Belle retracing her steps, past the four-poster bed with its missing knob, toward the boudoir. She'd been seeking a weapon to use against an external foe, when she ought to be paying greater mind to the foe within.

Fiona smiled as she watched her daughter-in-law's progress. She had failed her son centuries ago. And some thirty years earlier, the time and place had been all wrong for a reunion. But now that he had come to her domain, mother and son would meet again. And this time, she would bind him to her vision. He would tie his power to hers and they would be together for eternity. And as for those who threatened such an outcome? Before the day was out, Fiona imagined that she would have her new Dark One. And once she did, it would be a simple matter to snuff out any resistance as surely as the Darkness would snuff out the Light.

"Swan?" Killian asked, "Have you got a bit of wire on you, love?"

She did her best not to think about how weird it felt being addressed as 'love' by someone who appeared to be about eight years old. She reached into her pockets. "Sheriff badge, car keys—"

"Fancied doing a bit of driving here, lass?"

'Lass' wasn't much better. "I didn't empty my pockets before leaving Storybrooke, okay?" She made a disgusted noise. "Wish I had my gun."

"That might have been useful," Killian nodded. "Although in here, a bullet might ricochet off the wall. And the Black Fairy is probably immune to non-magical weaponry, meaning you're more likely to either inflict no damage, or dispatch one of her unwilling attendants."

Emma sighed. "Well if my magic isn't working, I wish I had something to fall back on."

"Ah, but it is," Killian reminded her. "Within the confines of these walls, and probably on the other side of them as well. We've but to find a way of leaving this cell without resorting to its use."

Emma gave him a baleful look, but she reached into her pocket again. "Tissues. I have a little bit left of the mushroom I ate to get bigger. Do you think…?"

"It won't make me older," Killian pointed out. His eyebrows shot up. "Though I believe I might be able to force open that hatch we entered by." He pointed at the ceiling. "However, at that size, I don't imagine I'll be able to fit through. Have you any of whatever substance you ingested to achieve your previous... lack of stature?"

"Back at Gold's shop," Emma sighed. And Regina's vault, maybe, but it wasn't like she was going to get there either!

The boy beside her sighed as well. "It's still an idea," he said. "If you can get free and rejoin the others, you could return—"

"And if she discovers I've gone and moves you someplace else? Or worse?"

"Aye," Killian nodded glumly, "that's a risk, love." He brightened, as he saw Emma take something else out of her pocket. "Now, that has possibilities."

Emma looked at the rectangle of plastic in her hand. "My loyalty card for Granny's? I haven't got enough for a free coffee yet, even if I could use it at this realm's version of the diner."

Killian shook his head. "Get us up there," he said, pointing to the ceiling. If the hatch was magically sealed, the card wouldn't be of much use. But if it wasn't… Hope soared upward with him as Emma, after a long puzzled look and a half-shrug, levitated them ceiling-wards. "Now, pass me that card, and hold me steady, love. This will require some delicacy." It was a tight fit, but he was able to push the card partway through the narrow gap between trapdoor and frame. "Wait," he said. "I wonder…" But when he pressed his palm to the hatch and pushed, it remained solidly in place.

"You thought it wouldn't be locked?" Emma said, smiling a bit despite herself.

"No, I was fairly certain it would be. But if it weren't, just imagine how foolish we'd both feel bobbing about in mid-air for so long when it wasn't needful. But since it is," he exhaled and took hold of the card, wiggling it slightly, "to the task."

"What if it's magically sealed?"

"Swan," the pirate-turned-boy returned tersely, "at this moment, it would be a show of good form if you were to exhibit some of your mother's famous optimism."

Emma opened her mouth to respond, but seeing how intently Killian was focusing on his work, she bit back what she'd been about to say and concentrated on not letting the two of them fall to the stone floor below.

"We can't keep this up much longer," Regina said, huffing a bit, as she took David's hand and let him pull her over the edge of the next step.

"I could fly us to the top of the stairway," Lily suggested. "I could probably do it in three trips."

Rumple blanched. "I think it best you don't," he said quickly. "You were injured earlier. You don't know what effect that might have on your dragon form or its abilities."

Lily tilted her head to one side. "I'm not dizzy," she said firmly. "Or tired. Or nauseous. No headache, no blurred vision… are those all the concussion symptoms or did I miss one?"

"Moreover, we are now within the Black Fairy's home. Any magic we attempt, even one of your transformations, is likely to be noticed. And while it's possible that what happened in the courtyard was also detected, I'm not certain we want to pinpoint our location if it wasn't." He turned to Tia.

"That might extend to your talents as well."

Tia nodded. "I know. But that's not the…" She stopped. "Would a blindfold help?"

Rumple went cold. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, a note of anger coming into his voice. After what had just happened in the courtyard, he was not open to having a discussion on the topic he thought Tia was about to bring up. He wouldn't have been open to it under any circumstances, but especially not now. He wasn't about to give the witch another reason to needle him. And the others had been remarkably tolerant of his errors and shortcomings until now, but he certainly wasn't about to push that indulgence any farther.

Calmly, Tia pointed upwards. "There are a lot of stairs and even if we make it to the top the way we've been going at it, we'll be too exhausted to do anything when we get there. And we don't even know if Belle's on the next level or if we'll have to go even higher, but we might have to search the entire level to get our answer."

Robin exhaled through his teeth at that. "Mates," he announced with a sigh, "as much as I pride myself on keeping trim, if we're to face more climbs like this one, there are limits."

"I really think Lily and I are safe using our talents," Tia said. "But I guess it's not the first time that mine have made other people nervous." She sighed. "And as much as I want to tell you there's nothing to worry about, it didn't help my nerves any the first time my husband talked me into hang gliding." She flashed a quick, pained smile. "Thinking back, I wouldn't be surprised they heard me screaming three states over. Floating in mid-air with my own power is one thing. Having to rely on some… silk stretched over a metal frame to get me down safely? Well, it's still not my first choice."

"Couldn't you have just let go and floated down?" David asked.

Tia shook her head. "I thought about it, but I'd let Glenn talk me into that contraption and I didn't think I could back down without looking ridiculous. And once I actually took off?" She shook her head. "From that high up, I wasn't entirely sure I'd be able to land safely without the glider." She gave a half shrug. "We'd picked a spot where it was all open country; no trees to steer clear of, so I sort of closed my eyes, crossed my fingers, and hoped for the best." She smiled. "I guess I got it. But if flight or levitation is as far out of anyone's comfort zone as hang gliding was for me, maybe it would be easier for them if they didn't have to see how high up they were."

"That's actually not a bad suggestion," Regina said, sounding slightly relieved. "If I'd known we were going to be contemplating soaring through the air, I probably wouldn't have eaten quite so hearty a breakfast." She unknotted the silk scarf she was wearing about her neck, shook it out, examined it critically, and folded it lengthwise into thirds.

"You'll still feel a bit like you're on a ski lift," Tia cautioned.

"Noted."

Rumple regarded them both searchingly for a moment. Then he gave in with a jerky nod and set about unfastening his tie. He rather suspected that Tia had either guessed his fear of heights or learned it through that infernal seer-talent of hers, but either way she'd managed to come up with a solution that he could accept. He wondered, though, whether Regina had caught on to the situation, or whether she indeed shared his same trepidation. He frowned, trying to recall whether he'd ever once seen her levitate more than a foot or so above the ground. Thinking back now, he didn't believe that he had. Perhaps, she truly did find heights as disconcerting as he did. Perhaps, but it didn't really matter. She'd voiced a concern and, in so doing, taken his own reservations from the level of mortifying embarrassment to that of uncomfortable annoyance.

Tia gave him a reassuring smile. "I've done this a few times," she told him. "And I haven't dropped anyone yet."

"How comforting," Rumple sniffed, though a bit more mildly than usual. He placed his tie over his eyes and knotted it behind his head, taking slow, measured breaths as he waited for his feet to leave the ground.

"Okay," Tia said. "We're not going up very high over the stairs, so if my power isn't strong enough to get us all the way to the top, I'll try to land us on one of the steps. Even if it ends up being a bit rough, I shouldn't think it'd be worse than falling off of a stepstool."

It was on the tip of Rumple's tongue to say that he wasn't in need of molly-coddling, but Paul broke in excitedly, "Bet Lily, gets everyone up in two trips before you finish your one!"

Blindfolded as he was, Rumple had to content himself with hearing the smile in Tia's voice, as she returned, "I'm sure you will. But since we're not going anywhere until everyone's up there, I'm not sure where the advantage is."

"Bragging rights," Paul said cheerfully exuberant.

"Well, if it makes you happy, I'm not going to squelch your enthusiasm. In fact, I'll concede right now."

Paul groaned. "Well don't that steal all the fun out of it, then?" he retorted, sounding disgusted.

And then Rumple felt a light touch on his shoulder. "Are you two ready?"

Rumple nodded, even as Regina replied, "Ready as I'll ever be."

"I guess," Lily said, "since I'll be first to the top, I'll be the one coming back for the two of you."

Rumple wasn't certain who those two were, but then David replied, "No worries. Zelena and I aren't going anywhere." Zelena. So it was Robin whom Lily would be carrying with Paul on this first pass. Rumple sighed inwardly with relief. The witch might be a member of their rescue party, but when she wasn't about, he was able to unclench the hard knot of apprehension in his stomach, however briefly.

"Brace yourselves," Tia cautioned. "If there's going to be any… turbulence… it'll be when we first leave the ground."

It wasn't turbulence, but Rumple realized nearly at once that he did not care much for dangling in the air with nothing solid beneath his feet. Still, their ascent was smooth and steady and Rumple had to admit that it was a good deal less unnerving than that first jaunt with the bedknob.

It seemed like an interminable delay before they touched ground again, but when they did, Rumple stifled a gasp as a wave of raw power seemed to swirl about him, making his skin tingle. The sensation wasn't entirely unpleasant. In fact, the effect reminded him of the eucalyptus-infused lotion he'd often used to soothe his ankle during the first Dark Curse.

"What is that prickling feeling?" Regina asked, as Rumple removed his blindfold. She'd already done the same.

"I don't feel anything," Paul said with a frown. "What's going on?"

Rumple looked about. At his current height, it was difficult to get a sense of the size of their surroundings, but he had an idea that they were situated on a landing; one flight of stairs below them, another rising above. Facing them was what Rumple assumed had to be a door, although from his perspective, it could have been wood paneling set into the stone. Hesitantly, he took a few steps closer. No, it was a door. And while they'd need to stoop considerably to fit under it, it could be done.

He turned to Regina with a faint smile. "Oh, you know," he said, waving his hand affectedly. "Magic." He took another breath. "I do believe that we're standing before my mother's workroom."

It was with some trepidation that Belle stepped into the Black Fairy's apartments. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found it empty. At the back of her mind, worry surfaced. She was in Fiona's private chambers. Shouldn't there be a guard about?

She ought to be relieved that there wasn't! And she was relieved, but it still seemed not right.

She had to move quickly, before a guard—or worse, Fiona herself—appeared. She made her way to the boudoir, opened the dressing table drawer and gasped. There was no carved box. Rumple's heart was gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter Nineteen

"My Lady?"

Fiona turned to face the attendant who had just spoken, her smile still curved on her lips. "Something puzzles you?" she asked pleasantly.

The woman, a stray curl peeping out from beneath her wimple-like headdress lowered her eyes and took an involuntary step backwards. "It's not my place to question," she murmured quickly. "I-I meant no disrespect."

"But you wondered why I'd go to all the trouble of showing her the heart, only to move it," Fiona said, her tone still affable.

"You have your reasons, My Lady."

The Black Fairy toyed absently with a wide-banded silver ring adorned with a square-cut onyx. "I don't want to make it too easy," she said. "She needs to work for it. She needs to be so focused on finding and that heart that when the time comes to crush it, she won't stop to consider what it is she's actually doing. Frustration will make her frantic. Desperate, even. So when she finally does locate her prize, all it will take will be a slight nudge and then…"

Her smile grew predatory as she turned her attention once more to her mirror, "…she'll do what she's supposed to with it."

"Uh…" Emma hated to say it, but she had to. "How much more time do you need?"

"Swan," Killian's voice was almost too level for a child's, but there was an undercurrent of danger in it. "This is delicate work and I'll thank you not to pressure me."

Emma lifted one hand to her forehead and massaged it vigorously. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep us up here," she said. "I've never levitated for more than a minute or so before and it's been about half an hour, now."

"Swan," Killian said again, "I am trying to move a wooden bolt out of its shackle armed with nothing more than a sliver of plastic that's liable to break if I exert too much pressure. Pray refrain from heaping more on my shoulders."

"Okay," Emma said. "But if my power cuts out on me, it's a long way to the bottom."

"Considering that when we were dropped here, our gaoler had no inkling that you were going to take matters into your hands, one might speculate that that this cell possesses a safeguard to soften any landings."

"Yeah, well I don't want to test whether it's still working!"

Killian sighed. "I know, love," he murmured. "But if we're to quit this place, ahhh!" He smacked the wooden hatch smartly and it rose and slammed back with a loud bang. For a moment, the two prisoners stared at each other, scarcely daring to breathe. But when they heard no shouts or footfalls above them, Killian directed his attention upwards once more. "We'll have to chance it, Swan. Boost me?"

Emma nodded and complied, but as she did, she felt her power sputter.

"SWAN!"

Emma's flailing hand caught one side of the wooden frame that the hatch had fit. Almost at once, she slapped her other hand down on the other side. And there she dangled, feet easily twelve feet above the cell floor.

Killian heaved a sigh of relief. "Hang in there, love. I'll pull you up."

"You and what army?" Emma panted. "It's okay. I got this." She'd been doing six pull-ups daily for over a decade. For the last five years, she'd fit in another set of six before bed unless she was truly exhausted. She'd kept up that regimen without fail, unless she found herself somewhere with no access to a bar of appropriate strength, like a Manhattan hotel room. Or the Enchanted Forest. Or most places in the Black Fairy's realm, but she wasn't dwelling on that at the moment. Instead, she hoisted herself through the hatch and onto a solid stone floor. "Come on," she gasped. "Let's get to Gold."

She reached into her pocket for the half-egg and frowned. "Wait. Where…?" Horrified, she directed her gaze back toward the hatch. "I think it's still down there," she said. "It… it must have fallen out of my pocket."

"Can you retrieve it, love?" Killian asked gently and Emma found herself still trying to reconcile the words and tone with the child's figure from which they emanated.

"I need to rest," she admitted. "Once I have, I can probably float it back up here, but keeping us both in the air just now took a lot out of me. Maybe we should look for the others the old-fashioned way."

"Blundering about without a map?" Killian shook his head. "You don't know this place any better than I do. If we go wandering about, we're likely to run headlong into some sort of security force. Or the Black Fairy herself." He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Best we both rest here a spell, love," he said. "I'll keep watch until you feel up making the attempt."

There was a long wooden bench along the wall behind them. Killian mounted it, reached up, and with both hands, lifted a heavy torch out of a conical metal holder. "It may not be the most conventional weapon, but I think we'll find it a good deal better than nothing."

Emma gave him a weary smile. Then she forced herself to her feet, made her way to that same bench, and slumped down on it, leaning back heavily against the wall. "Hope it won't take too long to recharge," she said thickly, closing her eyes.

"Aye," Killian murmured, settling in beside her. "That's my hope as well."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Zelena snapped. "If there's magic in there, from what we know about your mother, it's not going to be housekeeping charms and twinkling lights; it'll be things we can actually use!"

"And to do that," Rumple said evenly, "we'll need to return to our regular heights. Or were you thinking you'd be able to lift the cork stopper from a flask? Or even puzzle out its label? And the moment we do that, my mother will not only have confirmation that we're in her home; she'll know precisely where we are."

"And you don't think we've got her slightly outnumbered?" Zelena countered. "Your magic seems to be back up to snuff. Even without it, Regina and I certainly aren't novices. Factoring in Tia and Lily and remembering that not having magic doesn't necessarily make one useless… Do you really think we aren't a match for her?"

"If you have to ask that, then you have no idea who we're dealing with. If you thought the Dark One was powerful…" He let his voice trail off.

"Well the Dark One has a weakness," Zelena pointed out, undaunted. "Does your mother?"

Rumple forced himself to keep his temper. "The most powerful binding spell I know was capable of holding her for scant moments. She's tethered to this realm; only able to leave it for brief periods, but while that can accurately be termed a weakness, it's not one we're going to be able to exploit. And if she should succeed in unleashing a new Dark Curse across all the realms, then even that weakness will no longer be in effect."

"Well, maybe we can slow her down."

"Rumple," Regina said, "We knew from the beginning that we were going to have to return to our full heights at some point. If nothing else, Paul won't be able to twist that bedknob—once we find the bed again—until he's at full height."

"Never mind me," Paul said, reaching into his pocket. "That mushroom shrank everything we were wearing and carrying along with us. No way this is fitting back into the bed until it's back to normal, too." The bedknob rested easily in the palm of his hand.

Regina sighed. "So, there's that. Even if we can't stop your mother, we should be able to find something in there to slow her down. Better yet," she added, "we might find something in there that'll help us find Belle."

Rumple nodded slowly. "If we duck our heads, we should be able to fit under the door. I'd suggest waiting until we're inside to enlarge. It's a bit of a longshot, but with all the magic leaking out from that room, it's just possible that any spells we might cast would pass unnoticed in the clutter."

"That makes sense," Regina agreed. "All right. The rest of you, stay here," she told the others. "Depending on the size of that room, once we get big, you might not have the space to keep out of our way and I don't think anyone wants to risk knocking something potentially lethal off a table or shelf."

"Got it," David nodded.

"If I might ask?" Robin began with a worried frown, "We discovered earlier that Killian couldn't understand Emma earlier, due to the disparity in heights. How will you be able to communicate with us once you've enlarged?"

Rumple's expression turned bleak. "I…"

"I can do it," Regina said. "There's a spell I can cast that will let me speak through someone else. I won't be able to keep it up for any sort of long, drawn-out conversation, but I should be able reach out to one of you and let you know when it's time to enlarge."

"Works for me," Lily smiled. "Good luck."

"We'll need that," Rumple nodded. He motioned to Regina and Zelena. "Come."

He strode to the door with a confidence he didn't feel, the two women on his heels as he stooped to pass beneath. "Well," he said, reaching into his pocket for the mushroom and turning to face them, "I suppose we'd best get on with—"

He stopped. The other two hadn't come with him. He was alone.

Where had the heart got to? Belle had seen Fiona put it right here, in this very drawer. She had a sinking feeling that this was some elaborate trap. That now that Belle had proved she couldn't be trusted, Fiona meant to chain her up someplace worse or throw her off of a battlement or feed her to a troll, perhaps. But then she realized that had Fiona wanted to do anything like that, there had been nothing stopping her. Belle hadn't given her any reason to think that she was considering switching sides. In fact, Fiona hadn't even extended her an invitation to do so. No, the heart's having been moved likely had nothing to do with her. But where would it have gone?

She looked about the boudoir and her gaze rested on the far wall. From left to right, it was filled completely by a cabinet that rather reminded her of the card catalog back at the Storybrooke library. Drawers stacked ten high by… She tried to do a rapid count, but there were too many. It had to be at least thirty deep. She hesitated just a moment, before approaching it. Even as she reached out her hand to pull the first drawer out, she wondered whether she wasn't about to be fried by some lightning bolt or scorched by a magical flame. Instead, it opened rather anti-climactically, to reveal a small, black, leather-bound volume with spidery script etched in silver on the front cover. There was something vaguely repellent about the writing. Belle recognized it as one of the languages in which Rumple's dark spells had been inscribed back in his castle. One she couldn't read, at any rate. And while she rather thought she ought to take it anyway, if only to keep Fiona from looking at it again if she needed to review its contents, she realized that she couldn't be bothered with it now. And she couldn't afford to encumber herself with every potentially useful object she might come across. 'Get the heart; get Lyncoln; get out!' she whispered fiercely to herself.

The drawer above it did contain a heart, but it glowed a warm cheery red, without even a hint of Darkness. For a moment, she wondered whether Rumple's current good deeds might have impacted his heart, even if it wasn't in his chest. Then she remembered seeing Regina's heart in the hospital, when they'd first begun to speculate that Rumple's attempts to do better might be curing his condition. Her heart hadn't been nearly as Dark as Rumple's and even she'd needed to bring Tink in to confirm that it had improved. Rumple's simply couldn't have cleared up so quickly. And, she realized, Fiona only had half his heart. This one was complete. She closed that drawer, too. Without knowing who it belonged to, she couldn't very well take it with her.

"I wonder," she said aloud. "It's probably in the last drawer of all!" Triumphantly she hurried to the opposite side of the cabinet and yanked out the bottom-most receptacle.

It was completely empty.

Belle exhaled in annoyance. She'd been so sure…! With another sigh, she went back to the side she'd started from. No shortcuts. She was going to have to go at this systematically.

And it looked as though it might take a while…

"What just happened?" Lily exclaimed, trying hard not to laugh as both Regina and Zelena reeled back, rubbing their noses, while staring at the door.

"I was wondering the same thing," Rumple said, coming back out from the other side.

"It would seem your mother's set a blood magic lock on her workshop," Regina said tartly. She advanced cautiously, her hands raised to shoulder height as she probed the space she'd just tried to enter. This time, they all saw the gray miasma, a thick wall of smoky fog.

"It's quite well done," Zelena admitted enviously. "I'm not sure I can see where to begin unraveling it."

Rumple shook his head. "No, the threads have been tucked and knotted," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Weaver's trick," he added dryly. "Ironically, given the deceptions I've wrought in my past, so far as my two of my more mundane talents are concerned, it would seem I come by them honestly."

"Should we keep moving?" Robin suggested.

Rumple considered for a moment before he shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "We were going to have to revert to our true sizes sooner or later, and I think it would be a good idea to do it now, before we encounter something that might step on us. If I'm the only one able to access my mother's workroom, I suppose I'll just have to go in alone. Do what you must to conceal yourselves; even if my mother knows we're here, let's try to keep her from pinpointing our location."

He frowned. "You know, it might be a good idea for someone to scout ahead while you're waiting."

"I volunteer," Robin said quietly.

"Someone adept at magical defense."

"We volunteer," Regina said. She turned to her sister.

"The rest of you, stay here. Sis, I'm counting on you; we still don't know whether Tia's brand of magic will hold up against a direct attack from the Black Fairy and Lily hasn't had the training. No offense to either of you, ladies," she added.

"None taken," Tia smiled.

"After going one round with that killer earthworm, I'm not going to argue," Lily agreed.

"Considering the only weapons I brought with me were my own two fists…" Paul sighed.

David gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "I'm not sure a sword would do any better. But if the Black Fairy has any non-magical help, we can put that to the test."

Rumple swallowed just a bit more noisily than usual. "Well," he said, squaring his shoulders, "I suppose we'd best get on with things, then."

"Good luck," David called, as Rumple made his way back to the door.

Rumple turned with a faint smile. "Well. I suppose we can all use some of that. Thank you. A-and I'll wish you the same."

Then he stooped under the door again.

"Well," Paul said, as he reached into his pocket, "I suppose it's time to eat our veggies."

"Stay alert," Robin cautioned. "We've no idea what traps await us."

"Says the man who once broke into Rumple's castle to steal a wand," Regina sniffed. All the same, she paid closer attention to the path her companion was taking and tried to step only on those stone tiles that his boots had already touched without triggering any pitfalls.

"Something I'd never have done, were I not desperate," Robin replied. "I'm surprised he told you."

"Rumple?" Regina laughed. "He never breathed a word. But I couldn't help seeing that you and Belle knew one another when we got back to the Enchanted Forest. I asked her for details and she provided them."

Robin turned to her with a faint smirk. "You made inquiries about me that early in the game?"

"Not about that!" Regina snapped, even though she couldn't completely suppress the smile forming on her own lips. "You seemed intent on tagging along with us, and since I'd never clapped eyes on you before, I thought it was a good idea to find out exactly what sort of person you were."

"Ah," Robin's smile broadened. "I trust all you learned was to your liking?"

Regina sniffed. "You made off with something of Rumple's and lived to tell about it. Let's just say that while I must admit I found that feat somewhat impressive, I should also mention that, when I consented to your company on the way back to my castle, I'd already resolved not to guide you past the royal treasury."

"Regina," Robin's voice was suddenly serious, as he held up a pendant with a yellowish-green stone. "I had this off a hedge-witch back in our land. In the presence of a magical trap, the color shifts from yellow to blue. Can you…?"

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "That's a handy thing to have," she remarked, raising one hand. A globe of white light coalesced in her palm. She regarded it for a moment, drew her hand back and flung it before her. The globe sailed several yards ahead of them both and seemed to explode in a shower of pearly dust, coating the walls, floor, and ceiling. And within that luminescence, a net of black smoke appeared in stark contrast.

"Sentry spell," Regina announced after a moment. "I imagine that, should we cross into that area, we'll trigger some sort of alarm." She sighed. "I'm fairly sure that she knows we're here by now, but considering that all magic does come with a price…" She shrugged. "There are reasons that I had my black knights to do my dirty work instead of trying to do all the heavy lifting myself. She likely has minions of her own. Which we'll meet if we proceed further."

Robin frowned. "I'm not so sure it's wise to go looking for a fight if we can avoid it." He turned on his heel and beckoned to Regina to follow. "Let's double back and see whether we can find a—" He sucked in his breath in irritation, as he held up the pendant. There was a good deal more blue in the green stone now. "More magic?"

"It would appear so," Regina said calmly. She gestured toward the spell she'd cast a moment ago. They could both see that the dark lines of the spell web were elongating and flowing toward them. "It looks like my detection spell triggered something," she admitted. She shook her head with a sigh. "Well, it looks like we're about to have that confrontation momentarily."

Robin shrugged. "The suspense was beginning to wear on me anyway," he said, drawing his sword. "Should we wait and risk being bottled in here, or charge into a possible ambush?"

"I don't really want to stand here and wait to be captured or worse," Regina replied. "And an ambush without the element of surprise isn't nearly as effective."

Robin smiled. "Onward it is, then, Milady."

They proceeded another few yards and found that the corridor curved to the left. Robin raised an eyebrow. "All right," he said. "I suspect that if there's to be an ambush, it should be just around that corner. So, Your Majesty… on the count of three?" As he spoke the last word, he raised a single finger.

Regina smiled and gave the faintest of nods. "One…" she began. And then they both charged around the corner, startling the two dark-robed flunkies who tried to raise their weapons, as Regina lobbed a fireball past them.

"That was a warning shot," she advised them.

"This isn't!" one of them replied, holding up a leather pouch and dipping in with a gloved hand. Regina gestured once at it and the pouch vanished into thin air. As the henchman stared stupidly at his empty hand, Robin thwacked him sharply with the flat of his sword, and then whirled to face the next assailant.

He was crumpling to the ground, his chest rising and falling softly. Robin looked at Regina. "A sleeping curse?"

"Sleeping spell," she corrected. "Until we know whether her forces serve her out of conviction or compulsion, I think we'd best pull our punches as much as possible."

"Agreed," Robin nodded. "There'll be more of them, no doubt," he added.

"Of course," Regina said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Meanwhile, we can't go back to report to the others. If the Black Fairy and her forces haven't found them yet, there's no point our helping them. Let's keep—" Her breath caught. And with a choked cry, her hand flew to her mouth.

In the time that they'd been talking, the guards' helmets had crumbled to dust. And beneath them were two very familiar faces.

"It's not them," Robin said, though his voice shook. "The height and physique are wrong. It reminds me of… At village fairs back in Sherwood, for amusement, people would paint life-sized images of lords, ladies, even clowns or animals on thin wood, cutting out holes where the faces ought to be, so that passersby might stand behind and have their own heads grace such costumes."

"I'm familiar," Regina murmured. "Back in Storybrooke, Photoshop would be a modern equivalent." She exhaled. "She's sick."

"She's trying to rattle us."

"It worked," Regina admitted. "This time. But at least now, we have a fuller understanding of what we're up against and we'll be better prepared if she tries it again. Let's move."

They walked past the two fallen foot soldiers, one with Henry's face and one with Roland's, with nary a backwards glance.

The Black Fairy's workroom wasn't as large as Rumple had expected, but it was clean and well-organized. He did think that she was overplaying the 'Black Fairy' aspect of things: black feldspar floor, black onyx walls, ebony shelves, cabinets and work tables… Even her ingredients were stored in neatly-labeled jars and vials of jet and black soapstone.

There were no windows, but candles burned in wall sconces and their light was caught and amplified in the white banding of the onyx walls.

Rumple didn't like it. He wasn't claustrophobic—at least, not more than mildly so if he was, but he'd been a caged captive rather recently and there was something distinctly stifling about this room. And that was apart from the whole business of being here under his mother's very nose and the real possibility that she might appear before him at any moment.

However, if he failed to make the most of this opportunity, then he and the others would have no choice but to scour the castle from dungeon to roof parapet searching for Belle and the infant.

He started when he thought he saw movement out the corner of his eye, but it was just the flickering of a candle flame. He really didn't like this. He couldn't ignore those flickers; not in here. If he did, one of them was bound to come from something more serious than a candle. But he couldn't be jumping at every little thing in his peripheral vision either. He took a breath and steeled himself to the task before him.

He had to make the locator potion. At least this time, unlike the first time Belle had disappeared in Storybrooke, he had something of hers with him. Not the cup, of course; it was far too fragile and he wasn't about to risk breaking it. Instead, he had one of her scarves—the red-and-gold patterned one that she loved to wear with her tweed jacket. He tried to recall what she'd been wearing the night his mother had taken her. Not that it mattered, of course, but it pained him that he hadn't noticed. Shouldn't he have? Had he actually begun to take her for granted?

Of course he hadn't. He knew that. But he still wished he remembered.

Enough. Enough. He had no time for pointless self-recrimination. He had work to do and time was of the essence. His gaze scanned one row of jet bottles, identical but for the label, searching for powdered chalcopyrite. There were five shelves, each one holding perhaps thirty of the small phials. And his mother apparently favored a rather ornate calligraphy for her labeling, one that made g's, j's, and i's appear far too similar. He'd never cared much for such artifice, not when precision was mandated. It occurred to him that perhaps, his mother had chosen the style deliberately, in order to slow down any interlopers. He fought down the urge to sweep every bottle to the floor in frustration. He'd like to destroy the castle and everyone in it if he gave way to his temper now. No, if he had to go more slowly and take his time, then that was what he'd do. Hurry slowly, he seemed to hear Aunt Holle say, when he'd found that weaving required a bit more skill than spinning did. If you haven't the time to do it right, where ever will you find the time to do it over?

Slowly, he told himself. Calmly. His eyes swept the shelf bottle by bottle, until they slid to a disbelieving stop. It wasn't the chalcopyrite that had stopped him. But the bottle he now beheld contained something else, something he'd all but despaired of finding in Storybrooke. Something he knew he'd need once they returned there. He did his best to shut down his inner pessimist when it rejoined, if they returned there.

He thrust the phial into his pocket and kept searching. He had to get nearly two-thirds of the way through the fourth shelf before he found it. With a sigh of relief, he brought it to the work table and set it down beside the fresh hound's tooth and hippogriff spittle. Then he moved to another set of shelves, this one arranged rather like a honeycomb, each cell holding chunks of a different colored rock. "Freshly ground green Amazonstone," he muttered under his breath. The honeycomb stretched clear up to the ceiling. Tamping down his frustration once more, he began a careful examination of each cubby-hole, looking for the right rock.

Fiona observed the scene in her mirror with an enigmatic smile. "I wonder whether I ought to let him know that his wife is just on the other side of that wall," she murmured.

The robed minion behind her grunted inquiringly and she laughed. "No, I'm not being serious. I want her to have the heart in her hand when he sees her again. And she is…" She waved her hand and the scene in her mirror changed. "…Making remarkable progress. Still another fifteen minutes or so before she finds it, though," she said, still smiling pleasantly. "Determined little thing, isn't she? I rather admire that."

She waved her hand again. "Oh, now why are those two lazing about?" she sighed with mock exasperation. "Please tell me she didn't drop that beacon I saw her take out in the cell!" She frowned for a moment, her gaze intent on the scene playing out in the glass before her. "No, she has it. Well. If she doesn't show any signs of using it in another ten minutes or so, do have something transpire to hurry them along, won't you?" She spared a glance over her shoulder for the attendant.

"Right. The queen and the outlaw are moving into position. The rest of them," she sighed again. "Well, I suppose we can't have them lounging about like that. Why if they're left unchallenged, they might even begin to suspect a trap!"

She rose from her chair and turned to face her attendant. "Take care of that for me. Herd them along after those two scouts of theirs; I think having them all entering my chambers by the west passage will work nicely."

The attendant bowed and began to back away, but Fiona shook her head with a merry laugh. "Don't bother with that; the sand in the hourglass trickles faster. Face forward, now. Do as I bid."

Her smile never wavered, but despite the pleasantness of her tone, her henchman knew a command when he heard it. He turned on his heel and left her presence at a run.

Fiona giggled and waved an unspoken command to her mirror to resume its focus on her son's progress.

Zelena wondered what was taking her sister and Robin so long. David and Lily were in deep conversation, as were Paul and Tia. They probably wouldn't even notice if she were gone. In fact, if she'd had any notion of where to go in this place, she'd probably have already left them.

Her train of thought broke off abruptly as she registered a faint sound from the floor above. "Quiet!" she hissed.

Startled, the others looked at her, but she barely noticed as she strained to hear the sound she'd thought she'd heard a moment ago. There it was again; thin, plaintive, distressed… Somewhere a baby was crying. "Lyncoln?" she whispered.

She strode quickly toward the stairs rising up from the landing on which they stood.

"Zelena?" David asked, moving toward her.

"Lyncoln," Zelena repeated, gesturing toward the stairs. "She's up there! I can hear her."

Tia shook her head. "I don't hear anything."

"You're not her mother!" Zelena snapped. "Come on!"

"Rumpelstiltskin told us to stay here," Lily protested.

"And if it was Belle he was hearing, he'd already be at the top of those stairs. You lot can sit twiddling your thumbs all you like. I'm going after my daughter!"

Without another word, she started up the stairs. The others looked at one another.

"You there!" A voice called from below. "Stand where you are!"

"Anyone for flambéed flunky?" Lily asked, her eyes shifting to reptilian gray.

"Are you going to have room to do that?" Paul asked, flattening himself against the wall.

Lily stopped and looked around. There wasn't that much space on the landing and, while the hallway was wide enough to accommodate at least three people walking side by side, her dragon form might be a bit wider than that. "I… I'm not sure," she admitted.

A knot of dark-robed minions were headed toward them and running footsteps promised reinforcements close at hand.

"We're outnumbered," David said tersely. "And even if we can take this lot, we can't just sit around waiting for the next bunch to spot us."

"And Rumpelstiltskin?" Paul asked.

"He's got magic. We don't." David turned to Tia. "Or…?"

Tia shook her head. "I could do something, but those people… They don't want to do this. They're just afraid of what the Black Fairy will do to them if they don't."

David heaved a sigh. "Up the stairs. After Zelena. She might be headed into an ambush and if she is, she'll need backup. Once we shake those guys," he added gesturing toward the approaching minions, "someone send Rumple a text." He took another breath. "Come on. Move!"

They did.

Belle was growing frustrated. She was working through the drawers methodically, but having already ascertained that her quarry was neither in the first nor last of them, she was working in a clockwise spiral: up the left-most column of drawers, then across the top, down the right, and along the bottom. She rather suspected that the heart would be found dead-center, but after that first burst of inspiration that hadn't borne out when she'd confidently tried the last drawer, she was going to stick to her method.

"Empty," she murmured aloud, sliding the next one shut again. She half-wondered whether the cabinet was growing new units. Or magically whisking the heart to one she'd already checked, just as she got close. She remembered a riddle Henry had asked her months ago, when he'd first started working in Rumple's shop and she'd come in while he'd been tidying up alone.

"Why do you always find stuff in the last place you look? Because after you find it, you stop looking!"

It wasn't much of a joke, but Belle had smiled politely at the time. It was less of a joke now. Maybe it wasn't here at all. Just because the Black Fairy had put someone else's heart here, didn't mean Rumple's was!

But she was still going to try every last drawer to make sure, because what if it was actually in the very next one after the one she gave up after?

How long had she been at this? It felt like hours. Her head was hazy; she wasn't sure when last she'd had anything to eat. Lyncoln might need feeding or changing and her feet were starting to ache—something that hadn't happened since she'd stopped wearing heels.

Sighing, she pulled open the next drawer.

For a moment, she didn't register the shape of the solid black chunk of what looked rather like polished rock. She was actually about to close the drawer and mechanically open the next one. And then it hit her and she lifted the roughly semi-spherical object—far warmer to her touch than rock would have been—up with a gasp and a weary smile.

At that precise moment, she heard a tinkling, merry giggle from behind. And Fiona's warm, pleasant, and all-too-familiar voice greeted her.

"Hello, Belle…"

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty

Killian fought the urge to ask Emma how her task was proceeding. He hadn't appreciated it when she'd asked him the same question and he rather suspected that the parameters now were much the same: she knew what she was about, but the work required focus, patience, and intense concentration. Anything query he might make now, however well-meaning risked shattering that focus. So he kept his seat on the hewn-stone bench, cast his gaze about in vain, hoping to spy a weapon he'd somehow missed the other times he'd scanned the area, and reminded himself forcefully that at his size, the contents of his rum flask were likely to impair him to a far greater degree than they would were he not currently occupying the form of an eight-year-old. Once restored to an adult's body, though, he was definitely having that drink.

He heard Emma sigh, but it wasn't until she actually held the small object aloft in triumph that he realized that this time, it hadn't been out of frustration, but relief. "Got it," she said with a grim smile. "Now," she held out her hand, "let's get back to Gold and the others."

Killian grasped her hand firmly, and Emma held up the half-ovoid and pictured another half, just like it. She gasped a bit when the magic encircled the two of them, yanking them roughly toward their destination. It wasn't as rough a journey as her first jaunt on the bed had been, but it wasn't nearly as smooth as her second.

When the magic released her, she and Killian found themselves in a room that likely would have seemed quite a bit larger had its walls been of some lighter-colored material, and had it not been cluttered with shelves and tables. They weren't alone, either. Gold was taking a handful of green stones out of a diagonal cubbyhole set into the wall, his back to her. Without looking up, he carried the stones back to a worktable that already had an assortment of other jars, bowls, and powders arranged neatly upon it.

Emma waited until he had set the down the stones before softly clearing her throat. "Gold?"

Startled, he looked up. Then, when he saw who had disturbed him, his face relaxed in faint smile. "If I thought either of you might be of assistance, I'd invite you closer," he murmured. "But since I doubt you will, I'll ask you to restrict yourselves to mere observation." A shadow fell across his face, as he turned to Killian.

"Captain, I…" He took a breath. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise," Killian smiled back. "Although I can't help wishing there was a bit more of me here."

Rumple nodded. "I'm brewing a locator potion to help me find Belle. Once I do, I shall endeavor to find a means of reversing your current condition as well."

Killian blinked. "So your magic…?"

"Appears to be back," he nodded. "About before, I—"

Killian cut him off smoothly. "One doesn't become a pirate captain without assuming a certain degree of risk. I risked thrusting you into a situation you weren't entirely prepared for. Some risks," he shrugged, with a maturity that belied his current appearance, "don't reap the rewards hoped for. There'll be other opportunities."

Rumple ducked his head and murmured something about a need to resume his work before the Black Fairy discovered them, but there was no mistaking the relief in his posture as he set the stones into the pan of a small balance scale and placed a squat black metal weight in the second pan, and began sliding some of the stones from the balance pan into an onyx mortar.

Zelena spun about irritably when she heard the others on her heels. "I don't need backup to retrieve my daughter," she snapped.

"If that's even your daughter you're hearing and not your mind playing tricks on you," David rejoined.

Lily shook her head. "No, I hear crying, too. But it's… There's something off about it, somehow."

"The cries are here, the baby isn't," Tia said, with a frown. "I-I think it's like a nursery monitor; you're hearing her, but she's not on the other side of that door."

Zelena's shoulders slumped, as Tia's words sank in. "Then where is she?" she asked dully. "I-I was so sure… If you know she's not there, can you tell—?"

Tia shook her head. "All I can tell you is that there's no baby on the other side of that door. I'm picking up some people—adults—a floor below us, and more converging on our position from behind—"

David frowned. "So, is this a trap for us, or did the Black Fairy mean to lure us away from Rumpelstiltskin?"

They looked at one another in dismay as the prince's question penetrated.

"About those people converging on us," Paul remarked, "In case you hadn't noticed, they're getting closer."

Zelena smiled. "I suppose incinerating someone might provide some catharsis," she said.

"Wait," David said, holding up his hand.

"Get out of my way, or share their fate," Zelena snapped.

"And if you're about to face your daughter?" David took another breath. "The Black Fairy abducts and enslaves children. We know she de-aged Killian. What if she's aged up your Lyncoln?"

"That's a bit of a big 'if', isn't it?" Zelena retorted, but her face faltered just a bit.

"Do you want to take the risk?"

"I gotta say," Lily spoke up, "something like that… It'd be pretty twisted."

"And you think that makes it likely," Zelena translated.

"I may not know much about magic, yet, but I know a thing or two about pushing people's buttons and getting them where it hurts."

"As do I," the witch admitted. Her eyebrows knitted together, even as David drew his blade. "No. If that is Lyncoln, careful though I'm sure you mean to be, I'll no more risk your swordsmanship than my magic. There will be no confrontation. Paul, get back here." They could hear heavy footsteps drawing closer now, metal boots slamming on hewn stone, as green magic played about Zelena's fingertips. "I'll just keep our pursuers at bay with a protection spell. It should hold them long enough for us to put some more distance between us and them." She motioned to the door at their backs.

"We still don't know if we're being run into a trap," Lily warned.

"I'd sooner face a trap than risk having to harm my daughter." She flung her magic wide and a cloud of green gusted toward the space that Paul had just vacated, expanding until it formed a wall of shimmering green light. "They won't get through that for a bit," she said with a satisfied smile. "Let's keep moving."

Tia gave the round iron ring that served as the door handle an experimental tug and, when it didn't move at once, dropped it and gave the door a level stare. For a brief moment, nothing happened. Then the polished wood swung slowly forward with a slight creak. "No guards ahead," Tia said. "For at least the next fifty yards, anyway. I don't know about other traps."

"Guess we'll just have to be on our guard, then, luv," Paul remarked. "But then, I suspect we already knew that. Come on."

Regina glowered at the blank-faced stone wall. "Well, this was a fruitful exploration," she said sarcastically. She sighed. "I suppose we'd better get back to the others."

"It doesn't make sense," Robin protested.

"What? That some corridors don't lead to anything significant? Take it from someone who lived most of her life in one castle or another. A lot of the passageways are… fairly mundane."

"Then why were there guards waiting to ambush us?" Robin asked. "You marked our route just as I did. There were no corridors branching off from our route. We passed no doors. And if any boiling oil was going to pour down from some murder hole, I really think we'd be scalded by now."

Despite herself, Regina glanced up at the ceiling, but she saw only rafters and above them, dark wooden beams—not unlike the oaken ceilings of her own castle in the Enchanted Forest—with nothing that suggested the aforementioned murder hole or some other hatch or trap door. "I suppose the Black Fairy could have teleported them there," she suggested. "Once we resumed our full sizes and set off in this direction."

"Perhaps," Robin admitted. "But strategically speaking, it would have made far more sense for her to teleport them to some spot behind us, cutting off our route back to the others." He eyed the wall again. Then he took two steps closer to it and spread his hands wide, laying his palms flat on the cold stones.

"I'm not detecting anything magical," Regina said slowly.

Robin nodded and continued his operation, probing slowly and carefully along the wall. And then he stopped.

"Robin?"

"I think I felt something give," he said, not turning around. "Be ready. If this is a trap, I think I might be about to spring it—"

The entire blank wall slid several inches back and then rotated slowly before them as though its left-most edge were a hinge. Behind it was a dimly-lit passageway, its walls far more polished than the rough stones comprising the walls of the corridor in which they now stood. The two waited tensely for a moment, but when nothing sprang forward, they relaxed.

Regina held up one hand, palm flat and focused. A fireball materialized, floating just above her fingertips. "At least, if something's in there waiting for us, we'll see it coming," she sniffed. "Shall we?"

Robin smiled. "After you."

Rumple corked the vial and gave it a vigorous shake. Wisps of silvery smoke rose up from around the stopper, like an ethereal crown before they dissipated. He smiled. "Well. I do believe that's done the trick."

Killian frowned. "It's convenient that your power's returned at this moment," he said. "Do you imagine that your mother...?"

Rumple shook his head with a weary sigh. "Moments of extreme emotion are known to have that effect. Ask the savior about her first manifestation."

"No need, mate," Killian shook his head. "I was there." He smiled. "I suppose when all this is over, you'll have a bit of a tale to tell."

"Perhaps," Rumple replied, but both Killian and Emma caught the note of tension creeping into his voice, mirrored by a stiffening of his shoulders. He said nothing further, though, as he stalked over to a large looking glass mounted on the wall. He regarded it for a moment, frowning. "I suppose," he said slowly, "my mother just might be vain enough to pause in her work to check her reflection from time to time, but I rather suspect…"

His voice trailed off, as he raised his hand and waved it at the mirror, twisting his fingers slightly in a gesture neither of his companions recognized. At once, Rumple's reflection vanished from the glass. In its place, they saw Belle's smiling face. The smile on Rumple's face froze and then dropped utterly as the glass seemed to pull back to reveal Belle's full form—and the small dark object she held in her palm.

And then, as though in response to the change in Rumple's expression, her own eyes widened, her own smile fell, and she whirled silently as though facing another. The glass pulled back still further to show…

"Uh… Gold?" Emma said softly. "Just to be clear, that was the woman I tried to fight the night Belle was taken."

Rumple didn't acknowledge her statement. His hand reached into his pocket to pull out Belle's scarf. He uncorked the bottle and poured a measure of the liquid inside onto the fabric. At once, the scarf rose in the air, floated several feet to a blank patch on the wall to his left, and flattened out over the polished stone. "Stand back," he said, eyes widening. "If the potion were merely pointing out her general direction, it wouldn't have flattened the scarf. She must be just on the other side of the wall!" So saying, he drew back his hand, clearly preparing to blast the wall.

"Wait," Killian said. "What if you bring the roof down on us, mate?" Without waiting for an answer, he sprang forward to examine the polished stone. "Mate," he said softly, "look." His finger traced a vertical line. "I'm afraid I'm too short to reach the top, but unless I miss my guess, we're facing a door here."

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "It would appear so," he murmured. He spared Killian a glance. "You stay here," he said.

The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Rumple cut him off tersely. "It's not a discussion. This is to be a battle of magic and you have none. It's also to be a battle of adults, and at this precise moment, you aren't one. Stay here."

Without waiting for a reply, he raised his hand once more, holding his fingers in a gesture markedly different from the one he'd employed a moment ago. Beams of golden light shot forth from his fingertips and the stone door slid sideways. Rumple sucked in a breath and turned to Emma. "Remember what I told you," he said. "If she crushes—"

"It's not going to come to that," Emma said confidently.

Rumple wasn't reassured. "I hope you're right. But that's my mother in there with her. You always do the right thing, Savior. If it does, as you put it, come to that… You do as you must. The fate of all realms hinges on it. Now come." He squared his shoulders and walked into the room beyond, an unsmiling Emma a half-step behind.

Alarmed, Belle whirled, Rumple's heart warm in her sweaty hand, as she faced her mother-in-law.

"So you found it after all," Fiona said calmly, still smiling. "I suppose it was careless of me to leave it lying about unprotected, but you see I so seldom have visitors here, it's really been a long time since I've had to worry about anyone stealing from me. She extended a confident hand. "I'll take that, if you please."

Belle took a step backwards and, childish though it was, thrust the heart behind her back in one lightly-clenched fist.

"Oh, don't be tedious, child," Fiona sighed. "I'm not vexed. Of course, you had to try. But this is my realm and my castle and my son's heart. Even if you somehow managed to overpower me here and now, where would you go? There's no leaving this realm without my say-so. In fact…" She smiled. "You know something? If you're very careful with it, you're welcome to take the heart and be on your way. It's mostly desert out there and you'll find neither food nor water unless I allow you to. So, in a few days' time, when you're parched and dying of thirst, delirious in the heat, I'll come around to collect the heart from you. I'll keep an eye on you; don't worry," she added. "After all, you're carrying the next Dark One, aren't you?" she continued, brandishing the rolled-up scroll that Belle recognized as Rumple's contract. "I can't have anything too terrible happen to you until the child's born. After that, though," she bared even white teeth in a grin that was suddenly more feral than friendly, "your usefulness will be at an end, and I don't imagine I'll care much what becomes of you."

Belle's shoulders stiffened. "No," she snapped. "No, you'll never get my child! I'll—"

"Don't be so dramatic, dear," the Black Fairy cut her off coldly. "One way or another, I will have my Dark One in the end. Really, I'd thought my son had been through enough of that torment. Did you know I cut him free from his destiny in order to save him from a premature death? And yet you're practically compelling me to condemn him to a fate far worse. You see, Belle, I've been over this contract a few times. There's a rather interesting stipulation near the end." Although her smile never dimmed, her voice took on an edge that chilled Belle to the bone. "Until Rumple's second child is born, the contract is all but meaningless. Ah, but after that birth? Should the child not be surrendered to me, I'll be able to lay claim to either of its parents instead. And really, Belle," she added, "while you've been a pleasant dinner companion, when push comes to shove, Rumple's really the more valuable game piece, wouldn't you say?"

"No!" Belle gasped. "No, you can have me instead. After the baby's born, I'll stay here willingly. I promise!"

"Ah, but I don't want you," Fiona laughed. "Why in any world would I accept a pawn when I stand to gain a knight or a rook? You're a sweet enough thing, Belle. And I know with you about I'll enjoy some intelligent conversation, but that's just not enough. I need my Dark One, Belle. That's all that interests me."

Rumple's heart seemed to pulse in her hand and she gripped it a bit more tightly as she half-snarled, "Then that's what you'll get!"

The acoustics in the passageway were a bit too clear; Robin and Regina could hear the exchange as clearly as though they were standing in the same room. "Hurry!" Regina commanded, glad that she was wearing sensible shoes. "If she crushes—"

Robin must have figured out that much for himself, for he broke into a run. Ahead of them, a door loomed and he flung it open. The first thing they saw was Belle standing opposite a woman clad all in black. At their entrance, both turned to face them.

The strange woman smiled pleasantly. And then, she raised her hand and a shimmering field seemed to envelope Belle, catching her out of time. "That was close," she said brightly. "You nearly ruined her moment. I don't want anything distracting her now." With that, a strong gust of wind struck Robin and Regina, lifting them several feet in the air and slamming them into the stone wall on either side of the door they'd just come through. The onyx stone seemed to ripple and flow over their mouths, wrists and ankles before it solidified again, holding them fast. From where they hung, they could see a wide gallery above the opposite wall. As they watched, Zelena, Paul, Lily, David, and Tia entered at a run. The woman in black gestured again and the five newcomers were quickly restrained as well.

She turned back to Belle. "Sorry about the interruption, dear. Now, where were we again?" she asked, as she removed the spell. Belle's fierce expression didn't so much as flicker; it seemed that she hadn't even noticed the new arrivals or the moment it had taken to subdue them.

And then a new voice growled, "You stay away from her!"

This wasn't her fight, Emma told herself. Well, it wasn't all her fight. Her hands were readying her magic, but her mind was flashing back to a conversation in a New York deli, on an afternoon when she'd really had a lot to process and she'd thought she needed to be alone for it, until Gold had walked in. And… they'd talked. Mostly about their pasts, the people who'd hurt and betrayed them, the times they'd been made to feel weak and helpless, the experiences that had shaped them…

She'd been feeling especially bitter and she'd had plenty to vent about, but so had Gold. And once he'd gotten started, he hadn't stopped. He'd told her things she wondered whether he'd even told Belle. About how he'd been so excited by the idea of going to war and coming home a hero, before he'd realized that it was far likelier he'd come home in a box, if he came home at all.

About how he'd lost his first wife to pirates (or so he'd believed for over a decade, at least), because he'd been too afraid to pick up a sword and fight for her.

About how he'd become the Dark One in the first place because he'd wanted to save, not only Neal, but all the children.

And about how he'd always felt that if he didn't look out for himself, nobody else would.

That had been, Emma reflected, when she'd started to realize that deals he made, the prices he demanded for his help… He didn't make them because he enjoyed making people squirm or having them owe him favors. Well, maybe sometimes it was, she allowed, but really, it was because he'd learned that he couldn't trust anyone to look out for him and his interests unless he made them.

Now, here they were. One more battle on the horizon and, from what Gold had told her not too long ago (though it did feel like it had been ages ago), this one was the 'final battle'. It was his fight, his wife, his mother his chance…

But this time, he wasn't alone.

Standing beside him now, she glanced his way out the corner of her eye and realized that for all his bravado, he was terrified. She couldn't blame him. He knew the stakes, probably better than she did. And yes, she was scared, too. But she was also the Savior.

Question was, did Gold need her to save him? If she didn't, would he see this as one more betrayal? If she did, would he resent her for 'stealing' his victory?

He'd told her once that she always did the Right Thing. No matter what. But there wasn't just one right thing. Not this time.

But then, it wasn't just one battle either.

Emma took a breath. Then, without turning, she said quietly, "I'll keep your mother distracted. You get through to Belle."

Maybe there wasn't one right thing, but this… felt right. And as a sphere of incandescent white light flared in each palm and she turned to face the Black Fairy, she caught Gold's terse nod, and just the hint of a smile. It was his fight. But that didn't mean he had to fight it alone.

She readied herself for battle and, as the Black Fairy snickered and raised her own hands, she hoped for a lucky break. For her and Gold both.

Tia tested the restraints, first with her body and then with her mind, but found no give. So much for my power being able to neutralize her magic, she thought glumly. She couldn't move. She couldn't move and the stone gag over her mouth was uncomfortably close to her nose. If it rose another quarter inch—Don't think about it! She told herself. But unbidden, an old memory surfaced: a time someone else had gotten the drop on her. That time, she'd been drugged and placed in a clear plastic box like some modern-day Snow White. A different modern-day Snow White from the one she'd met recently, she amended with a flash of wry humor. Her captor had piped in an oxygen supply, along with enough of some other gas to keep her immobilized in a light doze, unable to focus enough to bring her powers to bear. She hated feeling helpless.

She frowned. She did feel helpless, but was she? She turned her focus on the woman who'd stuck her against this wall. The Black Fairy's tone was supremely confident. She acted as though her victory was a foregone conclusion. And yet, there was an almost imperceptible strain in her voice. Her posture was just a fraction too tense, her smile ever-so-slightly forced.

She's spreading herself too thin, Tia realized, as she saw Emma charge forward. The Black Fairy turned to face the new attacker and Tia felt the slightest loosening of her stone bonds. Emma landed heavily on the floor and the stone tightened again, but Tia realized her insight had been correct.

She's got us pinned against the wall, she's fighting Emma, she's trying to keep track of everything going on… All magic comes with a price. How many spells is she juggling right now? Powerful though she is, how long can she keep this up?

Tia thought carefully. And then, she pushed outward delicately with her mind, until she barely brushed the consciousnesses of the others. Everyone, she whispered telepathically, I think we can get out of this if we work together… She tried to be as spare with her explanations as possible. These people didn't share her abilities and mental speech with them for a prolonged period could be harmful. As it was, they all—herself included—likely stood to come out of this with splitting headaches, but that was far better than not coming out of this at all.

We'll need to all push at once, she cautioned. I'll tell you when. And pray she wasn't about to spread herself too thin in the process.

Rumpelstiltskin was no stranger to fear. He'd been afraid most of his life; he'd just gotten better at masking it. But seeing his wife standing before him, his heart in her hand, his companions held captive, his mother laughing a bit as she negligently parried Emma's magical blasts, realizing that—for once—everything truly depended on him… He wanted to run.

A great evil awaited the Savior and in the Final Battle, he would be killed. The Reul Gorm's words to him in the hospital suddenly flashed fresh in his mind. His mother had tried to sever him from that destiny, but having the certainty of death lifted from him didn't remove the possibility.

It wasn't too late. He had his magic now. He could teleport away. He could stand with his mother. He could…

"Rumple?"

Belle was alert again; whatever spell Fiona had used to catch her out of time was gone now.

"Belle," he said, training his eyes and thoughts on her and not the object she held in her hand. "Belle."

"Oh, Rumple!" Belle sounded as though she was almost crying. "Rumple, I-I'm pregnant. I'm pregnant and she wants our baby!"

"Yes," he said gently. "Yes, I know."

"You know?" she repeated.

"It's not going to happen, Belle," he said firmly. "I won't let it."

For a moment, she smiled. But then she shook her head sadly. "You signed a contract," she said. "She showed it to me. A-as soon as our child, your second-born child is born, she'll claim him. Or her."

Rumple shook his head. "Belle…"

"You made a deal, Rumple. You never told me…"

Rumple swallowed hard. "I thought I voided that contract long ago. I only discovered that error recently. But I won't let it stand, Belle. I promise you."

"How?" Belle demanded. "How can you promise that?" As though to underscore her words, a loud gasp drew both their attentions to the ongoing fight. One of Fiona's blasts had got through Emma's defenses and an angry red burn was visible on her calf, where part of the leg of her jeans had charred and fallen away. Emma was leaning a bit more heavily on her other leg, as she prepared for another attack.

"Stand with me, my son," Fiona called. "Join me, and I'll spare them all. Your wife, your child, your… friends?" Her gaze travelled mockingly upward and Rumple followed it until it came to rest on Zelena. "Pledge your loyalty to me and their lives are yours to keep or toss away as you please!"

Despite himself, Rumple wavered. He shouldn't. He knew better. Hadn't he already seen the Darkness months ago for the sham it was? But if he accepted his mother's offer, he could save everyone. Belle. Their child. Emma. The captain. All the others who had, slowly but surely, come to accept him. He knew how hollow the Darkness was but perhaps that awareness would give him the strength to resist it this time around. Perhaps…

"No!" Belle cried. "No, Rumple! You've come too far, struggled too hard! You're not going back into that abyss!" She raised his heart aloft and said with deadly assurance, "I am."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One

The Black Fairy smiled as her daughter-in-law's defiance echoed from the black-stone walls. She'd been worried at first that she might have woken up the girl somewhat sooner than she should have. True, she'd had no choice; the others had arrived a bit more quickly than anticipated, but no matter. In just a moment, she would have her Dark One and her curse. The battle would be over almost as quickly as it had begun and Darkness would triumph!

Belle felt an eerie calm settle over her as she held her husband's heart aloft. All her fears, all her doubts, all her inadequacies and insecurities seemed to howl about her and yet, she felt somehow detached from them, rather as though she was standing in the eye of a hurricane. She knew what she needed to do. It would save Rumple. It would save their child. It would give her the chance to truly be a hero and defeat the Black Fairy. She wouldn't be safe in the library researching how to save the day so that others could lead the charge. This was all on her: the adventure she'd always known she was destined for. And she was more than ready.

"Belle."

Somehow, through the howling vortex, she heard her husband's voice.

"Belle, think. You…" Rumple stopped. "Belle, are you certain that this is what you want?"

She blinked. "Yes," she replied, hearing the excitement in her own voice. And then she paused with a faint frown. Something felt, well, not quite right. She shouldn't be excited about crushing a heart. It was Rumple's, after all. But... "I… I have to. It's the only way to stop her. Look around us," she said, gesturing to the walls surrounding them, where their friends were held fast. "Look at Emma," reeling from another magical onslaught, but still staggering to her feet, while Fiona waited with an amused smile. "How much longer can she last?" Belle went on. "Your mother has to be stopped a-and I'm sorry, Rumple, but you can't match her power. Not now. But I can. All I have to do is… is…" …Crush my husband's heart in front of him. Her smile dropped. "Rumple, it's the only way. You know it is."

"It… it may be a way, Belle," Rumple said quietly. "But it's not the only way. And it will come at a great cost."

"I know," Belle said. "But if one of us has to pay it, let it be me this time."

"We'll both pay it," Rumple protested. "Belle, if you let the Darkness in, it will consume you, even as it did me."

"You didn't have anyone to pull you out for the longest time. I have you."

"I had Bae."

That gave her pause. "Your mother has to be stopped," she repeated stubbornly. Behind her, she saw the floor surge upwards, entombing Emma's legs halfway to her knees. Emma was struggling, but there was fear in the savior's eyes now.

"I know," Rumple said. "But not this way."

"How, then?"

Rumple shook his head. "I-I don't know. But I do know this much: if you let the Darkness in, there'll be no half-measures, no giving it a mere toehold. It will make you over in its image while it offers you everything you believe you want and takes away everything you truly need. If you choose to accept its gifts, it will be the last choice you make that will truly be your own. From that point forward, your choice, your goals, your destiny… all of that will be shaped and decided by that entity you mean to allow into your heart. I didn't know that would be the price when I became the Dark One. And even if I had, Belle, truly, I might have chosen the same, for I had never felt I had the power to choose or change my destiny. But you do, Belle. You always have. No matter how Dark the situation, you have always, always not only found your way to the Light but helped others find it, too. Helped me. Even when I believed I was beyond such redemption. Belle," he continued, "if this is what you desire, I won't try to stop you. I understand the appeal, quite probably better than most. But is it truly what you want? To give up your freedom so cavalierly and let the Darkness command you and mold your destiny to its purpose?" He swallowed hard and hoped that she was still paying close attention to his words, as he locked brown eyes on blue and continued. "If you choose to crush my heart, it will be the last decision you make that shall truly be your own. Love is sacrifice, Belle. But is that truly the sacrifice you wish to make? For if once you let the Darkness in, Belle, it will be that Darkness that—from this point onward—shall shape your will and control your fate." He heard Belle's sudden intake of breath, and hoped that his words were enough, as he went on, "If such is truly your desire, then I can't stop you. But ask yourself, Belle: Is it?"

Belle's face seemed to burn, while her blood went ice-cold. Her arm, still high in the air trembled. Around her the vortex shrieked anew and the smooth surface of heart in her hand was suddenly slippery with her sweat. It seemed almost to be squirming in her grasp. She tightened her grip and it seemed almost to tremble. A bit more pressure and…

Do it, howled the maelstrom.

Crush it, she seemed to Fiona's voice seemed to whisper in her head.

It's the only way, she heard her own thoughts plain as day.

But is it truly your desire? Rumple's voice echoed in her mind.

"No…" she whispered. And then, more firmly, "No. No, no one decides my fate but me." The maelstrom stilled and dissipated and she faced her husband across the polished stone floor with nothing between them save empty space. "Rumple," she went on, holding out the heart to him with a tremulous smile, "I-I think this belongs to you."

The Black Fairy had Emma encased in stone to her chest now. It flowed and solidified about the savior's elbows and was slowly creeping higher. "One moment, please," she said pleasantly enough, but there was just the slightest snap of irritation in her demeanor as she turned her attention toward Belle and Rumple.

Now! Tia projected the thought. Everyone together!

Seven people strained against their restraints, but while the stone seemed to flex somehow, it still held. Even so, their efforts didn't go unnoticed. Fiona tore her attention away from her son and daughter-in-law and sent a new surge of power toward the stony restraints holding her captives.

In that momentary diversion, Rumple reached out and took the heart from his wife's hand. "Thank you, Belle," he said, but he didn't return her smile. In fact, both his eyes and his voice held a profound sorrow. "I-I wish…"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Belle," he said, as he reached into his chest, pulled out the other half of his heart, and pressed it to the half he already held. The halves came together with a faint click. "And I do love you."

"I love you, t—"

The words died on her lips, as Rumple pushed his now-complete heart back into his chest. Then he advanced slowly toward the Black Fairy.

"Mother?" he asked hesitantly.

Fiona turned to him beaming, but as he drew closer, Rumple could see that her expression was strained. All magic did come with a price and she'd been spending quite a lot these last moments. "My son," she said. "Have you come to stand with me then?"

Rumple swallowed hard and forced himself to smile. "I promised Belle you wouldn't take our child. And if you must have one of us instead, well better me than her."

"I quite agree," Fiona purred. She sighed. "So many wasted years, Rumple. So much time we'll never have again. Even in this realm, I can only speed time up or slow it down, not turn it back. But we'll have eternity together now. Come," she beckoned warmly. "Join me and we will rule over all the realms forever, mother and son."

"And what of the others?" he asked, affecting an air of mild interest.

"As I promised you, they are yours."

"Rumple…?" Belle's eyes widened and there was no mistaking the horror in her voice as her husband advanced toward her captor.

Rumple smiled. "Well, Mother," he said coming up to stand at her side and sliding an arm about her back, "I must say that's a far more generous offer than I'd expected." And then, he plunged his hand into her back and Fiona gasped as he pulled out her heart. "But it's still not enough!"

He clenched his fist swiftly and, as the heart crumbled to dust, both mother and son screamed.

Too soon, Fiona's cry choked into silence and she fell dead to the ground, as Rumple slumped to his knees, his face buried in hands that seemed to gnarl and mottle and sparkle before Belle's horrified eyes.

Several miles away, in the bowels of the dust mine, the earth trembled.

"What's happening?" someone shrieked.

Other cries of alarm echoed in the passageways. The overseers raised whips and truncheons menacingly, but then a haze of light seemed to ripple through the mine and as it passed, things began to change.

Some of the workers grew taller and broader, becoming the adults they would have—and should have grown into, were it not for the enchantment keeping them perpetually children. The snakes and rats and other vermin that seemed perpetually about also began to morph and change. Some, it must be owned, had never been human and these remained as they had always been. All the same, the mine was suddenly a good deal more crowded.

And then, one of the overseers cried out as he began to shrink! His arms and legs grew spindly, his voice rose in pitch, and he stood before them a child of ten where a moment ago, he'd had the seeming of a man in his late twenties. His cry was picked up by many of the other taskmasters, as the magic enveloped them as well. Here, too, the change was not universal; some of the overseers had already reached adulthood by now. But the effect was widespread enough that the captives—slave and overseer alike—turned to one another in confusion, as they tried to process what was taking place about them.

And then, the caverns shook violently once more.

"Everyone!" The voice of a girl in her late teens carried over the cries of the others. "Everyone, we need to get out of here, now. Don't run. Don't panic. Overseers, you know where the mine entrance is. Lead us to the surface. We will get out of this, but we need to go now. Quietly. Calmly."

"This way," a boy who couldn't have been more than nine gestured toward a passage. His clothes were too large for him, but they were less patched than those of the other child workers and the whip coiled at his hip marked him as one who had been among the enforcers moments earlier.

"Hang on," another girl spoke up. "Are we just going to pretend they haven't spent all this time beating us and starving us and…?"

Marga turned to her and shook her head. "We're going to get out of here," she said. "That's the only thing that's important right now. We can waste time tearing each other apart, or we can get to the surface before the ceiling collapses on us. Once we're all out of here we'll… We'll figure something out." She smiled, remembering the words she'd heard from the boy who'd arrived so suddenly and departed nearly as quickly. "We'll make up a code and live by it. But we won't live at all if we don't get out of here, so let's move!"

There was no further dissension. They were used to marching. They were used to being ordered about. Freedom would take time to sink in. For now, most were just glad that someone had taken command. A nervous, seething mass of humanity followed the young overseer toward the surface.

"The castle's coming down!" David yelled, as the stone restraints melted away, releasing their captives. "We have to get out of here, now!"

"Lyncoln!" Zelena shrieked. "Where's my daughter?"

Belle blinked. "She-she's down that corridor," she said, gesturing vaguely the way she thought she'd come. "Rumple?" she was nearly whispering.

There was no reply. Head in his hands, Rumpelstiltskin knelt, rocking gently to and fro. His hair, Belle realized, looked lank and greasy and a good deal wavier than it had been a moment earlier.

"We'd better find the bed," Paul said. "If it's not here—"

"Pass me the knob," Tia said. "I can use it to lead me there."

"Handy trick that," Paul nodded, relinquishing the bedknob. "Wish Miss Price had thought of it."

Belle felt a light touch on her shoulder and looked up, startled, to see Robin at her side. "Belle, we need to find our child," he said firmly. "Please, can you be more specific?"

She didn't want to deal with that now. Rumple needed her. Or she needed to be with Rumple. Or… She sucked in her breath. She'd been selfish once before and a friend had fallen to what could have been her death. She didn't need any more lives on her conscience. "Out that door, turn left, take the… uh… I think it's the second right; but the passages all look the same. If I'm right, it's the end of that corridor."

Robin nodded. "Thank you."

Belle remembered something else. "A heart!" she exclaimed. "The Black Fairy had another one in there," she pointed to the cabinet of drawers. "Bottom row, first on the left."

Regina gave her a startled look and then crossed over to the cabinet, her magic creating a domed shield to protect her from the debris that was beginning to rain down on them harder.

She lifted out the heart and raised an eyebrow. "Fairy," she pronounced. "And since I think we all know it wasn't hers…" She gestured toward the unmoving figure sprawled on the floor, the flounces of her gown pooling about her, "I'm guessing it's Blue's."

"But you're not sure?"

Regina sighed. "When we get home, I'll cast a locator spell and if it doesn't lead back to her, we'll worry then. Meanwhile, I'm not sure there's time to go running about this realm looking for another fairy missing a heart."

Belle heard the conversations swirling about her, but they felt apart from her, rather like music playing in the background while she read a good book. "Rumple," she tried again.

And now, there was an answer. "Leave me," Rumple said harshly. "While I can still… fight this."

Belle shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere without you," she said quietly. "Rumple, look at me."

For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse. But then, he sighed. "Well, if that's the only way to convince you, dearie…" He lowered his hands and turned eyes as glassy and cold as a fish's on hers. "All magic comes with a price," he giggled. "And all choices have their consequences. I made mine." He smiled.

"Uh… guys?" Emma flinched a bit when Rumple turned to her and she got a good look at him, but to her credit, she recovered quickly. "I hate to break this up, but I think the roof is about to fall in. We should get out of here."

"We found the bed!" Tia exclaimed breathlessly from the doorway. "It's close! Come on!"

"You go," Rumple whispered. "It's not… I'm not safe."

Belle reached for his hand and he grasped hers almost convulsively, but his voice was gentle and nearly calm. "Don't you see, Belle? It has always my fate to die in battle. It was ordained before I was born. All this time, I've been trying to evade it, but it seems that the only time I manage to do anything right with my life is when I lose it. One evil has been defeated. Leave me here and it takes care of two at once."

"No." Belle and Emma looked at one another, neither sure which of them had spoken the word first.

"Yes." He looked at Emma. "You were right," he said. "I can reclaim the role I was shorn from. I was born to be the savior. And this… is how I keep all of you safe. By retaking my curse and keeping it here. This realm is dying and I… and my curse… shall pass with it."

"No way," Emma snapped. "You've tried this argument on us before and we've found other options. We'll do it again."

"There's no time!" Rumple shot back. "The castle is coming down about our ears and the rest of this land will surely follow. If there is another way, you haven't the luxury of seeking it out. Go! Now!"

Emma started to protest anew, but she realized that any argument would fall on deaf ears. She clasped his shoulder tightly and fought to speak past the lump forming in her throat. "Rumpelstiltskin…" It came out in a quaver, and then she felt someone grip her arm, and Killian was there and grown up again, and he was hanging onto her, even as he raised his hook in a wordless salute to the man he'd spent a lifetime trying to kill and knew he would spend another trying to honor.

Rumple smiled then. "Yes, dearie. Yes, you see? You can say it after all. Come now, it's not that bad. I'm gonna die a hero after all. How many people get to do that twice? Go on, now. Your ride's waiting."

And then Belle asked quietly, almost fearfully, "Rumple? Do… do you really see what's happened to you as a curse?"

Belle hadn't been joking about the passageways all looking the same. The shaking and the unnerving grinding of stone against stone was less severe here than it had been in the Black Fairy's apartments, but it was still bad enough to remind Robin and Zelena that there was no time to waste.

And then, above the horrible cracking and splintering came the unmistakable sound of an infant's wail.

"This way," Robin said, charging ahead. Zelena was only a half-step behind him. The room's door was slightly ajar as they rushed in.

"Lyncoln!" Zelena cried, snatching her infant daughter up. She turned to Robin. "I'm teleporting back. See you there if you're fast enough."

Robin jerked his head up in disbelief. "You're not leaving me behind!" he snapped, seizing hold of her arm, just before she and the baby vanished.

Neither of them noticed the bottle of 'colic remedy' on the nightstand. And nobody heard the wail of the Lord of the Underworld, as he realized that his plan to lure Zelena to his domain would not come about now.

"Hello, Hades."

With a forced smile, he turned to face the newcomer. "Persephone. Back already?"

"Mother sends her love," the young woman said with a faint smile. "Or at least she would, if she weren't so busy insinuating that you take advantage of my six months a year on Olympus to go courting mortal women. I keep telling her you're nothing like Uncle Zeus, but sometimes…"

Hades laughed uncomfortably, though inwardly, he seethed. One day, Olympus would be his town and dear brother Zeus and dear sister Demeter would bend their knees to him!

Persephone gave a long-suffering sigh and then came forward to clasp her husband's hand. "I know you'd never stray or tire of me. And I'm so sorry I let her get under my skin."

Hades nodded. "That's quite all right, my dear," he said magnanimously. "You're back now. Why not freshen up a bit and then, I'll have dinner prepared for us. Whatever cuisine you fancy."

Persephone beamed. "I think I've had my fill of grains; Mother may be the patron deity of cereal crops but I'm not! Lamb and spring greens, I think."

"I'll see to it," Hades assured her.

After she was gone, he sighed. As wives went, he supposed he could have done worse. In another six months when she returned to Olympus, perhaps he'd see once more whether he could do better. For now though, she was agreeable enough. Provided she got her lamb when she wanted it.

Rumple's jaw dropped as Belle's question penetrated. His eyes grew wide and then something behind them softened.

True love could break any curse.

He knew that, of course. But back then, he hadn't considered his Darkness to be a curse. His weakness had been a curse. His cowardice had been a curse. His poverty had been a curse. His power? His power had had a price, but he hadn't thought of it as a curse.

Not then.

And now?

"It's your choice, Rumple," Belle said steadily. "Nobody has the right to decide your fate but you. And whatever you decide, I'll… I'll try to respect it. I just need to know: do you see this as a curse? A-and do you want it broken?"

"Guys…" Lily warned, as Zelena, Robin, and the baby reappeared, and a chunk of ceiling came down, smashing the vanity table.

By rights, he should have been terrified, both by what his wife was asking and offering, and by the destruction raining down about them. But somehow, he wasn't. The others, the castle, the threat… all seemed to vanish and the world around him shrank down to himself, his wife, and the question hanging between them.

The first time she'd thought to do this, he'd believed she wanted to take his power and reduce him once more to nothing. But now he knew. Not only had he never been nothing, but Belle had never believed that removing his power would make him so.

Once, he'd told her that she made him want to go back to the best version of himself.

Now, she was offering him that possibility.

And all that was holding him back was his own fear.

He sucked in a breath, released it, and gave her a quick jerky nod. And then, before he could second-guess himself or have her ask again in case she'd misunderstood, he swallowed once and nearly whispered, "Yes. I do."

Belle reached out to him and he wasn't sure whether he moved into her arms or whether he stumbled and she caught him, but then he felt feather-light lips on his and a warm glow that began where their lips touched and quickly engulfed him, scouring away the Darkness that had already begun to reclaim him, lightening his heart and his spirit and then swirling past him in a rainbow haze that washed into every crack and cranny in the castle and then past its walls, spreading across the whole of the Dark Realm… which suddenly wasn't so dark anymore.

The shaking and cracking, though, continued unabated, though thanks to Emma, a protection spell shielded them from the worst of it. "This place was built with Dark Magic," Regina said. "I don't think it's going to stay up much longer. We need to go."

"Wait," Killian said. "The mine. The child workers. We can't…."

"We'll get the bed back to the ship," Paul said. "Tie it down like we did before, then take the ship to the mine and pick up the others before we leave this place for good."

"Well, we'd better do it fast," Emma warned. "Because if this spell fails, we're all gonna be toast."

"You heard her," David said. "Come on!" He looked questioningly at his daughter.

Emma gave him a nod. "I can move," she said. "Just don't expect me to make it to the bed first."

Regina raised an eyebrow and concentrated. An instant later, all stood beside the bed. The queen staggered. "Don't expect me to be able to carry anyone back to the ship," she said. "Myself included. That wall must have been draining away my—our magic. It's coming back, but I don't believe we can wait."

"Will we all fit?" Belle asked dubiously.

Rumple nodded and waved his hand.

"Of course, you'd make it a queen-size," Zelena snorted.

Regina just gave Rumple an appreciative smile, as they all piled on.

Outside the mine, the shaking wasn't nearly as bad. And as the children put more distance between themselves and the entrance, it died away entirely. Graydon, now a muscular youth in his late teens, gestured toward the town, wide-eyed. "Look! It's…"

He didn't have to finish his sentence. The town was crumbling before their eyes, as was the castle in the background. And then, a wave of rainbow light seemed to blast forth from the castle walls, scouring the ground and charging the air. Some of the former workers wanted to run, but most just watched, tensing as the wave washed over and past them. In its wake, grass sprouted from parched soil. Gnarled twisted trees grew straight and lush. A brook babbled excitedly in what had been a cracked, dry furrow. The dull burnished sky turned blue and there was a wonderful fragrance in the air.

"Can…" One child stretched a thin hand toward a bush that had just revealed a heavy crop of berries. "Can we eat those?" Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed a handful and crammed them into her mouth. "They're sweet!" she exclaimed through berry-stained lips.

A loud crunching diverted all eyes away from the bush and back toward the mine, where a large wooden ship had just materialized in a now-verdant meadow.

A woman with dark blonde hair hovered in the air above the main deck. And when she spoke, her voice, though soft, seemed to permeate the very atmosphere.

"Hello," she said. "My name is Tia. And I guess the most important thing I have to tell you is that the Black Fairy is dead." She paused for a moment. "Her magic is dying with her now," she continued. "And I guess you all have a decision to make. This ship can take you home. We'll need to figure out where your homes are first; we know someone who can help with that if you come with us. But for those who'd like to stay, I'll come back. My people know something about settling into a new land and making a life from it. When I return, it will be with a number of them. We won't leave until we know you can manage on your own. But for those who want to return to your homes, come aboard now."

"How long have we been gone?" someone called and Tia shook her head.

"Time flows differently here," she said. "We don't know. But if we can figure out when you left, we can take you back to that time or close to it."

"Some of us were babies when we were taken," someone else called. "Do we go back to that or…?"

Tia floated down to the deck and the children saw an older man speak quietly with her. "We might be able to make you younger, but you'll forget everything that's happened."

"Sounds fair," someone said. From the murmurings, there was some agreement and some dissention as well.

"We're leaving now," Tia continued. "If we have to make more than one trip, we will. Nobody will be left behind unless they choose to be. Who's coming with us?"

Most of the former captives couldn't remember their past lives at all. Others were reluctant to leave the only world they knew now, even if it was changing before their eyes. Still, nearly a quarter of the thousand-odd children and youths crowded aboard the ship.

Killian smiled a bit ruefully. "At least, this voyage will be a short one," he murmured. "We shan't be cramped for very long." Then he smiled at the figure marching up the gangplank. "Marga."

"I'm not coming," the girl said. "The littles are going to need me. But if you could tell me that code of yours over…?"

"I'll write it down and send it back with Tia," Killian smiled.

"I can't read."

"She'll teach you."

"I… don't suppose you'd consider coming back?"

Killian smiled gently. "Marga, lass, flattered though I am, my heart belongs to another. And you are a bit young for me, truth be told."

The girl gave him an incredulous look. "I'm not in love with you, clod!" she exclaimed. "I just want to make sure Tia gets it all down right!" Some of those in earshot guffawed loudly and she blushed.

Killian smiled again, a bit more warmly this time. "Well, from what I understand, crossing between realms may not be as difficult in future as it is now. I think it quite possible that we'll meet again. In due time."

Marga sighed. "Guess that'll have to do. Until I see you again."

"Until then, lass."

He raised his voice. "Is the bed battened down?"

A cheery London voice called back, "Battened, and shipshape y'scurvy dog!"

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Careful, there, scallywag or you'll spend the rest of the voyage swabbing the deck."

"All five minutes of it?" Paul shouted back.

Killian sighed. "All ashore that's going ashore." Marga complied with a final wave. "Raise the gangplank. And everyone, find something to grab onto. Our next port of call," he smiled broadly, "is Storybrooke. Mr. Wilson?" he jerked his head in Paul's direction, "Set your course."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Two

Henry rubbed his eyes and groaned. His shoulders felt stiff, his elbows ached, and his legs felt cramped and why was he sitting at his desk? He looked around blearily. The moon and stars were visible out the window of grandma's loft; he would have pulled down the shade before he'd gone to bed, only he hadn't gone to bed, had he? He'd been flipping through the storybook, looking for some hint—any hint about the Black Fairy or the Dark Realm and…

And…

His eye fell on the pile of blank pages he kept on hand to jot down notes. Only the top sheet wasn't blank. And there was a second, smaller pile beside that stack of paper that hadn't been there before. Curiously, Henry reached for one of those pages and realized that the surface wasn't smooth. Instead, his fingertips brushed looping ridges. He turned the page over and blinked at the handwritten text he had no recollection of writing. And it was in black ink; not the blue Bic ballpoint he'd been using, but the—

He pulled open his desk drawer. The Author's quill and ink were right where they were supposed to be. But there was no black pen on his desk, so he must have been…

He flipped the small stack of sheets over and began to read. As he did, his eyebrows climbed higher and the smile on his face grew wider.

"Grandma!" he yelled.

From the other bedroom, he heard a baby wail, and then the creak of his grandmother's mattress as she got up. A minute later, she was standing beside him, gently rubbing Neal's back and looking uncharacteristically cross. "Henry," she whispered, "it's after two in the morning! Would you like to tell me why you had to wake up your uncle at this hour?"

Henry lowered his eyes, chastened for a moment. "Sorry, Grandma," he murmured. Then he thrust the pages at her. "But read it! They're coming home! Tomorrow!"

"Not right when we left," Zelena said, putting out her free hand—the one that wasn't cradling the baby—to arrest Paul's before he could twist the bedknob. "I know a little something about time portals. That magic you're using is like poking a needle in a piece of taut fabric, in the same spot, repeatedly. Not only is it making a bigger hole, it's making a more permanent one. Not the sort of thing you want to find in the fabric of space-time."

Paul blinked. "Guess that makes sense," he admitted. "How far ahead should I go, then?"

Zelena frowned. "Well, there's no telling how much time's passed back home while we've been here. Make it a week since we left. That should be enough of a buffer."

Paul nodded. "Bed, take us to Storybrooke Harbor, the Jolly Roger's berth on…" He frowned and thought for a moment before supplying the date. He looked around. "Any particular time of day?"

"I find eight-fifteen is generally auspicious," Regina commented dryly.

"At eight-fifteen PM, please," Paul finished. "Nobody's going to thank us for having to meet us at eight-fifteen in the morning," he added in an undertone. Then he climbed onto the bed and gave the knob a twist.

"Really, Zelena sniffed, you could have done that from the deck."

"And if the bed decided to leave without the ship, there'd be no getting it ba—," Paul's retort was swallowed by the creaking of wooden timbers and the billowing of sails that filled with magic as the ship seemed to take to the air and vanish in a crackling pyrotechnic haze.

The journey home took a good deal longer than Paul's 'five minutes' estimation. And though the Apprentice's modifications made for smoother transit, it still wasn't without discomfort. The ship rocked and roiled nearly as much as it would have on the open sea. There might have been room for the 250-odd new passengers had they all stayed below decks, but those who weren't seasick—and many were not—seemed to be everywhere. Killian and the others did their best to keep order, but nobody wanted to be unduly harsh to children who had been enslaved until mere hours before. And yet, because of their past, gentler admonishments seemed to pass all but ignored. Still, the adults persisted, all the while hoping that they'd arrive shortly.

Or at least, most of them did.

The crow's nest on the Jolly Roger was normally a small, cylindrical basket that could comfortably accommodate a single standing sailor. Thanks to Rumple's magic, though, the platform of the 'nest was now wide enough so that he and Belle could sit comfortably on a pile of tarps and rope coils that he'd lifted from the main deck to allow a bit more space for those below. Since they weren't on the sea and there was no danger of collision with another ship—or large iceberg, for that matter—Rumple saw no harm in making the sides a bit higher as well.

At first, there was scant conversation. They knew what had transpired, how close each had come to disaster, and how they'd avoided it. Later, they knew, there would be time to rehash it all. For now, though, it was all still sinking in. The Final Battle was past. Good had won. Good had won despite…

Rumple held up his heart with a sigh. "I suppose victory has its price," he murmured.

Belle looked at the organ with dismay. "But you saved us all," she protested.

"I murdered my mother in cold blood," Rumple pointed out. "It might have been necessary, but it was still murder."

"But to darken your heart…"

Rumple shook his head. "That was necessary as well, or else I don't believe I would have been able to do as I did." He hunched forward a bit and, when Belle clasped his left hand, squeezed her right in turn. "She was my mother, after all. And though she did abandon me when I was an infant, I think you know a bit of what I experienced at the hands of the parent who kept me a bit longer. I suppose on those nights when my father and I were stealing a night's shelter in some farmer's barn or fleeing an enraged housewife with a loaf of the bread she'd placed on the windowsill, I imagined that things would have been different had my mother been there. I think I must have concocted a number of elaborate fantasies about how my circumstances would have changed. And even faced with the reality, well, the promises she was dangling before me," he shook his head again. "I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't tempted. But she abducted you." His voice hardened. "She threatened you, our unborn child, everyone either of us know, and myriads upon myriads that we don't and never will. She had to be stopped and it required a Darkened heart to do it. Perhaps it was a bit egotistical on my part, but I rather thought that I might be the only person who could take on the necessary Darkness and still follow through with what had to be done." He sighed. "None of which exempts me from the consequences of my actions, I'm afraid. One can't jump into fire, even for a worthy reason, and expect to emerge unsinged. Thanks to you, I'm no longer the Dark One, but that doesn't mean I'm free from Darkness."

Belle slid a bit closer to him, still holding his hand. "I… don't mind a little Darkness," she smiled. "I don't think I ever did, even if I kept telling myself I ought to." She looked at the heart again and frowned. "Rumple?"

He blinked at the puzzlement in her voice and turned his face more fully toward hers.

"The… the other half of your heart was completely Dark, right?"

Rumple nodded. "Regina made certain I noticed that much when she split it."

"And the other half, after the hat a-and August were through with it, was completely Light."

"That's right."

Belle smiled wonderingly. "Well, perhaps I'm imagining things but that Dark blotch looks as though it's taking up a good deal less than half your heart, now."

Rumple's eyes widened. It was true. Oh, the inky stain was impossible not to notice, but it didn't seem to occupy more than a quarter, perhaps a third of the organ. And he knew from Regina's heart that Darkness was reversible. With time. And effort. And a bit of True Love didn't go amiss either.

He thrust his heart back into his chest once more and took her left hand in his right. They passed the rest of the journey sitting beside one another on those tarps and coils, neither one speaking a word or willing to let go of the other, each probably grinning like a fool and neither one feeling the least bit self-conscious about it.

Snow smiled as she read the text from Little John confirming that he and Roland would arrive at the dock to greet the Jolly Roger that evening after dinner when—if the Author's Quill had written accurately—the ship would dock in Storybrooke Harbor. Granny and the dwarfs would be there, too. So would Maleficent, Tony, and the Apprentice. And Archie, of course—those children from the Dark Realm were going to need some support.

She frowned, thinking for a moment. Then she sent Archie another text: Do you think it would be a good idea to have some of the Lost Boys on-hand to meet the new arrivals too? Since they'll probably have some idea what it's going to be like for them?

Archie's response was immediate and affirmative. Not all of them, of course, he continued. Some of them aren't ready and it's likely to open up old wounds. But there are several who I think might be up for it. Let me reach out to them. After Snow had thanked him, he added, You do understand, though, that on such short notice, it's understandable that some of those boys might need some time to consider whether they're willing to participate. A 'no' today may not necessarily be a 'no' tomorrow. For that matter, a 'yes' today might not be a 'yes' tomorrow, if it turns out that a boy realizes he can't handle the situation after all.

Of course I understand, Snow texted back, remembering to thank him before she signed off and put her phone away.

She frowned. Moe French was still in the hospital. He didn't even know his daughter had been abducted, much less that she was on her way back. Surely, he ought to be told. Especially that, at least from what she'd read in the pages Henry had shown her early that morning, Rumpelstiltskin had been instrumental in saving her. Why, that might—

—Make things worse, she finished mentally. He doesn't like Rumpelstiltskin, never has. And somehow, I think that no matter what I tell him, he'll find some way to twist it until he's convinced that this is all Rumpelstiltskin's fault in the first place and… And this was none of her business. The last time she'd tried to mix in, she'd only made things worse and no, she hadn't been trying to make peace between Moe and Rumpelstiltskin but between Moe and his daughter, but if she hadn't been able to accomplish anything between two people who—she was certain—still loved each other, what chance did she have trying to involve herself with two people, one of whom hated the other and had for years?

This wasn't her business, she told herself firmly. Heroes didn't do what's easy. They did what was right. And getting involved in something that wasn't her concern… wasn't right. Even if it felt like it was. Even if letting this… feud persist felt like she was taking the easy way out. Even if…

Even if she really, really wanted everyone in town to get along with each other. Unless she knew for a fact that her involvement would accomplish something positive, she needed to stay of this for now.

On the other hand, if any of the pertinent parties came to her for help or advice, she was danged well going to speak her piece!

The harbour lights shone bright that evening and, although the sun had already set about half an hour earlier, there was quite the welcoming committee assembled to await the Jolly Roger. Little John and the rest of the Merry Men were there, along with Cecily, Skippy, and Aggie—who was almost certainly up past her bedtime and starting to whine about it. A call from Archie had brought August and Marco. Granny scanned seas and skies anxiously, one hand over her eyes to shield them from the glare of the harbor lights, swatting at Tony and the Apprentice irritably as they tried to tell her that she wouldn't spot the ship that way. Three former Lost Boys stood a bit nervously beside Archie, one looking as though he still wasn't sure he wanted to be there. The dwarfs hadn't exactly arrived, so much as 'been there since morning'. Killian Jones had commissioned a new ship some weeks earlier, when he'd assumed his former vessel to be lost to him for good. In a dry dock close by, wooden ribs or frames gleamed from a recently-laid keel and keelson. The dwarfs had spent the better part of the day affixing planking to the frames and preparing the edges for caulking. While Snow and Henry stood in the crowd waiting, watching, and trying to be patient, Astrid pedaled up on a bicycle that was far better suited to pavement than to the dirt road she was currently navigating. As she drew closer, wobbling all the way, they could hear her gasping, "Ohhhh… Keep out of the way—oh! Oh, how do I—?"

But then, she put her feet down on the ground and managed to get off the bike without falling. It wasn't the most graceful of dismounts, but by the time Leroy reached her, she'd remembered the kickstand. Then she realized that she needed to secure the bicycle to something and, rather than lift the stand again, she hauled up the bike with a bit of a grunt and carried it over to the railing, Leroy taking the back wheel and keeping pace with her with an, "Okay, Sister, I got it."

As the two stood the bike beside the rail, there came a sound like a thunderclap despite the clear, cloudless sky. And then all eyes turned to the water. A portal opened, but not the swirling vortex that Snow and her daughter had leapt through in the Enchanted Forest to return to Storybrooke. This was almost as though the sky were fabric and someone had cut a flap in it. Through it, the prow of a ship emerged, swiftly followed by the rest of it. The ship dropped slowly toward the harbour, coming to rest several yards from the pier with a loud splash and a sprinkling of droplets landed on those at the front of the crowd.

A wind caught the sails, filling them and blowing the ship closer to the pier. "Move back!" Snow called suddenly. "They're going to need a place to put the gangplank!"

The crowd obeyed quickly and there was a clear space before the ship when it docked. A moment passed. Then, two. And then, the gangplank extended slowly.

David and Emma were the first to disembark and be reunited with their family. Regina and Robin followed, and Henry pulled himself out of Emma's embrace and fell into Regina's, while Roland ran for his father. Robin scooped him up with one hand, while tousling Skippy's hair with his other, as the Merry Men gathered about, clasping his arm and clapping him on the back.

Lily was next, and for all she rolled her eyes when her mother hurried forward, she didn't pull back when Maleficent reached out, cupped her daughter's face with both hands, and then flung her arms about her.

Rumple and Belle were half-expecting that nobody on the pier was present on their account, and they'd each told the other on the voyage that it wouldn't matter in the slightest. But no sooner were they off the gangplank than Astrid was hugging Belle and August was pounding Rumple on the back and Aggie—tiredness forgotten—was tugging on his hand, while seemingly trying to walk vertically up his trouser leg. Henry had come up to embrace his grandfather, but finding him surrounded turned to Belle with a half-apologetic, half-hopeful expression and opened his arms. Laughing, Belle hugged him.

"Uh," Henry murmured, "I… So I have this quill that's told me a bit about what you were dealing with over there. It told me that… I mean, are you…?"

Belle blushed slightly, even as Snow admonished, "Henry!"

"No, it's fine!" Belle laughed. "At least, it is now. Yes, I'm expecting."

Leroy whistled. "Well, congrats, sister!" he said heartily. "That's really good news."

"Which doubtless you'll be proclaiming at top volume as you run down Main Street," Rumple remarked dryly, even as he did his best not to allow Aggie to pull him off balance.

Leroy made a scoffing noise. "I wouldn't do anything of the kind. At least," he smiled, "not till after the baby's born!"

Aggie let go of Rumple's hand abruptly and landed on her bottom with a plop. "Wait!" she exclaimed looking at Belle. "You're having a baby? You mean, I'm gonna be a baby sitter?"

"Aggie!" Cecily exclaimed, over a tide of swelling laughter, not only from the crowd on the dock, but from the other passengers who had come down—or were still coming down—the gangplank in the interim.

"Well, you were when you were as old as me!" Aggie announced confidently, nearly drowning out Snow's instructions to the newly-arrived children to line up in front of Doctor Hopper if they meant to stay in town and in front of Apprentice if they wished to return to the homes they'd left behind.

"Well," Rumple said, and though his tone was serious, there was a twinkle in his eye, "I must say that newborns require quite a bit of care and if we were to require help, I'd prefer someone more experienced. At least to start," he added quickly.

His eyes met Cecily's. "However, given the work that an infant requires," he went on, addressing her now, "and knowing that you have other responsibilities, I believe it would make sense to hire two such assistants and allow the more junior to learn via apprenticeship?"

Cecily beamed and turned to Belle. "When do you think the baby will come?" she asked.

"Well," Belle admitted, "I can't say how much time passed for me in the other realm, but I'd think probably May or June."

"School's out the third week of June," Cecily said. "As soon as it is, I, that is to say, we would be happy to. If Mama lets," she amended hastily.

"She'll let," Aggie stated. "She always wants us out of the house so she can think."

Belle laughed at that and after a moment, Cecily joined in, though her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

And then everyone else was clustering around, expressing their congratulations and well-wishes.

Almost everyone. In the middle of the tumult, Robin's smile suddenly gave way to resolve and he made his way through the crowd of youth who were slowly gathering about Archie and the Apprentice, toward a woman with a swaddled bundle, who was slowly edging away into the shadows. "Zelena," he said quietly. "Let me take Lyncoln, now."

Zelena turned toward him and pulled her child closer. "No," she replied. "No, you don't love her; you don't even want her!"

Robin sighed. "That's only half true. And love isn't always instantaneous." He shook his head. "You know," he said slowly, "I've been back and forth over this in my mind since I learned of your pregnancy. Lyncoln can't help the circumstances surrounding her birth. And I do admit that they're difficult to overlook. I've considered—especially after you woke her from the sleeping curse—that maybe letting her grow up with you would be the right thing to do." He shook his head again. "Perhaps someday, it might be. But for now… supervised visits with her are one thing. Letting her live with you is something else entirely."

"Sis," Regina's voice was kind, but firm, "do you know anything about raising children?"

"Did you when you adopted Henry?"

"No," Regina replied. "And that might," she caught her son's eye and winced a bit, before turning her attention back to her sister, "be one reason why, when he reached an age where he began to ask uncomfortable questions, my response was to get him into therapy and try to make him believe that he was losing his mind. And that," she continued, "was despite having a father who tried to compensate for the emotional abuse Mother subjected me to."

"I've debated," Robin spoke again. "Whether the deception you employed in order to get this child ought to nullify your right to raise it, especially in light of my own ambivalence about her. And… it's complicated. But when I ask myself with which parent Lyncoln will be better off? It's been said that it takes a village to raise a child. I know that if I need support, if I find myself out of my depth, if my responsibility for bringing up Lyncoln should conflict with some other duty, there are numerous people I could call on to lift some of that load. Do you have such a network?"

Zelena started to turn toward her sister and then remembered exactly who it was who had imprisoned her in the psych ward at Storybrooke Hospital and informed her that she wouldn't be allowed to keep her child once it was born.

"I'll make do!" she retorted hotly. "I was brought up on a backwoods farm more than a league from the closest neighbor and I—"

"—Turned out just fine?" Regina finished, raising one eyebrow.

"I had a mother who loved me! I'll draw on those memories and do right by my daughter!"

Robin sighed. "I think that, unfortunately, you've just proven my point. Your mother loved you and yet, you became the Wicked Witch of the West. Perhaps motherhood could spur you to walk away from that legacy. It's possible. But at the moment, there isn't enough evidence to risk Lyncoln's well-being on that chance."

"Adopting my son didn't cause me to stop being the Evil Queen," Regina pointed out. "But the realization that I was losing him did. It wasn't until I could convince, well, first him but eventually others that I was trying to do better that I earned the opportunity to try. Today… You're not there, Sis. Not yet."

"But you don't love her!" Zelena cried, and the trees behind her waved their branches in the wind, as though for emphasis.

"But I will still protect and care for her!" Robin shot back, as the winds picked up. He didn't see Regina's look of alarm, nor did he realize that the air currents seemed to be centering on Zelena and the baby, as he continued, "And in the fullness of time, I hope that I may come to love her as well."

"The fullness of time?" Zelena repeated derisively. She rose several feet in the air atop a funnel of wind. "Sorry, but I think you've had all the time with her you ever will!" The funnel rose higher now, its sides enveloping witch and child. Robin thought he heard a piercing wail over the howling winds, though it could have been just his imagination. Green magic streaked the dark air that comprised the funnel as it lifted from the ground and took to the sky. From the ground, a streak of light, almost like a shooting star in reverse, flew toward the magic-infused cyclone and got caught up in its winds. And then, without warning the cyclone vanished and the night became calm once more.

"Where did she…?" Robin's voice trailed off.

"Oz," the Apprentice said confidently. "At least, for now."

David was a step behind. "Well, if we know where she is, we can track her down," he said.

Robin hesitated. "Perhaps, she truly would be the better choice to raise our daughter. In a place where the dice won't be weighted so heavily against her as they are here. And, well, she does love her. If there was some way to be certain which way was best, if I knew that Lyncoln was happy…"

"I think we will in time," Rumple spoke up. "That bit of light magic that you saw in the spin, well," he turned to the Apprentice, "we did that. Your daughter now has a moderately-sized birthmark on the inside of her wrist. Quite permanent, and quite impervious to any sort of cosmetic or magical concealment. In time, she will question it. And one day, I've no doubt that those questions will lead her to you."

"And while you need not make this decision today," the Apprentice continued, "I'd like to remind you that your daughter was placed under a sleeping curse. This has left her with the power to walk the Dream World, and her ability to control that power will increase with time and age. Should you choose to undergo a similar situation, you will be able to communicate with her. Communicate with her more coherently, as she grows older, I might add."

Robin nodded. "I'll need to think about it, but I believe I might well choose that option," he said. His eyebrows came together in a frown. "A birthmark, you said? What sort of mark are we discussing?"

For answer, Rumple took Robin's wrist and raised his arm so that his sleeve fell back to expose his forearm tattoo. "A lion," he replied, smiling. "One very much like this one, in fact. I suspect she'll wonder a great deal about it, once she's of an age to recognize the shape. One would think that at that time, she'd be rather intrigued, were she to dream about a man with a similar mark on his own person. Especially were he to have her eyes or nose or hair or, well, I'm certain she's inherited something from you."

Robin nodded again. His expression grew troubled. "But will she be all right? Zelena might love her but, well, that wouldn't necessarily preclude her harming her."

"As to that," the Apprentice said, "I can look in on her from time to time. When Rumpelstiltskin and I marked your daughter, we included a faint tracking spell. Faint enough that her mother is unlikely to detect it, but I'll be able to find her if need be." He glanced back at the pier, where Lily and Maleficent were engaged in what looked like an animated conversation. "It's a trick I've used before," he added.

For a moment, Robin frowned, lost in thought. Then he smiled sadly. "I think, perhaps, we can leave matters as they are for now," he said. "My duty to my daughter means ensuring that she's safe and well-tended to. For the moment, and unless we should learn otherwise, perhaps it's best she grow up far from here, with one loving parent. But if we do learn otherwise…" His voice trailed off, but there was no mistaking his meaning. If they should learn otherwise, then by bean or by bed, alone or accompanied, Robin Hood would hie to his daughter's side and on that day, there would be no safe haven for Zelena, nor any who might side with her.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Three

As the crowd drifted away from the spot where Zelena had so dramatically departed, Regina grabbed Rumple's arm. "You couldn't have stopped her?" she demanded. "Maybe I should have anticipated she'd pull something like this, but I didn't. You, on the other hand… If you had the power and presence of mind to put a tracking spell on her, surely you could have done more!"

Rumple sighed. "Must I remind you that I wasn't the only person involved in that working?" He cast his gaze in the direction where last he'd seen the Apprentice, but Bené was back with Archie, surrounded by the crowd of recently-freed mine slaves.

"Believe, me," Regina said tartly, "I'll be speaking with him, too, but right now, you're the one standing here." She frowned. "Just how much of that was your idea anyway?"

For a long moment, Rumple didn't reply. He jammed his hands in his pocket and kicked absently at a pebble in his path, as he walked along the pier, putting some distance between himself and the rest of the assembly. Regina quickened her pace to catch up with him, wondering whether he intended to walk all the way back to his house. At the point where the pier met the boardwalk, though, he stopped. Without looking at her, he said quietly, "I hope you don't think that I'm one who believes that raising a child is a passport to redemption. As I believe you intimated a few minutes ago, although it was such for you, it was hardly instantaneous. And, well, I became the Dark One to protect Bae, but once I'd done that, being his father wasn't enough to keep me from descending further into Darkness."

"So…?" Regina asked, but the anger had nearly gone out of her voice.

Rumple sighed. "I promised to act in the child's best interests. And, much like your paramour, I'm hard-put to state unequivocally that it's better for the babe to be reared by a parent who, despite her myriad shortcomings, truly loves her or by one may not but will still do as he must out of a sense of duty." His shoulders slumped and his voice dropped to a thick whisper, as he continued. "But for nearly nine years, I was raised by a man who only looked after me because in those days, at least, he possessed some shred of a sense of responsibility. At least," he added bitterly, "enough of one to abandon me to spinners who would teach me a trade instead of stealing away in the dead of night while I lay sleeping."

"Robin isn't Pan," Regina said softly.

"I'm well aware. If he were, I don't know that I'd have slowed those gale winds enough for Bené to place that spell nor marked the infant with her father's sigil." He shook his head. "Heroes," he went on bitterly, and Regina sensed that he was no longer addressing her, or anyone else, for that matter. "So intent on doing 'the right thing'. As though there was only one course of action, when really, it's generally a great deal more complicated than that. A choice had to be made, and who knows the pattern that the threads that spin from it shall weave?"

He turned back to her, smiling a bit. "Well. I've another task yet to do this evening. I suppose I'd best collect Belle and get to it."

"Another task?" Regina repeated blankly. "What would that be?"

Rumple raised an eyebrow at her as though he was surprised she hadn't guessed. "While a standard locator spell is generally effective in most situations, when the lost object has been separated from its owner for as long as I suspect this one has been, a stronger brew is warranted…"

"You're sure this is necessary?" Belle asked, wrinkling her nose as she donned a pair of heavy leather gloves. "We'll need to air this place out afterwards."

Rumple nodded. "Believe me, I know," he said, picking up an orange studded with cloves from the table and handing it to her. "Breathe."

Belle smiled her thanks. "What is that, anyway?"

"Bulbophyllum phalaenopsis," Rumple replied crisply. "A species of orchid, albeit nowhere near as pleasing to either the nose or the eyes." As he spoke, he leaned a bit closer to the mortar where he'd been crushing the blossoms, drew back abruptly and, covering his mouth and nose, managed, "You might want to pass me back that pomander." The odor was even more noxious than the corpse flower he'd recently used for a different enchantment.

"And we need this to… to…"

Rumple nearly snatched the clove-studded fruit away from her. He held it to his nose and inhaled deeply. "If it is the Blue Fairy's heart that you've recovered, I suspect my mother's held it a good long time. Certainly, she could not have taken it during the twenty-eight years when this land was truly without magic. Now, she might have come for it after that curse broke, but I think it likelier that she harvested it back in our land. If my theory's correct, after so long away from its owner, a standard locator spell on the heart would evoke rather a… sluggish response. This," he tapped the mortar for emphasis, "will wake it up. I rather think it would wake the dead."

"I think it smells like something died in it," Belle muttered.

"I can't disagree," Rumple smiled. Using a pair of tweezers, he extracted a tiny pinch of the ground-up blooms and dropped it into the potion flask. "Pity the plant loses nearly all its effectiveness overnight," he added. "I'm not looking forward to the next time I might need to grind it, but even a preservation spell won't help. And since such a spell won't mask the odor, well, all magic comes with a price, but having my workshop assume the heady aroma of a thousand deceased pachyderms decomposing in the hot sun is just a tad more than I feel I can afford at the moment."

"Or ever," Belle said, and there was no hint of levity in her statement, even though her husband did smile at the intransigence of her tone.

"Or ever," he promised her gently, and she smiled back.

"I'll come with you, assuming the heart does lead us to the hospital," Belle said.

Rumple's smile dropped at once, replaced by a look of concern. "You're not feeling ill, are you?" he asked. "The child…?"

"No, nothing like that," Belle reassured him. "But I should probably look in on Father. And," she sighed, "while I don't know how he'll react to the news that we're expecting, I do know it'll be worse if he finds out from someone else first…"

It took Bené some time to get the newcomers sorted out. Finding the realm from which each hailed posed no difficulty; his wand was capable of crafting a doorway that would send any person stepping through it back to the land of their birth—usually within three leagues of the location from which they'd been taken. A good thing, too: most of the former slaves had been kidnapped as infants or toddlers and had no idea where they'd come from originally. The doorway, however, would only be able to cross realms, and not time.

"Sadly," he explained, "if we were to use the bed to return you to the same point in time at which you were taken, you would be as you are now. I'm afraid that the years taken from you cannot be regained." He frowned. "And I must admit I'm not at all sure how many journeys that device might be able to make." He gave Paul an apologetic smile. "It was crafted by a novice studying sorcery via correspondence with no oversight, after all."

Paul nodded. "Miss Price always used to say, 'Moderation in all things—even magic'. Making so many trips," he made a face. "It does seem a little immoderate, on the face of it, I suppose."

"It's the time travel aspect that's most concerning," Bené replied. "Travel between realms may be difficult, but it's more a matter of resources. There are a finite number of magic beans. Or mermaids. Or bedknobs. The methods and means of travel, however, are understood."

"When I was a younger gent," Paul started to say, before he added self-consciously, "the first go around, there weren't nearly so many people about who owned motorcars. My brother became a mechanic, but it took him a number of years before he could buy a vehicle on his own. Didn't mean he couldn't drive one, or understand the problem if the thing wouldn't start. It sounds to me like that's what you're saying? Even if a fellow doesn't travel to other worlds regular-like, they can still understand the mechanics?"

"Precisely," Bené nodded. "Time travel, though, is a different kettle of fish altogether. And the person best able to understand the forces in play departed here with some spectacle a short while ago. I'm still not certain what fuels those spells on your knob. It may only be good for a finite number of trips. It may restore itself if given sufficient pause between journeys. Unfortunately, to use your automobile reference, our… dashboard has no fuel indicator and we've no notion of where the gas tank, excuse me, petrol tank—"

"Here," Paul grinned, "I've watched enough Fast and Furious movies to know the American."

"—is even located," Bené finished. "Should your knob run out of power while you're in transit, I can truthfully say that I don't know whether you or that bed would ever be seen again."

Paul absorbed that. Then he turned back to the crowd. "You heard him, kids and not-quite-kids-anymore," he added, sparing a glance for the few adolescents and adults in the crowd. "If you want to head homeward, it's going to very much be a 'come as you are' party."

Since magic had come to Storybrooke after the breaking of the first curse, the townspeople had learned to live with clouds of billowing smoke, realm-jumping portals, and sundry magical artifacts. They'd seen wicked witches, wild wraiths, and the occasional snow queen. In fact, they might have been forgiven for feeling the slightest bit jaded by the return of the Jolly Roger together with the usual assortment of heroes, villains, and a number of missing children who'd been stolen from other lands. It was nothing they hadn't seen before.

However, when a red glowing heart was spotted floating down Main Street in the early hours of morning, followed by a black-and-gray Cadillac Brougham in slow pursuit, it must be owned that more than a few early risers stopped and stared. At least for the moment or two it took for heart and car to pass them by. Then they shrugged and most went back to their coffees, breakfasts, and newspapers. A small contingent, though, joined the procession, as the heart slowly made its way toward Storybrooke Hospital.

The Blue Fairy half-rose as the door to her cell opened. Her eyes widened as she took in who and, more to the point, what was on its way in. "You succeeded," she said, only the faintest hint of astonishment evident in her tone.

Rumple smiled. "Sometimes," he said, "destiny is destiny. I don't suppose you have any idea how long my mother had this in her possession?"

Blue sighed. "The spell she placed on me to make me forget that answer died with her. It's been over three centuries."

Rumple shook his head. "Rather makes a twenty-eight-year curse pale in comparison, doesn't it?" he said mildly. And if the hand he reached behind his back that Belle clasped in support, was the only thing keeping his voice steady, he welcomed it.

The Blue Fairy pursed her lips together disapprovingly, though she did take back her heart and, with a swift motion, thrust it back where it belonged.

Once before, Rumple had witnessed a heart reunited with its owner after years of separation. The shock of joy that he'd seen in Cora's eyes paled next to that which rose in Blue's. "I…" she choked, "I truly didn't realize…"

Rumple tightened his grip on Belle's hand. "Well," he managed, "now you do." He paused for a moment and, when Blue said nothing further, continued with a smile that was at once both gentle and unpleasant, "I'll just leave you to your memories, then."

He'd both wanted and dreaded this encounter since Regina had announced that the heart Belle had discovered in his mother's chambers was fairy. He understood now that much of what he'd experienced at the Blue Fairy's hands—abandonment, scorn, abandonment, disdain, abandonment… abandonment… abandonment… had not been entirely by her design. Or, at least, she likely wouldn't have been quite so zealous about parting a son from his father for some 'greater good', had she had a modicum more empathy. The antipathy with which he'd long regarded her wasn't entirely earned. And yet, he'd still been tempted to crush the heart he'd just returned to her several times during the last few hours. He could have made it look like an accident so easily.

He'd won that battle. He'd done the right thing. But whether her doings with him had been of her own volition or no, there was too much animosity in their past for him to smile and let bygones be bygones.

One day, perhaps, he'd accept an apology from her. Another day, he might even make one of his own for that whole sorry business with Merlin's hat. Today, though, everyone would just have to be satisfied that he'd restored to her that which she'd lost centuries ago and exacted no price in return. He'd had to live with all he'd suffered at her hands for three hundred years.

And now, she would have to live with knowing the consequences of those actions.

Some victories were bittersweet.

"Rumple?" Belle asked, once they were in the corridor.

He was still holding her hand. "I can't say that was unexpected," he said dully. "I think I could use a moment, though."

Belle nodded. "I don't think it would be a good idea for you to go into see my father with me, now," she admitted. "And I'd probably be saying that even if things had gone… better in there." She shook her head. "I'm… uh... not looking forward to this."

"It could wait," Rumple pointed out.

Belle shook her head. "I promised him I'd go see him 'tomorrow'," she said. "That was a week ago. I'd better get it over with." She smiled. "But I don't mind waiting another few minutes if… if you want me with you."

Rumple smiled.

Moe French was sitting up when Belle hesitantly stepped into his room and the relief in his eyes was palpable. "I didn't know if you were coming back," he said, and there was a tremor in his voice that Belle found slightly unnerving. "I never meant to upset you; I just want you to be happy."

Belle nodded. "But I am," she said simply.

Her father frowned and started to say something, but then his mouth closed once more and he just nodded. "They're letting me go home next week," he said. "Belle, I want you there. Just for a week or two, so you can see how things are. You know I've never been good at drawing up lists and setting schedules; that's what Cogsworth was for."

"And he was a fine chamberlain, father," Belle nodded sadly. "I miss him, too." She'd felt her mother's loss most keenly, of course, but the ogre attack had claimed more than one life on that dreadful day. She took a breath. "I… uh… don't know what my schedule's going to be like for the next little while, or how I'm going to be feeling," she added.

"What?" Her father sat up a bit straighter. "You're not ill, are you?"

"Not now," she assured him.

"Wait," her father said. "Is that why I haven't seen you for a week?"

Belle shook her head. "No, Father. It was… a bit more complicated than that. And we'll discuss it later. Right now, though," she said, "I think making a list for the nurse is actually a pretty good idea and," she took out her phone and brought up a note-taking app, "we can get started on that right now, and then I can review it with them before you're released."

She supposed she wasn't quite ready to risk her father's reaction to her pregnancy. She wanted him to be happy for her, and she hoped he would be. But she already knew that he was almost always unreasonable where her husband was concerned and there was no denying that Rumple had some involvement in her new condition. And she really did not want to provoke another tirade; sooner or later, one of them was bound to say something truly unforgiveable in the heat of the moment and she didn't want it to be today. She wasn't starting to show, yet—and likely wouldn't for some time. Her father had enough on his mind already. And maybe she really wasn't as brave as she wanted to be, not yet, but perhaps, that was okay too.

Moe nodded slowly. "But you will come to see me while I'm recuperating?"

Belle's smile was equal parts reassurance and elation. She'd kept her temper. She'd stuck to her position. And her father had backed down. "Of course," she replied. "As much as I can." She took another breath. "All right, Father. What will the nurse need to know?"

Rumple hadn't intended to leave the small waiting area by the fifth floor elevator. Belle would wonder where he was and, if the visit with her father didn't go well, she was going to need him. His thoughts were on the vial he'd taken from his mother's workroom and what he meant to do with it.

And then, his eyes widened. All magic came with a price. Not all Dark magic; all magic. He'd made a promise. He meant to keep it. He always did keep his promises, after all, and he had no intention of reneging on this one. But if the price was what he suspected it might be, then he knew that the person he'd made that promise to would be certain to release him.

And there was only one person who could confirm whether what he was thinking was indeed the truth.

He didn't want to go back there. He never wanted to see her again, even though he knew that was far too much to expect. This town wasn't nearly large enough to think that their paths wouldn't cross at some point, but it didn't have to be now. And why the hell was his heart pounding? He wasn't afraid of her.

No, but he was afraid of what she might say.

He didn't have to confront her. He didn't have to do anything. Nobody knew he had the vial. Nobody knew what it was for. Nobody said he had to use it today.

He knew he had it. He knew why. And he had to know whether…

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he summoned the elevator. He didn't have a key-card, but he did have magic. Several minutes later, the doors slid open again and he stepped out into the basement psychiatric ward.

"I hadn't expected to see you again," the Blue Fairy said quietly.

Rumple shrugged. "I hadn't expected to return. Nor was I certain you'd still be here."

"I don't have to explain myself to you," she replied.

"No," Rumple acknowledged. "But perhaps you could explain to me precisely what it was you did to Jiminy."

"Jiminy?" she repeated, sounding surprised.

"You're aware that my grandson possesses a book that depicts certain events from our histories that, well, let's just say often prove enlightening to those who missed seeing them the first go-round. Some decades ago, Jiminy procured a potion from me. Unfortunately, the draught was imbibed by two parties he hadn't intended. Does that jog your memory?"

The Blue Fairy frowned. "What are you asking me?"

Rumple took a breath. "You told him he'd live so long as Gepetto needed him. Gepetto needed him because the potion that Jiminy obtained from me robbed that boy of his parents. Well. Thanks to recent developments, I'm now able to reverse that enchantment but, as you know, all magic comes with a price. Jiminy paid once with his humanity. If I work this spell, will it take his life?"

Blue shook her head. And when she spoke again, there was a gentleness in her voice that Rumple hadn't heard since he'd thought of her as Aunt Hulda. "That's not a price Light Magic would exact," she said. "Besides, my spell was to last as many years as Gepetto needed Jiminy's help. Gepetto is no longer a child. That help hasn't been required for a long time."

"Then…"

"Are you familiar with the myth of Tithonus?" When Rumple didn't answer, Blue continued. "The legend claims that he was the lover of Eos, the dawn. Fearing the day when he would die, she granted him eternal life but, sadly, not eternal youth. An oversight. So with the passage of time, Tithonus grew ever more wizened and decrepit until he shrank to the size and seeming of cricket, though some say cicada, instead. While it is just a myth," she went on, "there is a grain of truth in it."

"Explain," Rumple said tersely.

"Becoming a cricket was Jiminy's choice," Blue said. "I asked him what he would be, if he could be different from who he was, and that was his answer. I cannot speculate as to what would have been had he chosen differently. But it seems that for so long as he was in the form of a cricket, the passage of time did not affect him. Now that he is human again, now that Gepetto no longer needs his protection, he has begun to age normally. Unless he becomes a cricket once more, he will continue to do so and live out his normal span."

"So your spell's broken?" Rumple asked.

"Say rather that the Dark Curse suspended it. In this land, it must be activated anew to take effect. When we returned to our land, however, after you defeated your father, the spell affected Jiminy as soon as he arrived there. At any rate," she smiled, "setting right that which went wrong so long ago will cause him no harm, of that you may be assured."

Rumple smiled. "Well, then. I thank you for that information."

"Of course."

Of course. Rumple's eyebrows shot up. There had been very little 'of course' in their relationship until now. He'd half expected her to magic herself away when he'd come back here. He'd certainly been prepared for her to deny him the information he'd sought or further interrogate him as to why he needed it. But he wasn't about to fall on his face in gratitude either. "It would appear, I've work to do," he murmured, turning on his heel.

"Sleep first."

He whirled back at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"Gepetto's parents have been as they are for well over half a century. A few more hours won't make much difference to them. You, on the other hand…"

Come to think of it, he didn't believe he had slept since departing for the Dark Realm. He didn't know exactly how much time they'd spent there, but the Blue Fairy's directive had suddenly made him realize how tired he truly was. Not that he was about to follow orders from the likes of her. "I'll take your suggestion under advisement," he murmured, turning once more to go.

"Thank you for returning my heart."

First 'of course' and now, she was thanking him? Perhaps he was tired enough to be hallucinating, after all. Incredulous, he whirled again, only to find himself alone in the room. Shaking his head and smothering a yawn, he made his way back to the elevator, hoping that Belle was still with her father and hadn't yet missed him.

Tia set down her phone, still smiling. "It's a good thing we fixed the barrier around this place when we arrived," she said, with a happy sigh.

Tony grinned back. "I take it, that means they're coming?"

"Well, the kids are always saying Witch Mountain is boring and they wish they could travel to other realms, like we did," Tia replied. "Somehow, Glenn promising them we'd go to Missoula this summer didn't cheer them up. But the Dark Realm—"

"You know, that place is going to need a new name," Tony cut in.

"It'll get one," Tia assured him. "But I think the people living there now ought to get to pick it."

"So, wait, they're just kids, there? No, I saw a few people on the ship who looked like they were in their twenties, but…"

Tia sighed. "I didn't get a lot of details. And I think there are a few older adults who stayed back. But, remember, time flows differently there. It could be that even if she was there for three hundred years of normal time, it was only a couple of decades her time. Or everyone just naturally ages more slowly in that place." She winced. "I think I'm going to keep telling myself that. I don't really want to think that…"

"Yeah," Tony nodded. "Look, just because you didn't find any older people doesn't mean there weren't any. The Black Fairy probably had more than just the one mine. I mean, think about it: there are a lot of places in this realm that we've never been to. Just because the bed brought you to the part of the realm closest the Black Fairy's castle doesn't mean that it was the only inhabitable area."

Tia nodded. "You're right," she said. "We really didn't get to see very much of that place. Well," she went on, "I guess we'll see a bit more over the next little while."

"Six months," Tony said.

"Yes. I don't know if time is still going to be wonky over there, but since Paul's got a time-travelling bed, at least we can be sure we're not going to lose decades like Rip Van Winkle. We'll spend six months there, helping those who stayed behind establish some sort of order, and when Paul takes us home, it'll be six months later here, too."

"Good," Tony approved. "You guys haven't had a real vacation since…" He frowned. "You never really did, did you?"

"I never needed one," Tia smiled. "Neither did Glenn. And even this isn't going to be much of a holiday for us. For the kids, on the other hand…"

"It'll be good for them. A chance to see what's outside Witch Mountain, without having to hide the stuff they—we—can do. Their control's up for it?" He added seriously.

"Better than ours was when we were their ages." Tia shook her head. "I don't suppose you could come with us?"

"No, sorry," Tony said, not sounding at all as though he was. "See… while you were away, I called Dayani a few times and," a broad smile spread across his face, "congrats, Sis. You're going to be an auntie!"

Tia gave her brother an incredulous look. Then she squealed and flung her arms about him. "I can't believe you hid that from me!" she cried, laughing. "I never caught a hint of—"

"Just checking if I still knew how to keep my thoughts shielded," Tony was laughing, too. "In case I want to throw you a surprise party or something at some point."

"No surprise could match this one!" Tia exclaimed. "I'm so happy for both of you!"

"Yeah, so tell the kids to write good travel diaries. And you and Glenn, too. Because when you guys get back, we're going to want all the details!"

"One hundred and twelve," the Apprentice said wearily, as he sank down on the seat beside Killian and across from Emma.

Killian tilted his head curiously. While there were a number of other patrons at Granny's at this hour, the lunch rush wouldn't truly get underway for another half hour or so, and there were still many vacant tables. "Pardon, mate?"

"Of the two hundred and forty-six individuals you've returned here, one hundred and twelve have elected to stay."

"Where?" Emma asked. "I-I mean, Storybrooke doesn't exactly have much of a foster care system." A dozen Lost Boys had been one thing. Half of them had been in their late teens, and despite—or perhaps because of—years of perpetual youth spent in a harsh environment with a harsher leader, once they'd adjusted to life in Storybrooke, they hadn't needed much in the way of parental authority. The three youngest had been placed with families. The others were working at various jobs about town and sharing rent on three vacant apartments that had turned up with the Second Curse. But over a hundred? "Where are we going to put them?"

Killian shook his head slightly, even as a small smile played on his lips. "I think I see why you've chosen to interrupt our breakfast, mate," he said, inclining his head toward the Apprentice.

"Well," the Apprentice remarked, "you did commission a new ship. What would its crew complement be?"

"My men number forty-five," Killian replied. "But a ship that size, if it were properly outfitted for battle, I'd need more to man the guns and other armaments…" His eyebrows lifted. "While in peacetime, a crew of forty to sixty more than suffices, there would be space aboard for up to," his smile broadened, "Oh, say one-hundred-and-thirty. Perhaps one-fifty, though it would be a bit cramped."

"And since there are to be no battles, and as you have back the ship you never expected to see again…"

"Aye," Killian nodded. "For now, the weather's warm enough that those not comfortable with bunking on the ship that's currently seaworthy can likely find shelter in the forest with the Merry Men. But when cold weather comes, assuming that the new ship is ready…"

"Could magic speed up construction?" Emma asked. "I-I've never used mine for anything like it, but if someone walks me through the process, I'd like to help."

"Aye," the captain agreed. "The dwarfs can show you what needs to be done. And I think there are a number of magical practitioners who can teach you how." He hesitated. "Just make sure you've someone spotting you who can step in if things go awry. I suspect that once these children begin to feel more at ease in this land, we can expect a natural level of rough and rowdy behavior. The ship will need to be able to withstand such conduct without foundering, so take your cue from those who know what they're about, love."

"Aye, aye," Emma deadpanned and Killian laughed.

"Landlubber you may be, Swan, but I've a feeling you'll go on account ere long."

"Huh?"

Killian sighed. "Turn buccaneer, love."

"Oh." Emma grinned. "Next time, you could just chant, 'One of us, one of us'."

When the pirate captain shot her a confused look, she couldn't quite hold back her laughter.

"You didn't tell him," Rumple guessed, seeing the look on his wife's face.

Once, Belle might have grown defensive. Now, she only sighed. "I know we were just gone a week, but for me it felt like months. Even though it feels like I've been expecting forever, it… it's really early in the pregnancy." She gave Rumple a tired smile. "Part of me wanted to tell him. I sat there for close to two hours, going over instructions for the homecare nurse and hoping for a good moment." The gaze she turned on her husband was simple and direct. "I-I don't want to hide the fact that he's going to become a grandfather, after all. But if he said anything other than 'Congratulations', I knew I was going to," she sighed once more, "let Lacey out to play."

They hadn't spoken much on the journey back, but toward the end of it, they'd each said a great deal of what they thought the other ought to hear. Now, Rumple smiled back. "Perhaps it's the Darkness remaining in my heart, but I can't help thinking I might like to see that," he murmured.

"I'm sure you would," Belle admitted, a good deal less shamefacedly than she might have in the past. "But losing my temper with a frightened, angry man who's so certain he's right that he can't even consider that he could be wrong…" She rolled her eyes. "I suppose I come by a few shortcomings honestly," she added under her breath.

"Somehow, I don't imagine I've any high ground to stand on, myself," Rumple noted dryly.

Belle smiled. "I don't think either of us belongs on a pedestal. Well, maybe a low one, so it won't sting nearly as much if one of us should happen to slide off." She shook her head, still smiling. "Don't think I'm not worrying a bit that maybe I'm just… afraid of his reaction, so I'm trying to rationalize, like I did before, when…" When I didn't tell you about Will. "I should have told you then, and much sooner," she said hastily, barely recognizing it when Rumple gave her a slight nod and an even fainter smile. "But no matter how much I tried to make excuses for what I did then, deep down I knew what the right thing to do was; I just didn't want to admit it."

"And now?" Rumple asked, his tone betraying nothing.

"I want to tell him. More than anything. But not when he's feeling lonely and bitter and sorry for himself. Not when he resents my choosing you over him. No, if I tell him now, he'll just twist it around somehow until he thinks I'm doing this to-to spite him or something. Besides," she added, "your mother told me I was pregnant, but before I get Father excited," she sighed, "I don't doubt her magic, but I'm not sure I trust her honesty. Maybe I should have Dr. Whale confirm my condition before I share it with him."

While her point about his mother was well-taken, Rumple thought she might be overlooking the pages that Henry had penned with the author's quill. He was about to mention that to her, when he realized that neither he nor she had actually read them. Had Henry written that Belle was pregnant, or merely that his mother had so informed her? It would be a simple matter to ask Henry if he could see the papers in question, but to what end? Belle was right: if she was pregnant—and he dearly hoped she was—then her father would have to be told. But he didn't need to be told today. And there was no harm in waiting for confirmation from Whale. "As you wish," he said courteously. "And Belle, when you do tell him, you know it might turn out a bit better than you think."

She gave him a pained smile.

"It might," he repeated. "But if it doesn't, well, I generally wait until I'm alone before I start smashing things. If you can control yourself until you return home," he shrugged, "I suppose I can create an entire room filled with breakables for you, if you like."

Belle's smile broadened. "As large as the library you once made for me?"

"Larger, if you so require."

"But only glassware and crockery," she hedged. "No books."

"None. Not even the tawdriest Harlequin romance."

Belle tilted her head coquettishly, as she slid her hand into his. "The tawdriest?" she echoed, nearly purring. "Hmm. Perhaps you ought to let me read that one. It might give me ideas."

Rumple's eyebrows shot up, and there was an appreciative gleam in his eye as he chuckled. "I must confess I do like the way you're thinking…"

Lily looked down at the notepad Dopey held out to her and grinned. "Yeah, I'm glad I went. But I'm glad to be back, too." Her eyebrows shot up. "That's weird."

"What, please?" her mother asked, and Lily turned to her still smiling.

"Nothing, I guess," the younger woman admitted. "Well, maybe. I mean… I've done a lot of moving around over the years, you know. But I've never left a place I was in a hurry to go back to until now." Wondering, she looked from her mother, to the dwarf and gestured vaguely around at the irregular stone walls of the cavern Maleficent had chosen for her lair. "I just… missed it here."

Dopey scribbled something on the pad quickly and handed it to her, just as Maleficent said, "You found your home."

Lily looked down at the page and burst into laughter. "Sorry, Mom," she said at once. "Only…" She held up the page so her mother could read it, too: You found your home.

Dopey's shoulders were shaking in silent mirth, and Maleficent smiled, but there was a hint of worry in her eyes. Lily guessed the reason. "Yeah," she said softly. "I guess I did. But, no offense, I still think I'll sleep better in the motel room than down here."

Returning home, he was just as glad that Belle gave no indication that she expected him to create a room filled with breakables forthwith. His magic might working properly again, but it still came with a price.

As would another spell he'd promised to cast some time ago, he reflected sadly. Oh, he'd pay this one himself, if he could, but there had to be some way to mitigate one of the other costs.

"I don't think I want to read, right now," Belle's voice broke into his thoughts, as they walked through the passage that connected the garage to the house. "And thanks to that spell the Black Fairy had me under, I've… had quite the sleep. I'm going to check my recipes and figure out what to have for supper; there's still time to do a grocery run if we're short anything. Afterward supper," she ventured hesitantly, "would you, uh, want to watch a movie? It won't be the same ambience as that theater in Greenwich Village, but you do have that popcorn popper, and I can pick up some kernels. And licorice all-sorts," she added, with a self-conscious smile.

Rumple smiled back. "Yes, I believe you're right. I confess I'm not sure what offerings are streaming on the television right now, though."

"Astrid mentioned one to me, when we had coffee earlier," Belle said hesitantly. "She said she must have seen it a dozen times and she still hasn't got bored with it." She paused for a moment, before adding, "But it is a romantic comedy. If there's something else you'd rather…?"

Rumple shook his head, still smiling. "While the genre wouldn't be my first choice, I'll try to keep an open mind. And if it proves too annoying for my liking, I trust you won't be offended, should I choose to wander off and find something else to do."

Belle slid her arm into his, and rested her head on his shoulder. "And if it turns out that you're actually enjoying yourself, while I'm wondering what Astrid found so appealing about it, I trust the same would apply if it were me doing the wandering?"

"But of course."

In Granny's, Paul's hand clenched around his phone as he carried on his conversation. "I know it puts you on the spot, Carey, love. I'd make the call myself only I doubt they'd believe I was the genuine article." He sighed. "Well, yes, you could do, but it'll only worry them more, and then they'll have someone out to check the house."

He listened some more. "And just how long do you imagine we can keep up that level of deception? Well, yes, that's true, but…" For a several moments, he was silent. Then, abruptly, he laughed. "Fair enough! Yes, I suppose I could pull that off. But if they ever see through this charade, on your head, be it! Send the pictures and I'll… work out how to edit them. Which would be so much easier if the rest of the world was still using film, I might add!"

He ended the call with a smile, and looked up to see Robin and Regina seated at a nearby table, enjoying an afternoon coffee. Still smiling, he walked over to them. "Just the woman I wanted to see," he greeted her, with a nod to Robin. "May I?"

Nonplussed, Regina nodded politely, and Paul took a seat.

"I've decided," Paul said. "I'm staying. Both the age I am now and, once I'm done with ferrying Tia and her lot back to that place, here—if you'll have me."

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "Well, I can't say that the former surprises me, but as to the latter… It's not that you aren't welcome," she added. "But I'll admit I wasn't expecting you to want to."

Paul shrugged. "I suppose I could make a go of it out there with forged papers, pretending to be from some remote village nobody's heard of. I might even get away with it. But," he gave her a pained smile, "I've been pretending to have never done anything too far out the ordinary for over seventy years, now. I don't relish having to do that for another seventy-odd years, and with even more adventures this time. Strikes me that I've hit on about the only town in the world where if I want to have a good jaw about fleeing an oversized hookworm, people aren't going to offer me a soothing drink and tell me I've been out in the noonday sun for too long."

"But what about your old life?" Robin asked seriously.

"Can't say it's got much to recommend it," Paul shrugged. "It's comfortable enough, I suppose. Conventional. Boring. True, my brother and sister will wonder what's become of me, but my granddaughter in New York thinks there's a way around that." He grinned. "She's going to tell them I decided to embark on a round-the-world tour, length of time: indefinite. And she's about to send me the photos from the last time we saw each other, about five years back or so. Then? I take the bed and go visit a number of landmarks and scenic areas the world over. I snap a few pictures and," he shrugged, "Well, I'll do my best to puzzle out how to Photoshop those pictures of me onto those backgrounds and email one to my siblings every so often. Probably at some point, tell them I've decided to retire someplace remote that they'll never in a million years choose to go to—I was thinking St. Helena, where we sent Napoleon a couple centuries back," he smiled. "It's a little easier to reach than this town, but not by much. I'll keep sending periodic emails and with any luck," he shrugged, "I'll get away with it."

"But if they should brave the voyage after all," Robin said, "and don't find you at their destination?"

"They won't," Paul said shortly. "And if they do, I'll have just coincidentally booked a vacation elsewhere the week they're visiting. I'm an old man; I've leisure. And," his face sobered, "much as it pains me to say it, my brother and sister are both in their eighties. I shouldn't think I'll need to keep up the ruse that long. As for our kids, mine and theirs, well, my granddaughter Carey knows the truth. Between the two of us, I think we can manage some sort of lie if we have to."

Regina's expression was thoughtful. "You know, Mr. Wilson," she said slowly, "apart from Emma and Henry, none of us has been out of this town for any appreciable length of time. I don't mean travel to other realms," she added. "A few of us have done that. But this town isn't a prison. It's conceivable that in time, some of us will choose to move away. And I think those few will have their best chance, if…"

"If someone like me, who's been out there for most of his life is on hand to prepare them for what they might expect," Paul nodded. "Well, I can't say I've ever done anything like that before, but I suppose I could give it a whirl, then. Once I'm back from the other place again, of course."

Regina smiled. "Welcome to Storybrooke, Mr. Wilson."

Rumple tried to lose himself in the movie, or at least in the moment. It wasn't as insipid as he generally found romantic comedies to be. In fact, it reminded him somewhat disturbingly of what life had been like under the Dark Curse: every morning, he had woken up with no recollection of the day before. He'd followed the same route, made the same purchases, eaten the same meals, gone to sleep, and in the morning, repeated the entire routine again. And now, here was a character that, thanks to some kind of traumatic amnesia, was going through the same challenge. Except that under the curse, the entire town had been in the same boat. Here, it was only the young woman. Those around her—with the exception of the man falling in love with her—appeared to accept the situation, indulging—or, perhaps enabling—her delusions, but the would-be lover was still convinced that there was a way to break through to her.

Rumple shifted a bit in his seat. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts were wandering. They shouldn't be. For once, everything seemed to be working out for him. He was home. Belle was safe. He was going to be a father again. Somewhere, somehow, he thought he'd actually managed to acquire a happy ending—although a cynical voice piped up in his head to remind him that it wouldn't be the first time that one of those was suddenly snatched away from him.

Oh, things weren't perfect, of course. Belle's strained relationship with her father was… complicated, and much as Rumple wished that there was something he could do that wouldn't be just as likely to make things worse, he was forced to recognize that this wasn't a problem he could solve. It hurt him to see Belle suffering, and he was doing his best to lend support without adding unsolicited advice (had she asked him, it would have been different). Still, he had no doubt that things would eventually work themselves out. After all, despite the tension that currently existed between father and daughter, they did still love one another. In time…

Belle slid her hand into his, interrupting his train of thought, and he smiled, squeezed it, and pulled his attention back to the movie, but a few minutes later, he found his mind wandering again.

He had another task to complete, one that was several decades overdue. He had the necessary components. His magic was back and behaving properly. He even had the Blue Fairy's assurances that his tinkering wouldn't exact an exorbitant price from someone who had already been paying a heavy one for more than half a lifetime. But there would still be a price to be paid, and it wouldn't all be drawn from his account. How did you tell two people that the world they knew was gone, and even if they could physically return to it, their old lives were over for good? How did you even begin to break that sort of news to them and expect them to go on? Might it not be a kindness to—?

The movie seemed to be ending. The man and woman had come together anew, and although it was clear that her memory was still an issue, it was equally clear that something about the man had managed to penetrate—at least, going by the paintings and sculptures in the woman's studio. All at once, Rumple sat up straighter and, still holding Belle's hand, leaned closer to the screen, watching the character awaken, look about in some confusion, and spy a videocassette tape on the table by her bed, with the message, 'Good morning, Lucy,' on the label. Curious the woman inserted it and watched as the tape disclosed a brief summary of everything that had befallen her since the traumatic accident that had caused her memory problems.

"That's it…" Rumple whispered, eyes wide. "That's how I can…"

"Rumple?" Belle asked. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, still holding her hand. "I-I think I am," he said, still sounding stunned. "I…" He took a breath. "I need to call Dr. Hopper."

"Now?" Belle asked. "It's nearly ten o'clock."

Rumple shook his head, but he was smiling slightly. "I don't believe he's going to mind…"

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Four

Paul couldn't sleep that night. Try as he might—and he'd tried everything from herbal teas to turning his motel room television to the infomercial station—his eyes refused to close. In his mind, he could hear his sister grumbling again, as she had when he was six and she'd just learned he'd been keeping quiet about seeing Miss Price's late-night broomstick flights.

" You see, Paul, it was really very selfish; now Miss Price has hurt her ankle, she won't be flying again for ages. Charles and I may never have the chance of seeing her!"

" You see, Paul, it was really very selfish…"

"… Really very selfish…"

"… Selfish…"

" Selfish…"

He wasn't being selfish this time, he told himself sullenly. Had he told them about the knob coming back in his life, he just knew they would have told him it was past time he forgot about the silly games they'd played as children. He was a grandfather. He had grandchildren who knew how foolish the whole idea was! He…

He was about to accept a new life and disappear from theirs forever. And wasn't it selfish not to offer them the opportunity to do the same?

They'd never believe him.

Unless he made them.

And, Paul thought with a smile as he got out of bed, switched on the light, and picked up his clothes from the floor where he'd tossed them before he'd changed into his pyjamas, he knew just how to do it, too…

Paul wasn't the only person having a hard time sleeping. Belle awoke with a start, barely two hours after she'd turned in for the night. The ordeal of the last few… days? Weeks? Minutes? She didn't know; she just knew that it was hitting her hard. She stretched her hand across the mattress reaching for Rumple, and instead touched cool satin. He wasn't lying beside her. Now, where…?

Hesitantly, she slid her feet into her slippers donned her robe, and padded downstairs.

She found her husband spinning in the basement. In the not-so-distant past, she might have turned on her heel, stolen back upstairs, and stewed, wondering what he was up to and why he hadn't told her about it and worried that it was because he didn't want her to know his latest schemes. Now, though, she took a step forward knocked quietly on the door frame. He looked up with a smile.

"Did the time get away from me?" he asked mildly.

Belle shook her head. "I couldn't sleep. What are you doing?"

Rumple sighed. "I am attempting to unravel a spell that's had over half a century to set."

Belle drew closer. After a few conversations, both with him and with August, she thought she had some idea of what he was talking about. "Gepetto's parents?"

He nodded. "I'd thought it would go more smoothly. I found the powdered onyx in my mother's workroom—natural black onyx, mind; none of that treated chalcedony that makes a fair substitution in jewellery, but proves woefully ill-suited as a replacement in magical workings. The other components I had already, and with my magic restored…" He shook his head. "I even confirmed with the Ruehl Gorm that Dr. Hopper's life wouldn't be the price of the spell's reversal." At Belle's startled expression, he shrugged. "All magic, whether Dark or Light comes at a price. You know he's been Gepetto's protector all this time. I didn't want to chance…"

Belle nodded and placed her hand over his. "So, that was why you called him," she murmured. He'd gone into the other room to make that call, so she hadn't heard the conversation. "Then…?"

"It's a complicated working, Belle. It would have been, if I'd gone about reversing it right after it had been cast, but after this long," he shook his head. "Magic sometimes seems to have a mind of its own. And in this case, it's being stubborn."

Belle smiled. "You've, uh, been pretty stubborn yourself, you know," she reminded him. "I mean, the Curse didn't come easy to you either, and you created that."

"Repurposed, rather," Rumple corrected her, but he was smiling just a bit.

"Well, yes, but it certainly wasn't something you managed in an evening." She sighed. "I don't think I'm going to get much sleep tonight. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Rumple hesitated. Finally, he gestured to a pile of books on the worktable. "Cadfael's star," he said. "We won't find it in this realm, so I'm going to need something else that will restore vitality and not react badly with the onyx. It can't be foxglove; the amount necessary would stop their hearts as soon as they started. I was going to work on the parts of the potion I knew how to brew first and puzzle out the rest later, but if you don't mind doing the research…"

Belle beamed, glad that she hadn't gone back upstairs for more reasons than one. "Research is one of my strengths," she murmured, giving his hand a squeeze. "Were you taking notes? I'd rather not waste time covering ground you've already been over."

Rumple nodded and followed her to the table to show her where he'd been writing them.

Caroline Rawlins (nee Wilson) put two slices of bread into the toaster, pressed the lever, and sat down to wait. She'd always been an early riser and was mentally chiding herself for having 'only' arisen at half-past seven this morning. At eighty-four years old, she imagined some allowances could be made. Besides, she told herself firmly, the days when she'd had to ferry her son and daughters to school were long over. While she had on occasion minded her grandchildren when other arrangements had collapsed at the last moment, now that they were raising families of their own, it was their own parents and in-laws they called upon, doubtless thinking her too elderly and fragile for the task. Carey wished she didn't half-agree with them. "Everyone wants to live a long life, but nobody wants to be old," she muttered under her breath. The bread popped out of the toaster and she rose to collect it.

Then she stifled a shriek and retreated several steps, stumbling back into her chair and collapsing onto it when the four-poster bed materialized out of nowhere, taking up the space between the sink and the island counter in the studio kitchen.

Her jaw gaped open at the sight of the youth holding fast to the iron foot-rail with one hand, a cheery—no, a cheeky—grin on his face, as he waved to her with the other. "Mornin', Sis," he said, and his voice had no business sounding that familiar. Nor did he have any right to look so like…

"P-Paul?!" she quavered.

"Pour us a cuppa, Carey. You'll need one and I'm thirsty myself. We've some 'at to discuss. And once we have, perhaps you'll help me find a way to break this to Charlie-boy without prompting another heart attack." At her stupefied stare, he went on, "Well, that's why I had the bed bring me here, first, after all. I figured you'd handle the news better."

"I…" Carey hadn't had a drink in years, but she suddenly found herself wishing that there was a bottle of brandy about. "I'll get the tea. B-but how…?"

"Well," Paul shrugged, "it's an interesting story, though not as interesting as what we all got up to the last time I had the knob." He waited for a reply, and when none was forthcoming, he smirked. "So, you're done with pretending that I've been pretending all these years. Well, good. You've finally outgrown the Age of Not Believing. Meaning we can actually have a real talk. Now, you don't have to decide right away, but I must admit I'm not going to be the easiest person to reach for a spell," he chuckled. "No pun intended there, I suppose."

"What?"

Paul got off the bed and didn't step so much as bounce toward his sister. "How would you feel if I were to tell you that it's not too late to embark on a new adventure?"

It was nearly another two hours before Belle was able to persuade Rumple to come back to bed. By then, she was feeling a bit weary herself, but Rumple had been working as though possessed—and this time, she was assured that it wasn't by Darkness. Light, it seemed, could also be a hard taskmaster. It seemed she'd known that on some level, but she hadn't truly appreciated it until she saw how hard her husband was working now. It took some time before she could finally convince him that he'd accomplish a good deal more after a few hours of sleep. When she opened her eyes again, the sun was coming in around the edges of the Venetian blinds and the clock by the bed…

The clock by the bed was reading 9:45. The library was supposed to open at ten. And the shop? She leaned over to awaken her husband, but then thought better of it. She'd leave a note on its door on her way to the library instructing people to call her cell for assistance. With the Black Fairy defeated, Zelena gone, and no new magical visitor appearing, it was doubtful in the extreme that such assistance would be required. No, if anyone did call the number, it would probably be a customer seeking an unusual birthday gift for a loved one or some heirloom keepsake they'd owned back in the Enchanted Forest and were wondering whether it had turned up in one of the display cabinets. Well, if they did, Belle would simply leave the library for the quarter hour or so such a transaction was likely to take and unlock the shop. Let Rumple sleep. He'd certainly earned it.

She quickly gathered up the clothes she meant to wear to work and carried them into the bathroom so that she could get dressed quietly without disturbing her husband.

But she'd leave him a note, too, just so he wouldn't worry.

Paul hadn't seen his brother in months, but after Carey's phone call, Charles was there within the hour. Skeptical at first, the sight of bed, knob, and a much younger little brother convinced him in short order. Mostly.

"June eleventh, 1958," Paul said. "You managed to lean against a fresh-painted white rail in your tux and I had the brilliant idea to use bootblack to repair the damage. Millie nearly filed for divorce after the two of you kissed at the altar and the blacking came off on her gown. As it was, it was nearly a year before she consented to invite me to dinner." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to ask me what happened to the copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover what you used to hide under the loose floorboard?"

Charles half-rose, blue eyes startled and piercing in his seamed face. "It was you who nicked it?" he accused.

Paul shrugged. "One of me chums wanted to read it and paid me ten shillings for the privilege, it still being banned at the time, you know. Only he was reading it in the bath and it slipped, so I never could put it back." He shrugged. "And you never could admit to owning the bloody thing in the first place and by then I'd already spent the shillings on LPs, so I thought it best to leave well enough alone."

"You little git!" Charles snapped. "I should've guessed you had something to do with it."

Paul smiled. "So, I take it you know who I am, then, Cholly."

"How is any of this possible?" Carey quavered.

"Well, as it turns out, Miss Price wasn't the only person around who could use magic. Or maybe she was, back in the day, but it's a new day now." He sat down on the bed and began telling them about his recent experiences.

"Anyway," he concluded, "I'm convinced Miss Price had the right of it on one point: this place, this time… it don't need me. And that other place in the States, it does. Or at least, it seems that way to me. I just, well I was thinking at first I'd just disappear. Your namesake," he nodded at Carey, "would help me with the logistics. But then I thought me getting a new lease on life and not offering you the opportunity would be a little hoggish, so here I am."

"And we need to decide right now?" Carey asked, sounding dismayed.

"Well, the bed and I are going to be doing a bit of back-and-forth between this place and the other one for a bit. And there's the matter of the baby to keep tabs on."

"The daughter of Robin Hood and the Wicked Witch of the West," Charles shook his head. "D'you have any idea how daft that sounds?"

"No dafter than time-travel on a Victorian four-poster and maybe less," Paul retorted glibly. "But no, you don't have to decide right away. It might be hard to get a message to me for a time, but I'll get it eventually, and then… Well, it's no great hardship popping into your kitchen like so."

"As long as you don't shatter the crockery," Carey retorted. "The china pattern's been discontinued now."

"I'll do my best to ensure the bed knows it," Paul deadpanned.

Charles shook his head. "I don't want to be younger than my grandchildren," he said flatly. "I'm enjoying my twilight years and I'm not about to turn the clock back and face another forty years or more of earning a living, staying on top of the latest gadgets, and going through the whole aging process again. Bully for you, Paul, but my life is here and it's a damned good one."

Carey hesitated. "I need to think," she said.

"Carey?" Charles turned to her in surprise.

"I'm not jumping at the chance," Carey said, "but I'm not dismissing it out of hand either. I can't decide now; even if I wanted to, I've got responsibilities. I can't just pick up and leave. There's a rally on the ninth and they're calling me night and day to deal with problems as they arise. I won't leave the committee in the lurch with no notice."

"Right," Paul nodded. "You'd need time to train a replacement, wouldn't you?" His sister had always been one for jumping on causes; it wasn't enough for her to support them financially, she had to be involved. And to be fair, the crisis in healthcare for the elderly was certainly worthy of Carey's efforts.

Carey nodded back. "And there's what to do with the house, and what to tell the children; I-I can't just disappear." She looked up sharply. "How are you going to manage it?"

Paul shrugged and told them what his initial plan had been. Charles was shaking his head by the time he'd finished. "So, you'll leave your estate in limbo and your kids not knowing what's become of you and everyone wondering why Carey," he glanced briefly at his sister and then back to his brother, "Carey your granddaughter, I mean, isn't the least bit worried. That's damned irresponsible, Paul. Damned irresponsible."

"In seven years' time, they can get a declaration of presumed death," Paul pointed out. "That'll settle the estate."

"But not their minds, Paul," Carey said. "They'll always wonder."

Paul pressed his lips together firmly, not wanting to say what he realized now was probably the right thing to say. "A year," he sighed at last. "Give me a year to do what I need to do with the bed. And yes, all right, a bit of what I want to do. Let me get that traveling out of my system. Carey, take that year to make up your mind. Cholly?" he smiled at his brother, "take that year to change it if you want to. And then," he sighed again. "Tell them. Everything."

"Wait, but if we tell…" Carey said, her eyes growing wide, "then…"

"Then the spell breaks and the knob loses its magic," Paul nodded. "And I'll live with that, just as I've lived without that magic for over seventy years. One thing I've learned over the last few weeks is that magic always comes with a price. And if the price of my new lease on life is giving up the bed, then I say that's fair. Just give me the time to do what I've promised I would and then? We can let the family skeleton out of the closet and give it a good airing."

Belle left the note on the shop door and realized that she'd never last the day if she didn't have another cup of coffee. Funny, really. She'd been asleep for days in the Dark Realm, but perhaps the intensity of the ordeal had taken a toll, because her eyelids were definitely feeling heavy at the moment. With a mental shrug, she headed for Granny's.

She got the coffee in a to-go cup and was on her way out, when she spied Dr. Hopper sitting by himself at a table by the door. Archie was nursing his own coffee and looking as though his night had been as sleepless as hers. She hesitated only the barest instant before joining him. "I-I just wanted you to know that Rumple's working on the potion," she said. "It shouldn't be more than another day or two."

Archie smiled. "That's really good to know," he said. His smile faded, replaced by an expression of concern. "I just want you to know, if there's anything you feel like talking about, well, you have been through a lot lately." Belle swallowed hard and Archie shook his head. "I'm not trying to pressure you. I'm just letting you know that you don't have to face things alone, if you'd prefer not to."

Belle hesitated. "Actually," she said slowly, "I…" She stopped. "Archie? Maybe… Maybe there is something you can help me with. B-but not professionally. Just," she frowned. They weren't enemies; far from it, in fact. But asking if they could discuss something 'friend-to-friend' felt off somehow. "I think I need some p-personal insights," she said, hoping she was explaining herself properly. "I mean, if I were talking to you professionally, you… you'd have to be, uh, detached, right?"

"Well," Archie said, "it's less about 'having to be' and more about 'probably better for all concerned,' but generally, yes."

She took another breath. "Then, I don't think I want professional advice," she said. "I-I think I need to talk about how to…" She hesitated again. Rumple and August had told her a bit about how Marco's parents had come to their current state, but it was different from hearing Archie's account firsthand. "How to deal with a difficult parent," she practically blurted out. "Or, I mean, he's not always difficult, only… I mean, I do love him, but he doesn't respect me or my choices and he won't let me live my own life without trying to interfere and…" She looked away, remembering what she'd heard about the psychiatrist's past and his issues with his own parents. "I'm sorry. I-I don't mean to open up old wounds."

Archie shook his head. "I think it's fair to say that the wounds you're referring to haver been open for a little while now. Unfortunately, my being a counsellor doesn't actually free me from having a few issues of my own," he added with a self-effacing smile. "But you know, a lot of what I do involves just… listening. Much of the time, that's all it takes."

"Takes?" Belle repeated.

"For a patient to realize that they already know what to do." He hesitated. "Look, I do have the next hour free. If you want to come back to the office so people at the next table won't hear anything you'd rather didn't become common knowledge, I'm open to it. Nothing formal, nothing official," his smile warmed as he continued, "no pressure to become a regular client. Just an hour where you can say what's been on your mind for the last little while."

It sounded appealing. Mostly. But Belle still found herself asking, "What if I don't know what to do? Or if you think that what I think I should do is wrong and likely to make things worse? Would you tell me, or give me advice, or…?"

"I guess," Archie said slowly, "it would depend on what you're thinking. I'm not going to tell you what you should do, but I will try to help you see the potential ramifications—positive or negative—for what you might be thinking." He smiled. "As long as you understand that just because you or I might foresee a particular consequence doesn't necessarily meant that it's going to come to pass. Neither of us are seers to foretell the future, Belle."

"And if I don't like what you're telling me, I can leave?"

"I don't think I could stop you, even if I were so inclined."

Belle took another breath. "One hour, talking as friends, no professional advice, and if I don't like how it goes, that's the end of it," she said, wanting to be certain she understood the terms.

"Absolutely."

Belle nodded. "All right. And in that case, yes your office sounds like a better place for this."

And she'd just have to hope nobody rang her about opening the shop during that hour.

Sixty-four minutes after entering Doctor Hopper's office, Belle emerged from it feeling a good deal calmer. She still didn't have any answers she hadn't had going in, but she felt as though a great weight had rolled off her shoulders.

It wasn't all on her. She didn't have to make her father see her point of view. She didn't have to try to change him—and she couldn't anyway, no more than she'd succeeded when she'd tried forcing Rumple to change. Change was possible, but it had to come from within.

As for her pregnancy, well, she was going to make an appointment with Dr. Whale to confirm that much. She didn't actually believe that Fiona had lied to her, but there were many things she hadn't believed that had proved to be true in the end. And there were many things she had believed that had proven to be not quite as true or as accurate as she'd once thought. Best to check out the situation first. If all was as she believed, then of course her father needed to be told. And she needed to be ready for anything he might say besides, 'Congratulations'. It wouldn't do to go in to tell him as though she was spoiling for a fight, but it wouldn't hurt to prepare for anything he might say that could lead to one.

She wasn't alone.

Rumple would be there for her, no matter what. And Archie, if she needed him. Emma, almost definitely. And Astrid. And others too, she was sure. It wasn't just her against the town anymore—if that had ever even been the case. She smiled and took a deep breath, knowing that she would be telling all of this to Rumple later, and knowing that he'd probably understand exactly what she meant.

Then she took out her phone to make the appointment with Whale.

"I appreciate you coming round," Rumple said with a relieved smile when August turned up twenty minutes after his call. "I know you must have other matters to attend to."

August shook his head. "It'll slow down the repairs on the Lapine house," he admitted. "Especially since Skippy can't quite seem to avoid brushing against a freshly-painted wall. I think I've redone it about three times already."

Rumple nodded, affecting a sympathetic smile. "Well, of course the job needs to be done properly and I'll continue to pay your hourly rate until it has been," he assured him. "However, I asked you by with regard to a different subject entirely." As he spoke, he reached onto the table by the front door and lifted the small earthenware flask he'd set there earlier.

August's eyes widened. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

"The potion that will restore your father's parents, yes," he said. "But once they awaken, I fear that it will not be to the world they knew."

"Yeah, this place doesn't look anything like the Enchanted Forest," August agreed.

"That's actually not my main concern," Rumple said. "A number of people currently residing here missed the first iteration of the Dark Curse. They may not yet be fully comfortable with this land's technology, but they're adjusting. I've no doubt your… grandparents will as well. Harder," he continued, "will be explaining to them the years they've lost. They've missed seeing their son grow up. And now, he's quite old enough to be their father."

"And there's nothing you can do about that," August said.

Rumple nodded. "I could age them, but that would hardly be a kindness. I could make your father a boy again, but—"

"That's going to put me in the exact situation you're trying to avoid," August pointed out. "I mean, maybe it's selfish of me not to want it, but I don't want it. Still, I guess you could mention it to Papa. If it's what he wants, then…"

Rumple shook his head. "I was going to point out that all magic comes with a price. This potion is no exception. And trying to get around its repercussions is only going to compound that fee."

August absorbed that with a puzzled frown. "Okay. So, what do you want from me?"

"You're a writer, I believe?" Rumple said.

"Yeah. I-I mean, I'm no Stephen King o-or Neil Gaiman, but yeah. Why?"

Rumple smiled. "Well, assuming that we just use the potion and put aside any thoughts of tinkering with anyone's age, someone is going to have to break the news to the subjects about what they've missed. I was hoping you might… find the right words?"

August's frown deepened. "Shouldn't Archie…?" Then his voice trailed off. "I see your point. He'll need a script, won't he?"

Rumple nodded. "I'd think so. Particularly when one considers how close he is to the situation."

"So I write it, he reads it?" August nodded. "Okay. I'll get started."

"So, no regrets about giving up your second childhood?" Emma asked.

Killian bit back the angry reply he'd been about to make when he saw the gleam in her eyes. "Bad form, Swan," he said instead. "Bad form indeed."

"You could've bonded with Henry, I bet."

He shook his head. "Doubtful," he said. "We might have been of a similar age, but I assure you, that would have been nearly the only commonality between us." He took his eyes away from hers and stood on the pier, looking in the direction where the Jolly Roger and the skeletal shape of the ship he'd commissioned to replace her when he'd thought her lost to him were moored. "I think you'd find that our lives and experiences were vastly different."

Something about his tone made Emma lean a bit closer to him. "You don't usually talk much about your past," she said carefully.

For a long moment, the pirate was silent. Then he laughed. "A man likes to cultivate an air of mystery, love. It tends to appeal to the ladies." The laugh didn't sound at all genuine, though. In fact, Emma thought it was forced.

"Sorry," she said at once. "I didn't mean to pry."

"Not your fault, love. But let's just say that many of my past experiences were a good deal less pleasant than the ones I've more recently enjoyed."

Emma nodded. "Lousy childhood? I've had one of those. In fact, I think you were telling me awhile back that just about everyone here's had some kind of trauma in their past."

"Somehow," Killian murmured, "I don't imagine that such trauma involves being sold into servitude by one's own father."

"You were starting to tell me about that and we got sidetracked," Emma murmured softly. "Sorry. I think I'm still trying to wrap my head around what kind of parent would do that to their own kid." Killian kept his gaze on the sea, his hook gouging a groove into the wooden railing along the pier, his good hand jammed in the pocket of his black leather jacket.

"He was a criminal," he said finally, his voice a bit too flat. "Wanted by the authorities. We were aboard a ship when he got wind that there was a party awaiting him at the next port to bring him to justice. He prevailed on the captain to part with one of his lifeboats that he might make good his escape, paying for the craft with the only currency he yet possessed: the labor said captain could extract from my brother and I." Hesitantly, he turned back to Emma, gauging her reaction. "Our getting 'sidetracked' on that earlier occasion was as much my doing as it was yours. As you can imagine, those years are not what you'd consider my favorite subject for discussion."

Emma shook her head, but she took another step closer to him. "I…" She took a breath. "I guess I know a thing or two about keeping your walls up. And how hard it is to let them down."

"Those days are long past," Killian murmured. "I certainly wasn't looking for a shoulder to cry on at this late date."

"I know," Emma sighed. "I'm just glad you told me."

The ocean breeze rippled through her hair and she pulled her red jacket about her more closely. "Hang on," she murmured, fumbling with the zipper.

"Here, love," Killian slid an arm about her shoulders, pulling her toward him. They stood there for several minutes, watching the waves lapping against the shore.

"I think the temperature's still dropping," Emma said finally, breaking the silence. "C'mon. Let's get back to the car."

It was cold, Killian noted. They were both shivering now. And yet, somehow, at the same time, he felt as though he was suffused by a warm glow. He smiled. Emma smiled back, and he wondered whether—no, he was in fact, quite sure that—she was feeling the same thing.

"I… uh, saw Dr. Hopper yesterday," Belle said at breakfast.

Rumple set down the coffee pot, wondering how he ought to respond. Certainly, they'd discussed this before… well, before their most recent venture outside Storybrooke, but they'd both agreed to put things aside for the immediate future. Still, she was his wife and he would support her. "Oh?" he asked, leaning slightly closer to her across the table.

Belle smiled wearily. "This whole business with my father," she sighed. "And I suppose that, in time, we'll get to the business with your mother, though that can wait. I'm seeing Dr. Whale this afternoon. If you want to be there, the appointment's at four. I need to know," she said firmly. "It's been about two weeks since we, uh…" She looked down, a faint blush of color coming to her cheeks. "If I am pregnant, then something should show on his tests by now and whatever the result, we'll go from there."

Rumple nodded. "You know," he said slowly, "there is another method. One that will give us a definite answer."

"You mean magic," Belle said, understanding dawning.

Rumple nodded again. "I… You understand that I haven't researched this recently. My knowledge on this subject comes mainly from the memories granted me by the first curse. But it seems to me that such tests as Dr. Whale might administer do have a slight margin of error. Magic won't."

Belle's eyes widened. "I'm embarrassed to say I never even thought of that," she said. "And I know you've been working on that potion; I didn't want to interrupt…"

"It's no interruption," Rumple smiled. "I must admit I'd like a definite answer myself. And since the potion's brewed," he added, taking a moment to explain why he was waiting to administer it, "well, it's not as though I haven't time. And it will only take a moment."

He could have just done it without asking her permission. There was a time when he probably would have. But he was asking. And she did want to know. "Of course," she said warmly.

She watched as Rumple's fingertips glowed with golden light. A faint haze of pale yellow, rather like a sunbeam, drifted across the table and settled over her torso like a light cloak. For a few seconds, it hovered about her, its glow brightening. Then it seemed to dissolve about her.

Rumple came about to her side of the table and took her hand in his. "Congratulations," he said simply. "And from what I can see thus far, our son appears to be completely healthy."

"Our son," Belle repeated.

For the first time, Rumple looked worried. "Y-you don't mind knowing in advance? I'm sorry, I should have asked you."

Belle squeezed his hand. "I don't mind," she murmured. "I guess I'll call Dr. Whale to cancel the appointment. She sighed. "And then, I'll need to tell Father…"

She could do this, Belle told herself firmly. Father was injured, not addled. He was capable of understanding what she wanted to tell him. She didn't know that she'd get the words out when it came to it, but she was going to try.

Rumple had offered to go in with her, but she knew that if he did, it would make things harder. She had to do this herself. Still, she appreciated his encouraging smile, as she pulled open the door to her father's room.

"Belle!" her father greeted her. "I wasn't expecting you this early."

Belle smiled. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could just be happy for her. "I…" She took another breath. "There's something I'd like to share with you, father. And I really hope that you can be happy for me. I…" Her hands were sweating and her knees seemed to have turned to jelly. Why had they turned to jelly? What was the worst thing he could say, after all? And perhaps, he would manage to smile and congratulate her. "I…" Just say it already! "I'm pregnant," she said, practically blurting out the words.

Moe regarded her for a moment. "Is there any chance it could be Will Scarlett's?"

Belle gaped at him. "Sorry, what?" she asked stupidly.

"Because if it is, I'd never judge you for that. I mean, I know it's probably Rumpelstiltskin's, but a man can hope."

"So can a woman," Belle said almost too calmly. "I hoped you'd be happy for me."

"I am!" Moe protested, but Belle barrelled on as though she didn't hear.

"I'd been hoping for 'Congratulations', or if you couldn't bring yourself to say it, even an 'I hope you'll be happy' wouldn't have gone amiss. But you…" She wouldn't cry. Not until she was back on the other side of the door. Back with Rumple.

"Belle! Belle, wait!" her father cried. "I can't help how I feel about that monst—"

"He's no monster now!" Belle shot back. "And it's thanks to him that I didn't become one myself!" She wanted to tell him everything. About how the Black Fairy had stolen her away and nearly convinced her to become the Dark One. About how Rumple had pulled her back from that brink. About...

But if I tell him that, then all he'll hear is that my being with Rumple made me a target. And if he finds out that she was his mother…!

Even if he didn't, she realized, it wouldn't work. She was too angry and too hurt and anything she said now would sound like a child's tantrum. She should have paid Archie more mind, when he'd timidly suggested yesterday that she might want to wait to have this confrontation, but she hadn't wanted to risk her father's finding out the news from some other source. A daughter should tell her father this kind of thing. He shouldn't have to learn about it from some third party.

"What?" Moe slapped the button to raise the upper part of his mattress so he was sitting up a bit higher. "What do you mean? What are you saying?"

"It doesn't matter," Belle retorted. "I love my husband. I am carrying his child. And he and I will raise our son together. You can accept it or not; that's your choice. But if you want to be a part of your grandchild's life, then you need to."

Moe swallowed. "I-I'll try to overlook the other side of his family."

Belle's expression hardened. "I hope you recover soon, Father," she said, drawing on over a decade and a half of lessons in court deportment and diplomacy to keep her feelings under control. "Good day."

She kept up the façade until she was back in the hallway. Rumple got up from the padded bench beside the door, his hopeful expression freezing and then falling away. "Not what you hoped for," he said, making it a statement rather than a question, as Belle clasped his hands in hers.

"Worse than I anticipated," she gulped. "Please, could we just… go someplace that's not here?"

Rumple gave her a sad smile. "Of course we can."

Belle released him and felt some of her tension drain away as he slid his right arm about her shoulders. They left the hospital together, Belle pressed against him, he with his arm about her, right hand squeezing her arm, left clenched about his cane.

She knew she'd go back once she'd calmed down. For all his faults, he was still her father and, Belle reflected dryly, she'd managed to pierce through Rumple's Darkness. Moe French's stubbornness (and in her mind, that word was writ bold with a capital 's') was a challenge, but one she was prepared to meet. With the love and support of her husband and her friends, she knew she would.

She tilted her head to look at Rumple and he met her eyes with an encouraging smile. She smiled back, with a little nod to let him know that she was all right.

She didn't have to fix everything at once.

And she didn't have to do it alone.

And if her father never came around despite her best efforts, then that said more about him than it did her, though she really hoped he would. But even if he didn't, she certainly wasn't about to let his mule-headedness get in the way of her happy ending!

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Five

Donna hadn't come fully awake before she realized that something was out of sorts. She wasn't lying on the roll-up mattress she'd stuffed herself with rags, wool, feathers, and her father's hair clippings, when she'd been a young girl making up her hope chest. This was a good deal firmer. Thicker, too; she couldn't feel the ground through it at all. And the blanket certainly wasn't the quilt she'd pieced together from scraps of worn-out clothes and faded curtains. Always, she'd awakened to the song of the black larks that nested in the fields surrounding her village, but she didn't recognize the birdsong she was hearing now.

She yawned, stretched and sat up in bed. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She nudged the man sleeping beside her. "Stephen! Stephen, wake up!"

Her husband stirred and opened his own eyes. "Where… where are we?" he murmured. They were lying on a double bed in a room with walls made of wooden planks. Whoever had built it had known their craft, for Stephen could feel no draft and see no chinks through which light might filter in.

Light. There was some coming in through the curtained window, but there was also a glass… bowl hanging from the ceiling that glowed brighter than a dozen candles. He'd never seen the like. "Magic?" he whispered nervously.

Donna nodded. "I think it must be. How have we come to a wizard's house?"

"The last thing I remember," Stephen said, "was drinking that elf tonic and then…"

Donna hesitantly pushed back the coverlet and realized that she was wearing the same garments as she'd been wearing at dinner. "We've been sleeping in our day clothes," she murmured. "Gepetto?" Then, more sharply, "Gepetto!"

She whirled back to her husband. "He's not here. Is he back at the house? Alone?"

Stephen looked at her helplessly. "I don't know," he said. "He didn't come home for supper last night. Maybe he stayed with friends." He did sometimes, but never without telling them first.

"He must be frantic," Donna said. "We need to get home now."

She got up and swung her bare feet to the floor. Now, she could see her shoes aligned neatly by her side of the bed. This floor was made of wood instead of packed dirt, smooth beneath her soles, but she donned her shoes anyway rather than risk finding a splinter, or worse, a scorpion under her feet. She sprang for the door, but found it locked. "Hello?" she cried. "Hello! Is anyone out there?" There was no answer. The door wouldn't budge.

"Donna…" Stephen said.

"We have to reach our son!" she cried out. "Gepetto! Gepetto!"

Her eye fell on an intricately-carved wooden box on a nearby dresser, the only knickknack in evidence in the room. "What's this?" she asked aloud, Stephen barely heard her; he was still looking about, his eyes darting nervously around the room, taking in every detail. Then he realized that his wife was standing beside the dresser, reaching out for— "Donna! If this is a wizard's home, don't touch that! You don't know what it might—!"

Donna's hand froze in midair, but the box's lid fell back of its own accord. A haze of golden light spilled from it, coalescing into a narrow pillar. When it faded, a tiny man stood in the box. She blinked as she recognized him. He'd been one of their unexpected dinner guests, but he'd been full-sized then. "How…?" she was nearly whispering, as she reached out to lift him. Then she gaped as her hand passed through him. "What sorcery is this?" she whispered. She heard Stephen's tread on the floorboards and, without having to turn, felt his comforting presence beside her.

And then, the tiny man's face relaxed in a friendly smile. "Welcome," he said. "I know you must have questions. Some of what you're about to hear is going to sound fantastical, but I promise you it's all true. All I ask is that you please just… hear me out. Afterwards, the door will open and we can talk in person. That's not what we're doing now," he added. "I'm… oh dear, this is awkward. I was going to tell you that I was a kind of recording, but that's not something you'd know about. So, why don't you think of me as a kind of talking book or letter? You can hear me, but you can't speak to me. Well," he chuckled, "of course you can, but I won't be able to hear you or answer you. Not this version of me, anyway. But we will talk afterwards." His smile took on a sad note. "There's a lot to say," he continued, "and the best place to begin is with an apology. You see, it's my fault that you're here now. And it's my fault that you've been asleep for roughly the last half-century."

Donna and Stephen stared at one another in disbelief. "Half-century?" Stephen breathed in horror.

"Our Gepetto is… he must be…" Donna was stammering.

Their son had grown up without them. He'd made a life, a home, a family, and all without them. They'd missed… everything. But even as they absorbed that loss, they realized that the image was still talking. And since there didn't seem to be any way to make it repeat itself, they both tried to force their attention back to what it was telling them and doing their best to understand it.

In the main room of the cabin, four men waited tensely. When they heard Donna's cries and saw the door handle turn, Marco stood up. "Mama!" he whispered. He was moving toward the door, when Rumple's hand stayed him.

"Not yet."

"She's calling me!" Marco snapped. "It's been fifty-three years; she's not waiting any longer! And I can't."

"Marco," Archie's voice was gentle, "we've been over this. They need to see the entire presentation, first. Otherwise…"

"They won't know me," the handyman's shoulders slumped. "I know, I know. But she's calling."

"Hang in there a little longer, Papa," August said.

"It's the waiting," Marco murmured, sitting back down reluctantly. "To be this close to seeing them again and…"

Rumple nodded. "I quite understand," he said, "but it shan't be long now. Once the spell has run its course, the door will unlock and," he sighed, "hopefully, they'll emerge. If they don't, we'll… give them some time and then, well, I suppose we'll need to check up on them."

"How much longer until…?" August asked, sliding a bit closer to his father on the sofa.

Archie scratched his head. "It took me about ten minutes to record what I had to say. But the images," he looked at Rumple, "you added those in, right?"

Rumple nodded again. "Most of the visuals will be displayed during your…" He frowned. "I suppose 'presentation' is the proper word for it. There were a few times where it was necessary to pause your voice to allow them to play out."

"Given that 'all magic comes with a price'," August ventured, "why go to all this trouble? I mean, you could've just used a camcorder, right? Or your phone?"

Rumple snorted. "Do you really imagine that those two would know how to play back that kind of recording?" He shook his head, but he was smiling. "No, Booth," he continued. "By ensuring that the spell was woven into the one bauble in the room, and by displaying that bauble where they were certain to see it, it was all but inevitable that one of them would be curious enough to examine it. And once they touched it, however lightly, the spell released."

The pounding and shouting had stopped, they noted. Clearly, Gepetto's parents were paying attention to what they were seeing.

The four waited tensely. Although Rumple had set out several bowls of snacks and an assortment of beverages, nobody availed themselves of the refreshments. Instead, they watched the door to the other room and listened, straining to hear what was happening on the other side of it. Try though they might, though, they could only barely make out the cadence of Archie's voice on the recording, not his actual words. And even that was at time obscured by the creak of the wooden floorboards as the room's occupants moved about, pacing perhaps, or possibly just shifting their positions.

Finally, the door eased open and a man and a woman stepped nervously into the main room. Rumple was struck at once by how young they seemed. Why, he reflected, they both might have been in their teens at the time of Gepetto's birth.

Marco half-rose at their approach.

"Gepetto…?" the woman asked hesitantly.

"Mama!" the handyman breathed. "Papa!"

And then the man stretched out a hand to him. "It seems unbelievable," he managed.

"I know," Marco said, almost in a whisper. "I know. I-I've missed you. So very much."

"And we've missed…" Donna shook her head, even as she seized both her son's shoulders and pulled him into a hug. "Well, we didn't know anything while we were enchanted, but now…" She heaved a sigh. "All those years gone and we didn't… We weren't…" Her voice broke. "I want to know everything!"

"Of course," Marco said huskily. "Of course."

"Well," Rumple said, "we'll leave you to it for now."

Archie and August both seemed about to protest, but Rumple shook his head. "There'll be time for introductions and apologies later. Those three have half a century to catch up on. I'd suggest we let them. Come." He caught August's arm with one hand and began steering him toward the exit, grateful when Archie fell into step beside him; he couldn't have managed both of them when he needed one hand free for his cane. He cast a quick smile over his shoulder as Archie opened the cabin door, and was only moderately surprised when Stephen smiled back.

Regina heard Paul out silently. "You know," she said when he was done, "it's generally good practice to make sure you can deliver on a promise before you make it. You should have consulted me first."

Paul had the grace to look embarrassed. "I figured what was sauce for this old gander would be sauce for the geese as well, I suppose. Or goose and other gander, if you want to get technical," he added.

Regina sighed. "If I'm going to deliver on your guarantee, I'll need to get very technical, whether I want to or not. The spell you're asking for isn't a simple one. Casting it once took a good deal out of me. I wasn't expecting to have to repeat the performance."

"I thought if you did it for me, then…"

"We needed your help," Regina reminded him. "But all magic comes with a price and a permanent transformation doesn't come cheap."

"I take it Columbus Direct won't cover it?" Paul asked wryly. He sighed. "All right. What sort of price are we looking at?"

Regina pressed her lips together. "You say you have a year to use the bedknob before your siblings neutralize the enchantment."

"That's what we agreed on. Can't say for certain they won't let something slip out sooner, but they've been able to keep quiet for nigh on seventy years, so I'm going to trust I've got that long, yes."

"All right," Regina said. "If you'll recall, there was more than a spell involved in your transformation."

Paul made a face. "Memory issues weren't anything I'd had to grapple much with, but even if they were, I don't think I can get my recollection of the taste of that brew out of my head. I know you've a son, Mum. If you ever suspect he's throwing a sickie, you dose him with what you gave me and I promise you he'll be off to school if he's able rather than finish that draught."

Regina smiled for the first time. "I'll take that under advisement," she said politely. "The spell reverses the outward effects of aging: wrinkles, gray hair, I believe it also restores bone density and muscle mass. But as for the chronic conditions that tend to set in—your arthritis for example, that's where the potion becomes necessary. Unless you think your siblings will be all right with keeping those conditions in younger bodies."

Paul shook his head, his expression serious. "Cholly had a heart attack three years ago, and Carey's arthritis is a sight worse than mine ever was. I know she's mentioned a few other complaints in the past." He exhaled. "She tends to make light of such things, and perhaps each on its own isn't worth discussing, but take 'em all together and…"

"I'm not surprised. Well," Regina said, "even if in the end they decide not to accept the generous offer you assumed wouldn't be a problem to extend to them, there's one item I'm missing that's not going to be easy to procure."

"I take it I'll be setting off for another realm, then," Paul remarked sagely.

"Not necessarily, though that's an option. The component I'm missing is the bark of a tree that I know grows in Wonderland. However, that land isn't exactly the most welcoming to tourists under the best of circumstances. Now, from what I can tell, the tree used to grow in this realm as well, but it went extinct over a century ago."

Paul absorbed that. "And you think that it'll be safer to look for it in the past, than in that other realm."

"Considering that the knob wasn't intended to cross realms in the first place. We know you were able to take it to the Black Fairy's realm, but each land has its own rules. We were focusing on getting to one of them." Her voice was dead serious as she went on, "If you try jaunting off to another one, it may go smoothly, but I can't say for sure."

Paul snorted. "That bed may be good for many things, but a smooth ride isn't one of them under the best of circumstances. I'll take the hundred years in the past option, if it's all the same to you. Just show me what I'm looking for."

"Wise choice," Regina nodded. Her expression turned businesslike as she went on, "I think it would be ideal if you could bring back a sapling or two, in addition to the bark. This town boasts a particularly competent farmer. In fact…" Her eyes widened slightly. "You know, with that bed of yours, it might be possible to resurrect more than one extinct species."

Paul snorted. "Just so's you don't want me bring back a T-Rex."

The mayor smiled. "Let's start with the tree. And then, well, we really ought to confer with the Apprentice and make sure we don't overtax the knob with our conservation efforts. I don't suppose you speak Spanish?"

"It's been a few years," Paul said with a slight eye roll. "But I did take it for a year or two at school. Why?"

"Because the guettarda retusa tree was native to Cuba…"

Rumple looked up as the bell over the door jangled. "Emma," he smiled. "Is this a social call or is something more serious in the offing?" Things had been quiet for weeks and, while he doubted that state would persist, he was relieved when she assured him it was the former.

"We… uh, haven't really discussed everything that happened in the Dark Realm, but I was just wondering." She hesitated for a moment, before asking, "Am I still the only Savior? Or after what you did…?"

Rumple shook his head, but he was smiling gently. "I told you a long time ago, Emma, that in making you the key to breaking the Curse, I merely took advantage of what you were."

"The product of True Love," Emma nodded, "but—"

"That made you powerful. That made you the Savior who would break the curse when the time came. I must confess," he added, still smiling, "that it didn't occur to me to look into how many other times you would be destined to act in that role."

"So, when you stopped the Black Fairy…" Emma's voice trailed off uncertainly.

Rumple's smile gave way to a slight frown. "Yes, well, that is a bit of a puzzle. Stopping her was supposed to be my destiny, but after my mother used the shears to cut me away from it, well that task should have devolved on you."

Emma pondered that for a moment. "Any chance your mother didn't know how to use the shears properly? Or that she botched the job?"

"I suppose there's always a chance," Rumple said with a bitter laugh. "But one uses magical shears in much the same way as one uses non-magical ones. I'd venture to say it's far harder to do it wrong than it is to do it right. But then," he added with a slight shrug, "perhaps, it's just as I've always believed: destiny is destiny."

"Maybe," Emma said slowly. "Except the other part of that destiny was that you were supposed to die defeating her."

"I did," Rumple said, looking at her in surprise. "In more ways than one."

"Sorry?"

"When I took back the darkened piece of my heart and added it to the part I already carried, when I used that Darkness to advantage to crush my mother's heart, I became the Dark One anew and killed the good man I had tried so hard these last month to become. And then, True Love's Kiss killed the Dark One and," he gave her a self-deprecating smile and, keeping his elbows at his side, held out his hand wide, "here I am. The prophecy only stated that I would die defeating her; it didn't say I'd stay dead."

"Well, yeah, but the assumption—"

"Emma, a long time ago, you related to me an anecdote about Albert Einstein. Permit me now to repay you with one of his quotations: 'Assumptions are made and most assumptions are wrong'. But don't be too downhearted over it, Savior," he added. "I had the same assumption."

"In Henry's book," Emma said, "in your story, it said that you became the Dark One in the first place, not just to save your family, but to save everyone. All the children," she said slowly. "Was that part right?"

Rumple nodded.

"Well, I think in a way, you've been doing that all along. I mean, when you became the Dark One the first time, you—the man you were before that, I mean, also died. And then, Neverland…"

"You lot had something to do with that."

"Since when do these prophecies say anything about it not counting if a Savior has a little backup?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "and you fought the 'evil' and died then too. And now your mother… Gold—" She checked herself. "Sorry! Rumpelstiltskin, I think somehow, all this time, you've been trying to get back to the destiny you were torn away from."

Rumple mulled that over. "Or perhaps," he said slowly, "we're back to a discussion we had on an earlier occasion. Light Magic doesn't kill. The instant it does, it darkens. To destroy my mother, to restore the Dark realm… That required Dark Magic." He smiled. "It required a Dark Savior. Maybe Fate laid out the path I walked all these years, so that I could eventually fulfill that for which I was destined."

"And maybe things started turning around when you decided to screw destiny and make your own choices."

Rumple's smile broadened. "Somehow, Savior, I suspect we're going to be debating this matter for quite some time."

The grin Emma returned had the slightest hint of mischief. "Well, it looks like with your mother gone, both our schedules are going to be clear for the foreseeable future, so bring it on," she hesitated for just a moment before adding, "Savior."

Rumple's eyebrows climbed up to his hairline, as a surprised guffaw burst from his lips.

The next few weeks seemed to Henry to pass in a whirlwind. The Apprentice had his hands full trying to determine the realm from which each former slave had come and send them back there. "And it won't do to return them a continent away from the home they left either," he'd remarked. "I'll need to narrow down the area as much as is possible."

There were last minute reconsiderations. Ten of the former slaves who had wanted to return to their homes opted to remain in Storybrooke instead. Five more chose to go back to the only land they knew, along with a dozen who had initially planned to settle in town. Eventually, though, it all got sorted.

A few dockworkers noticed that the bed—normally securely lashed down to the Jolly Roger's main deck, disappeared briefly one morning, and that Paul was later seen in town with more stubble on his face than should have grown overnight, freshly soiled clothing, and a broad smile on his face as he carried a bundle into the town hall.

Tia's family arrived one bright spring morning, and after a day of sightseeing, departed for the Dark Realm together with Paul and those youths who had chosen to return. The Apprentice went with them.

"My work here is done," he told them. "The hat has fulfilled its purpose. The book has its author. And others have need of me."

"Will we see you again?" Snow asked. She, David, Rumple, Regina, Emma, and Henry were at the pier to see them off.

The Apprentice shrugged. "A seer's gift is unpredictable. I shouldn't think it impossible. But then," he added, "I shouldn't think it very likely either."

"All ashore what're going ashore!" Paul called cheerfully from the bed.

One of the former slaves turned worriedly to his friend as they stood on the pier. "If he's taking the ship, where are we sleeping tonight?"

His companion, a girl his own age, slapped the back of his head. "He's got a time traveling bed, don't he? The ship'll be back here long before nighttime!"

And so it was.

Finally, Tony apologetically asked Emma if she wouldn't mind driving him as far as Portland, where he could get a bus back to Manhattan. "I haven't been behind the wheel in forever," he admitted. "Pretty sure my license lapsed and the way I drive, I know I'll get pulled over." He sighed. "And that's not a seer's prediction; it's common sense."

With his departure, life in Storybrooke slowly returned to normal. Or at least, what passed for normal when there was no villain in town threatening death, destruction, and a fresh dent in Doc's Miata.

Henry didn't have much chance to enjoy the lull, though. He, Cecily, and his other friends were too busy working on the play.

Tiny looked at the saplings in the mayor's office with interest. "What kind of soil is that?" he asked, gesturing to the burlap sacking that covered the roots of the three young trees.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question," the mayor replied apologetically. "It's native to a tropical island, or at least, it was, but that island possesses no fewer than thirteen different soil types. The tree went extinct due to habitat loss."

Paul shook his head. "If I'd thought it was important, I could have brought back more of the dirt, but it didn't occur to me."

"You're not the only one," Regina reassured him. She turned to Tiny. "I was hoping you still might be able to do something with it, though. The preservation spell will keep the saplings from withering, but it won't make them grow. So, do you think you can?"

The diminutive giant chuckled. "I came here with one magic bean and we harvested dozens last summer. You're giving me three trees. Get me access to a greenhouse, and I'll get to work figuring out what they need to thrive. Just don't expect them to be full-sized by fall."

"Done."

"I do appreciate this, Mr. Gold," Peter Quince said, as Rumple totaled the bill. "I think that's just about everything on my prop list."

Rumple's smile widened slightly. "Not at all," he said. "I'm quite happy to oblige you." When Mr. Quince hesitated, the smile dimmed a bit. "Was there anything else?"

"Well," the play director hesitated, "as long as I'm here, I thought I'd ask… The show is meant to be a fundraiser for the school. I was wondering whether you'd consider advertising in our program book. Just a thought," he added quickly.

Rumple, though, didn't seem at all put out. "Have you a rate sheet, then?"

Quince blinked. "Y-yes, of course," he said, pulling a folded paper out of his pocket. Rumple studied it.

"Well," he said, as the bell over the door jangled, "I must say this seems reasonable. You may put me down for a page."

"A-a page?" Quince repeated. "A full page? Or did you mean—?"

"I meant a full page," Rumple replied testily. "I intend to pay the rate stipulated here. In the currency generally circulating in this part of the world. Is that clear enough? Or do you require further elucidation?"

"N-no," Quince stammered. "I mean, I'm sorry. I just hadn't expected… I mean…Thank you."

Rumple kept smiling until the play director had exited the shop. Then he shook his head with a weary sigh. He wasn't the Dark One anymore. He was trying to turn over a new leaf. But this wasn't the first encounter of this nature he'd had over the last little while. Perhaps one day, his efforts wouldn't evince such surprise, but after all, he'd been the Dark One for over two hundred years. He'd been free of his curse for less than one. The captain had come around. So had the Charmings. And Emma and August had been in his corner even when he'd still been the Dark One. He needed to be patient.

He looked up to see two nervous figures standing before him and his heart plummeted even further. Still, he forced himself to smile a greeting. "Mr. and Mrs…?"

"I guess we're going with 'Albero,'" Stephen said, smiling back. "Since that's our son's."

"Ah," Rumple said. "And how might I be of service today, Mr. Albero?"

"We," it was Donna who spoke now, "August told us what you went through to restore us. We stopped in to thank you."

"Even though it was my potion that was responsible for your previous state?" Rumple asked sharply.

"Back in our land," Stephen said, "I was a chandler. If I sold a candle to a customer who then used it to set a home ablaze, I don't know that I'd have any cause to feel guilt over having created the cause of that conflagration."

"True," Rumple said, "but a candle isn't inherently an object of destruction."

"And you didn't intend for your potion to harm us," Donna said. She shook her head, smiling just a bit. "We've lost… so much time. I don't want to waste more of it looking around for someone to blame for that."

"As far as we're concerned," Stephen said, "any responsibility you had for our condition was balanced out by your restoring us. August explained that it took time for you to find the right ingredients for the cure; it's not your fault you didn't have them on hand."

No, Rumple thought, but it is my fault that I didn't reverse that enchantment back in our land, when I had the right ingredients. If he were a better man, he rather thought he would have confessed as much, but since he was the man he was, he simply smiled, shook the man's outstretched hand, and bid them farewell.

Perhaps, his patience was paying off after all…

Rumple was due to meet Belle at Granny's at six. By half-past five, he was walking past the community bulletin board outside the town hall. A number of residents, both adults and children, were clustered before one of the larger posters. An advertisement for the play, doubtless, Rumple thought, smiling a bit. Although the rehearsals in the shop basement were a thing of the past, Henry had kept him updated on the cast's progress these last few weeks. He was looking forward to watching the performance.

He realized that some of the youngest eyes in the crowd were now trained on him. "There he is, now," Skippy said, nudging his sister. "Ask him."

"He won't," Roland said decisively. "Grownups don't do stuff like this."

"It says 'all ages,'" a girl Rumple thought might have come over from the Dark Realm said, sounding out the words carefully.

"Still betcha he won't," Roland said.

Rumple paused. "Has nobody taught you that it's impolite to discuss a person behind his back?" he asked, and though he tried to sound stern, he rather suspected he was failing at it.

Skippy, the apparent eldest of the small group of children, looked only mildly chastened. "Sorry, Mr. Gold," he said. "But my sister wanted to ask you something."

"Did she, now?" Rumple asked, bending down slightly to come a bit closer to Aggie's height.

Aggie nodded. "I wanna ask if you're gonna play Monster Chase on game night."

Rumple blinked. "Pardon me?"

"Game night," Skippy came to his sister's rescue and gestured toward the poster. "It's the Tuesday night after the play. We're all of us going. But it's okay if you don't want to play Monster Chase. It's for babies anyway."

"Is not!" Aggie said, sticking out her tongue.

"Fine, it's for four-year-olds. Close enough," Skippy laughed, hopping nimbly out of his sister's range when she tried to kick him in the shins.

"Four and up!" Aggie corrected him. "And you play it too!"

"Not when I can play Clue instead!" Skippy shot back. Then, he cast a hopeful glance at Rumple. "Do you play that?"

"I…" Rumple was having a harder time than usual forming his words. "Well, I-I…" I suppose I could learn. "Well. I'll need to check my schedule before I make any such commitment. It might well be that I've a prior engagement." He didn't recall anything of the kind, but he'd check with Belle, first, just to ensure that she was amenable.

"I suppose," a new voice spoke up from behind him and he turned to see Killian and Emma standing there, "we'd best ascertain whether they'll be offering Battleship, or if we'll need to supply our own."

"I'd make it Henry's old set," Emma put in. "In case some pieces get lost. I think Mom's going to make sure some of the old mainstays like chess and checkers are there. And I know she bought a few decks of cards, too."

"A game night," Rumple said slowly.

"It was something Mom was thinking about a while back. I guess, with things having more or less settled down, now, she's going ahead with it." She grinned. "So, we can count on you and Belle?"

Rumple hesitated. Then, with a faint smile, he nodded. "Yes, I rather think you might."

"The horse?" David repeated. "I… guess it's still at the stables." He had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. "There's been a lot going on lately; I never checked, but I'd assume he came back with everything else."

"What horse?" Snow asked, moving from the kitchen area of the loft to the part that served as a family room.

David turned to her with a shrug. "When you and Emma were in the Enchanted Forest, I got Henry a horse."

"You what?" Emma yelled, coming down the ladder from the attic bedroom. "How could you do that without consulting me?"

"You weren't there to consult!" David protested.

"Then you should have waited!" Emma snapped. "Did you even ask Regina?"

"None of us trusted Regina back then, if you'll recall."

"So, you just—" Emma broke off angrily. "Wait. Why didn't this come up a few months back, when the two of you wanted to prove to Henry that you were fun? As opposed to letting him get behind the wheel of your truck?"

"You know," Snow said brightly, "that is an excellent question. And one I'm sure we'll be discussing for the next little while. But meanwhile," she looked at Rumple and then, apologetically, back to Emma, "if Henry has a horse at the stable, then I think he should start riding lessons. In fact—"

"In fact," David cut her off, looking at Rumple, "it's probably best that you and Belle handle the lessons. We've," he looked apologetic, "kind of got our hands full with the baby and as much as we're trying to get him on a schedule, I don't think we can bank on it, yet, right?"

Rumple visibly relaxed. "Well, we'll certainly begin that way," he said, sounding relieved. "I can't say for certain what will be as Belle's pregnancy progresses. I'm," he chuckled, "scarcely speaking from personal experience, but I've been told a first pregnancy is often difficult. If it turns out that she's no longer able to continue at some point," he nodded at Snow, "perhaps your scheduling issues will have resolved themselves and you'll be able to step in?"

Snow nodded at once. "And if I can't, well, Regina can." She threw a grateful look in her husband's direction. She'd been about to offer to take over teaching the lessons herself, when it should have been as clear to her as it was to David that Rumpelstiltskin wanted to spend more time with his grandson.

Neal woke up from his nap with a lusty squall and both parents made a bee-line for the cradle. "He just fell asleep not even an hour ago!" Snow exclaimed, reaching it first.

Emma and Rumple exchanged a glance. "So," Emma said, "since it looks like this might become a thing, and since the last time I was on a horse, I think I was about seventeen, and it was metal and had a pole running through it, any chance you and Belle can handle another student?"

Rumple chuckled.

There wasn't much time for riding lessons, not with the play's opening so near. Regina estimated that Henry was spending very nearly more hours in the school auditorium rehearsing than he was in the classroom. Still, he did make the time to brush his horse, muck out the stall, and even practice putting the saddle and bridle on him.

One of the adults usually supervised him at those chores, and it was on one of those afternoons, that he ventured to ask Belle about something that had been on his mind all week. "I didn't know actresses were supposed to get roses on opening night," he said. "I don't think Cecily did either, until Marie started saying how her mother was so glad your dad was out of the hospital and reopened his shop so she could order them. And Cecily tried to be all happy and excited, but after Marie left, she told me that she didn't think her mother would want to spend money on flowers when there were so many other things they needed."

"Oh, dear," Belle said sympathetically.

"She told me she didn't mind, that she was used to it and that her mother was probably right. But she doesn't want to be the only girl who doesn't get."

"Well, is it all the other girls, too, or just Marie?"

"Perry said he was getting a bouquet for Amy. Not roses; they make her sneeze. He wants to do something with wildflowers. I don't know about the others. Marie, Cecily, and Amy have the most lines. I'd get her some," he added quickly. "Only…"

Belle sighed. "Only, you're worried that my father may let his feelings about your grandfather color his behavior toward you."

Henry blinked. "No, that's not it. I mean, well, maybe kinda a little, but I could handle that. It's more that I don't know much about flowers. Like, do I just want roses, or should there be other stuff in with them? When Grandpa—Grandpa David, I mean—buys them, there's usually some little white flowers mixed in and leaves and stuff. And what if some of the other kids see me in there and guess the reason? I don't care what they say about me, but if they give Cecily a hard time…"

Belle took a breath. "Well, I do know something about flowers. And I was going to look in on Father tomorrow. Suppose I meet you outside the school when you finish and we can go together. Then, if anyone were to see you in the shop window, they'll probably assume it's my purchase."

They shared a smile. Then Henry cautioned, "But I'll have to be back there at five sharp. It's the technical rehearsal."

"Got it."

"Actually," Belle told Rumple later, "Father was perfectly civil to Henry. Not friendly," she added, "but civil."

Rumple smiled. "I'd think the ground rules you laid down for him would have done that much, at least."

Belle looked away. Just the thought of that conversation was enough to make her hands sweat. It wasn't a conversation, she told herself. For a conversation, there needs to be a bit of a back and forth. What we had was an ultimatum. Bluntly, she'd told him that if he wanted to be a part of her life—and more to the point, her grandson's—then insulting her husband, whether to his face or behind his back, was a non-starter.

"You don't have to like him," she'd said. "All I'm asking is civility."

" All," her father snorted. "That's quite the ask, my girl."

Belle sighed. "Not really, father. I'm asking you…" She hesitated. "Father, did you know what sort of man Gaston was?"

Her father shifted uncomfortably. "There was gossip. Hearsay. I was something of a hothead in my youth; I'm sure much of what I heard about him was said about me in certain quarters. Still, I think I would have investigated more deeply if the ogres weren't massed on our borders and the duchy hadn't needed his help." He winced. "I knew the position it put you in and I'm sorry for that part, but my back was to the wall and I didn't see any other way out."

She knew that already. Politically, it made sense. Noble marriages were seldom love matches; this had been a business transaction—military support in exchange for her hand in marriage. She'd always known that women of her station might not have the luxury of choosing their own husbands, but she'd never expected her father to affiance her to a brute! Still, she tamped down the temper she could feel rising within her—it was no use demanding her father control himself now if she wasn't about to do the same, though she really thought she might need to take Rumple up on his 'room full of breakables' offer when she got back.

"It's good to hear you say that," she said firmly. "Because I know the position that my request puts you in, and I don't see any other way this can work. I'm not asking you to be his friend. I am asking you to be as civil to him as you were to Gaston, despite what you know about him. Whether you believe he's changed is beside the point. He's my husband. The child I carry is both of ours. And if you want to be a part of his life, you've got a bit under eight months to convince me that you won't try to drive a wedge between your grandson and his father. So, just as you did with Gaston, swallow whatever insults and jibes you might want to say about him, fall back on the lessons in diplomacy and statecraft you invoked when you reminded me of my duty, and just… be CIVIL!"

She hadn't intended to shout that last part, but her emotions had got the better of her in the end. Still, as she'd flounced off, the part of her she thought of as Lacey had seemed to giggle in her head.

"Well, he was civil today," Belle allowed with a slight smile. "And Henry's ordered the flowers; Father said he'd bring them to the library the afternoon before the performance, so that's done." She sighed. "I suppose I wish he'd been friendlier to Henry, but," she shook her head, "at least he was civil."

"Well, we all start somewhere," Rumple murmured, sliding an arm about her waist and pulling her in for an embrace.

On the whole, Rumple thought, the performance had gone off quite admirably. Of course, the cast was scarcely professional, but they still displayed a surprising level of competence. And yes, perhaps he was biased, but he rather thought that Henry's performance had stood out above the rest. With the possible exception of Cecily Lapine, of course. The girl had practically glowed when she'd received the bouquet.

It seemed as though most of the town had turned out for the show, and Rumple could see that it was going to be difficult navigating through the crowd. He looked at Belle. "May I?" he asked, trying not to plead.

Belle sighed with relief. "I know it's too early for swollen feet, but I just want to get back to the…" She blinked. They were out of the school and standing in front of the Cadillac. "…car," she finished.

He smiled. "I've seen too many crowds turn into mobs to ever feel at home in one," he said.

"If you'd rather skip the game night, I'll understand, then," Belle replied.

Rumple shook his head. "Can't disappoint the children. Or the captain."

Belle laughed. "Just be sure you play at least one round of Ex Libris with me," she said.

Rumple chuckled. "I think I'm willing to make that deal." He unlocked the passenger door and held it open for her and she got in, still smiling.

Snow watched as Henry kicked his horse into a trot and began a circuit of the ring. Emma walked stiffly over her mother, who gave her a sympathetic smile. "You looked really good up there," she said.

Emma smiled back wryly. "Until the horse started moving, anyway. I still forget to grip whenever I start to think I'm getting the hang of it."

Rumple snorted. "Once you're on a more spirited animal, I can assure you you'll remember. It might take a spill or too, but that will serve to make the lesson stick," he told her cheerfully. "In all seriousness, though, Emma," he added, "you are doing rather well for someone who hasn't ridden before. These things take time."

"How long did it take you?" Emma asked.

Rumple shook his head. "Slightly under two years. In my youth, I apprenticed to a weaver for a time. It was mountain country and taking a cart on deliveries wasn't always feasible. He owned a horse and insisted I learn to ride it, expense of the riding instruction deducted from my earnings." He made a face. "At the time, I thought it was an excuse for said weaver to claw back some of the wage we'd agreed upon, but I learned the skill nonetheless." He glanced at Belle, who was astride her own mount and riding beside Henry. "Still, I doubt I know it well enough that I could teach it without my wife's assistance."

"What if it were a different subject?" Snow asked suddenly. "Like wilderness survival, or camping?"

Rumple turned to her with a frown. "Those are… rather specific examples," he said slowly. "One wonders why you'd suggest them."

Snow took a breath. "Marco usually takes the middle school students on foraging walks in the Wilderness Park in the fall and there's the eighth grade camping trip in late spring. Unfortunately, he's not going to do it next year. He told the school he's ready to retire and," she smiled, "spend more time with family and, well, if there's anyone around here who knows which plants are edible or medicinal…"

Rumple blinked. "Am I to understand that you're offering me the position?"

"Well, it's subject to the administration's approval, of course," Snow said. "But I think it'll come. And there'll be at least two other staff members along on each trip, so you don't have to worry about stragglers getting left behind; they'll help keep an eye on the group." She lowered her eyes. "Sorry. I just thought, I mean, since you're not using a cane anymore, you are good with hiking, right?"

"Yes, of course," Rumple said automatically. "But…" But at this time last year, would you have considered entrusting me with such a charge?

"I'm not sure about salary," Snow continued apologetically. "But it'll probably be about what we pay Marco."

Rumple snorted. "Do you imagine I'm hurting for money, Mrs. Nolan?"

"Do you imagine we expect you to work for free?" Snow countered, smiling again. "If you'd rather not do it, I'll let the administration know and we'll find someone else or," she sighed, "just not have the excursions next year. But I did informally ask a few of the students and they all seemed in favor, so…"

"A few of the students," he repeated trying to tamp down his incredulity.

"Um, Cecily and Skippy Lapine, Nicholas Zimmer, Perry Ambergeldar, Amy…"

As Snow listed names, Rumple's felt his lips stretch into a smile of their own. He shouldn't get his hopes up, he knew. In all likelihood, the school administrators would quash the proposal as soon as it was put forward. But even so… "Well," he said slowly, "I suppose I might consider it…"

Roland turned anxious eyes on Regina. "Will it work?" he asked, looking at the bed in the vault, where his father lay unmoving, his eyes closed.

Regina sighed heavily. "I believe so," she said. "Between the two of us, we should be able to bring him out of it."

"And then he'll be able to visit my little sister," Roland said.

Regina nodded. "In time and in her dreams." She turned a serious face to the small boy. "Roland, how much did your father explain to you?"

The six-year-old tilted his head and frowned as he tried to remember the exact words Daddy had used. "He said he might have nightmares for a while, and I shouldn't be scared if I heard him screaming in the middle of the night." He reached into his shirt and pulled out a charm similar—but not quite identical to—one that Henry had worn for a time after awakening from his sleeping curse. "I told him he could wear this if he wanted to."

Regina nodded, smiling down at him. "But don't you need it?"

The boy shrugged. "Not as much as I used to."

"Well, I think that was a very generous thing to offer, all the same," Regina said. "Sleeping curse nightmares can sometimes be a lot worse than regular ones, mind you. So, if your charm isn't strong enough, I have another one that should work better. And if it turns out that you still need that one after all," she said, nodding at the pendant that hung on a leather thong about Roland's neck, "you can keep it and I'll give your father mine." She glanced at the hourglass on the table by Robin's bed and saw the last grains of sand drop to the bottom. "All right," she said calmly, even as her heartbeat quickened. "I think he's been asleep long enough."

She gave the boy a reassuring smile and was warmed to receive one in return. This should work. It should. But if they weren't truly True Loves then…

…Then Roland will wake him up instead, she told herself firmly. She could ask him to do the honors from the outset, but she wanted—no, needed to know, once and for all, that Tink had been right. That they weren't fooling themselves. That…

She bent down and brought her lips to Robin's.

Almost at once, his chest rose and then fell. His eyelids fluttered and brilliant blue eyes met her brown ones. He smiled. "Regina."

Regina decided on the spot that decorum could go hang itself. She seized his hands in hers and pulled him upright. "Robin," she nearly whispered, hugging him tightly. "I did it," she murmured, feeling his arms curve around her. "I woke you up."

And she had her answer, too.

"Daddy!" Roland exclaimed, and Regina turned slightly toward him and held out a beckoning arm to include him in the embrace.

The game night went far better than Rumple might have expected. He'd been prepared to spend a good portion of the evening playing Battleship, though he'd held no illusion that the captain would plan to spend the entire evening at that table. Not with Emma there. Still, he'd started with that game, before Aggie wheedled him into a round of Monster Chase that had been a good deal more enjoyable than he'd expected. Belle had roundly trounced him at Ex Libris, but the gameplay itself had been a good deal more engaging than he'd believed it would be. So much so, in fact, that he had every intention of obtaining a copy of the board game that he and Belle might play at leisure. Meanwhile, the two of them successfully destroyed all comers at a 'couples' Scrabble match.

The only sore spot of the evening had been when his gaze had fallen on a morose Moe French, watching Belle with a wistful expression on his face. Rumple had spent enough time trying to reconnect with his own child to not be at least somewhat sympathetic, and he'd smiled and motioned for the duke-turned-florist to join them.

At that, Moe's face had contorted into a frown and he'd come as close to stomping away as was humanly possible with a walker.

Rumple sighed inwardly. Moe wasn't the only one who wasn't prepared to accept that he'd changed, merely the most visible. Then he'd felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down.

"Mama says me and Skippy gotta go home after one more game," Aggie said. "Wanna play Monster Chase again? Or Pitcher Dominoes?"

"She means 'Picture' Dominoes," Skippy put in. "It's for little kids who can't read yet."

"Dominoes don't got words anyway."

"Or count."

"I can count!" Aggie snapped.

"Not to a hundred!"

"Can so! One… two… three… f—"

"I believe," Rumple interrupted, his eye lighting on a box near the top of the stack of games currently not in use, "that the Junior Labyrinth game is free. Now I have just played the senior version, and I would think it much the same."

"Don't know that one," Aggie announced, but she sounded far more curious than dismissive.

"It's mazes, Aggie," Skippy said. "You like mazes."

"You like mazes," Aggie retorted. Then she added quickly, "Me, too."

"Excellent," Rumple said quickly. "Shall we, then?" Perhaps he only imagined that the others had been listening to the exchange. It was entirely possible that the smiles he noted in passing had nothing to do with him whatsoever. But he did note them. Belle, Emma, August, Marco, the Captain, Regina…

There were enough people willing to forgive his past and accept him for who he was now. In time, perhaps he would win over the rest. But tonight, that wasn't his priority. He had nothing to prove to anyone. He strode confidently toward the stack to retrieve the board game.

Tomorrow, he'd meet Emma for coffee—something that didn't happen nearly as often as it once had, but they still did try to find time for it every fortnight or so. Lately, he hadn't had much to talk over with her that he couldn't talk with Belle. And he already had discussed the subject of… joining the school faculty with Belle, both pros and cons. Still, he valued Emma's opinion and he appreciated her knack for knowing when he was seeking answers and when he simply needed her presence so that he could assemble his own. He'd broach the topic. She'd hear him out. And at the end of it, he imagined he'd make the decision he'd more than half already made up his mind to.

After all, foraging was a valuable skill and if he were to teach it, at least he could be reasonably certain that no child in his care would mistake pokeweed for blueberries!

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-Six

The cottage wasn't large, but it was dry, its thatched roof sound, and there was no trace of mold or mildew on walls or floor. Zelena adjusted the sling holding the baby to her breast and nodded to the elderly woman. "Well, it certainly seems cozy," she smiled.

"It has been for me and my man," the woman nodded. "But now he's passed on and my hands aren't steady enough for this sort of work." She gave Zelena a tight smile. "Yours are, though. You've done well these last two weeks. Well enough that I'm confident I'll be leaving the district in capable hands. Who did you apprentice under?" she asked, her eyes very bright.

Zelena hesitated. "I lived in Quadling Country in my youth. In the Baron Lands. I learned what I could from the midwife there—I'm not sure I ever knew her name; everyone just called her 'Auntie'. When she passed, I took over. I have magic," she added quickly. "And I know the right herbs." Never mind that before this morning, she'd never actually had the opportunity to put her book-learning into practice. Mother—at least, the woman she'd always believed to be her mother—had encouraged her interest in midwifery and her visits to Auntie, but the lessons had never moved beyond the theoretical. After Mother's death, Father had insisted she keep house for him and, until she'd learned the truth of her parentage, she'd respectfully obeyed. By the time she had learned that truth, Auntie had taken on another pupil and Zelena had been so afire to meet the wizard that it hadn't occurred to her to ask if she could resume her lessons where she'd left off.

Most of the births she'd attended this past fortnight had been easy with no complications, but last night, the baby had been breech. Still, between Auntie's instructions and the midwifery texts she'd committed to memory when she'd sought Snow White's baby, she'd managed to deliver a healthy child and mother and babe had both been resting comfortably when she'd left with the old midwife. She knew her craft, and if in future, she should run into real trouble, she still had her other talents to fall back on.

"That's fine, dear," the woman reassured her. "You've done well these last weeks, and I'm well-satisfied that you've the knowledge to succeed me. You may lack my years of experience, but time and practice will fix that." She motioned to a two-shelf book case to the left of the fireplace. "I'll leave my old tomes for you; I shouldn't think there've been many changes in how a babe comes into the world in the thirty-forty years since I acquired them. This home comes with the position. One day, when you retire, you'll pass it on to your successor. And it's expected you leave it in the condition in which you find it." She smiled. "Auntie," she repeated. "Yes, in the south, I understand that's the proper way to address those of our calling. Here in Gillikin Country, folks call us mombies. 'Help-mother' would be a close translation, I think. It's from the language of those who inhabit the Gugu forest that forms our west border."

Lyncoln began to fuss and Zelena quickly patted her through the sling, as she swayed slightly from one foot to the other. She didn't like to let the baby out of her sight, and she hadn't been here long enough to know who to entrust with her care. When she'd been with a patient, she'd reluctantly passed the baby to the old woman, who'd been more than happy to look after her while she observed.

"A healthy pair of lungs on that one," the mombi said approvingly. "I don't believe I've asked you her name."

Zelena smiled. A name was both call-signal and beacon. It wasn't safe to call her daughter by the one she'd originally been given, not when she suspected that Rumpelstiltskin or Regina might yet come looking for her. Changing her it now, before her daughter knew enough to recognize and answer to it, would help to confound any seeking spells that those two might seek to cast. Besides, 'Lyncoln' was uncommon enough to be noted and should anyone inquire about a child with such a name, they were certain to be pointed in her direction. No, the best thing for it was to give the child a name that had long been common in Oz, popular since the days of Pastoria, before Walsh the 'Wizard' had ever sailed his balloon to this realm. "Ozma," she said softly, trying it out in public for the first time. "Her name is Ozma."

The old mombi smiled. "A fine name for a fine girl-child. Well. I'll stay this one night more and answer any last-minute questions you might have. On the morrow, I'll be off to my daughter's home in the Rolling Lands and you'll replace me as mombi here." Her eyes crinkled a bit at the corners as her smile broadened. "I suppose you'd best get used to the title; you'll hear it more often than you will your name. In fact, for all intents and purposes, it might just as well be your name."

Zelena nodded, not at all displeased. One more layer to shroud her origins, covering them up as well—or better—than the strip of gauze around her daughter's wrist that hid the lion-shaped mark that magic had placed there. She couldn't do anything to remove that mark; she'd already tried. But she could hide it from prying eyes. And she could shield it somewhat from most tracking spells. It wouldn't be foolproof, not in close proximity, but it would make it harder for distant magic to detect. And somehow, she rather doubted that anyone in Storybrooke was about to arrive in Oz and conduct a house-to-house search.

She smiled. Zelena and Lyncoln would vanish. Mombi and Ozma would replace them. And in time, she hoped, their already faint trail would grow even colder and harder to trace.

The Underworld, Six months later

Fiona should never have relaxed. She'd been expecting this confrontation when she'd arrived, but after half a year, she'd decided that either she simply didn't rank as highly on Hades' hit list as she'd thought, or he'd decided that the best punishment was to leave her wondering when he'd exact his revenge and what he had in mind for her.

Meanwhile, once she'd realized that nobody seemed to know or care who she was, she'd found herself a small cottage, not unlike the one she'd lived in as a young wife and mother and, finding the door unlatched, stepped inside. Someone had clearly lived there once, but not recently. After making inquiries at a nearby inn, she'd been told that the former occupant had 'moved on'. Shrugging, she'd swept the place out and fallen back into domestic life almost automatically.

She'd spent the next few months feeling her way about, getting her bearings. Her husband was here, too. At first, she'd thought to rekindle their old relationship but after ten minutes, it was clear to her that the only commonalities that remained between them were a past penchant for child abduction and the fact that they'd both met their demise at the hands of the child they'd let go. When had Malcolm become so irresponsible? What had she ever seen in him?

Fortunately, the Underworld was vast enough that she didn't need to run into him again.

She looked up from her sewing as a shadow fell over her threshold. The blanket she was hemming slid to the floor and she quickly rose to her feet. "Lord Hades," she said, smiling. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Pleasure," Hades repeated, smiling back. "Is that what you think you owe me? Oh, it's part of the debt, I grant you, but you promised me so much and delivered so little, really, pleasure is practically an incidental."

Fiona winced. Still, she tried to brazen her way through. "If it's any consolation, it wasn't just your schemes that were thwarted."

"Look around you, Fiona dear," Hades said lightly. "Just about everyone here has had their schemes thwarted; typically, that correlates closely with 'unfinished business'. It's not entirely the same thing, of course, but there's generally a connection." He looked around. "Nice place. Kind of homey."

"Get to the point, Hades," Fiona sighed. "Why are you here now?"

The lord of the Underworld smothered a yawn. "Well, I did think of calling on you earlier, but, well, I didn't really want my wife to find out how you came to my attention. I suppose that had your play been successful, she would have eventually had to find out about Zelena, but there's no point stirring things up now. However, since she's gone back to Olympus for the next six months, well, I thought I'd see how you're getting on." He smiled. "You've managed to feather a comfortable nest, I see. I suppose you've even dared dream of a sort of happiness here. I know, I know," he went on. "This is the Underworld. It's not a place that engenders hope. And yet, a few stalwart souls manage to nurture it all the same. I did once," he added lightly. Then his voice took on a menacing note. "Until you failed me."

As he spoke his last sentence, blue flames wreathed his hair and Fiona took an unconscious step backwards. "I tried my best," she protested. "I wasn't expecting my son to—"

"Rip your heart out? Is that why you never bothered putting the protections around it that he and half of his companions seemed to manage? You're either short-sighted or sloppy. Now, I might have been moved to leniency, had your endgame not been conquest of all the realms including this one. It's been a long time since anyone rose up who could actually pose a credible challenge to me and I was just bored enough to let you try." He shook his head. "You couldn't even provide that much entertainment."

Fiona swallowed hard, but she couldn't say she hadn't expected this. "Go on then," she said, summoning up a bit of bravado. "Do your worst. I mean," she smiled, "I'm already dead."

"Yes," Hades replied grimly. "So you are. And so you'll remain. Here. For a good long while. You see, all those children you stole away, all those who died by your hand and by your order? I think they'd all like a word. In fact, I think their families would like to… discuss things with you. And I rather suspect that it will take an eternity for you to finally resolve all of that unfinished business. Meanwhile?"

At a wave of his hand, the cottage vanished. Instead, Fiona found herself seated beside Hades in a small barge. "You've been ferrying souls to your old home for a number of centuries. I'd hate to let the talents of such a good conductor go to waste. So, I think I'll just have you paddling up and down the Acheron, transporting people wherever they wish to go. I'll leave the price of such payment to your discretion and," he shrugged, "should they attempt to deny you your due, I suppose you can toss them overboard. But that respite," he rose to his feet and, without warning, knocked her over the side of the boat, "will be denied you!"

Fiona screamed. She'd been here long enough to know the power of the waters of the Acheron, which some called the River of Lost Souls! But as she tumbled out of the barge, the waters parted around her and she fell on the muddy river bottom, the waters forming a solid, curved wall around her. While she tried to process what had just happened, the river bottom rose beneath her like a platform, lifting her above the surface of the river and spilling her into the barge again.

Hades smirked. "Tantalus," he said, "was cursed with insatiable hunger and thirst and deposited into a pool of water beneath a fruit tree with low-hanging branches. When he stretched out his hand to take a fruit, the branches moved out of reach. When he stooped to drink, the waters of the pool receded. Let's just say I took inspiration from there. Not that you'll need to eat or drink. As you've just pointed out, you're, well, dead. But every soul in this place typically has two ways to leave: either they cross over when they've dealt with their unfinished business…" His smile was cold as he continued, "Or they go for a dip in this river. You, on the other hand, now have only one way to leave. The oblivion of the waters of Acheron will be denied you. Oh," he added brightly, "and I've taken away your magic, too. You'll just have to deal with all those coming to settle old business with you with whatever mortal strength you possess. I'm sure you'll manage to knock a few of them into the waves, but that'll probably just make the rest angrier. And since you can't die again…" Hades snickered. It was not a pleasant sound. And then he vanished, but his last words lingered in the air behind him.

… I suppose you'll just have to endure whatever retribution they mean to exact!

The current caught her barge and Fiona realized that she was drifting toward the shore, where a crowd of haggard people lined the riverbank. As she drew closer, she heard angry rumblings and saw that many among the crowd carried torches and pitchforks. She looked down, gripped the oars, and tried to row further out, but the current was picking up speed and the rumbling from the riverbank swelled to a triumphant roar as the barge drifted inexorably closer to them…

"Dining alone this morning, Swan?" Killian asked, sitting down next to her at Granny's. Emma looked up from her coffee. The pirate frowned at her mug. "That is not the fragrance of chocolate and cinnamon."

Emma smiled tiredly. "Sorry, I was over at the Golds' till late and I'm due at the sheriff's station in an hour."

"Ah. Another naming session?"

Emma made a face. "It's a good thing they know they're having a boy or they'd have twice as many names to go through. I mean, seriously, in most fairy tale books that aren't Henry's, the miller's daughter has to guess Rumpelstiltskin's name—"

"Somehow, I'm having a hard time picturing Cora stooping to that," Killian said, half-rising and sliding a hand into his pocket.

"Yeah, having met her, kinda agree," Emma nodded, cupping both hands around the coffee mug and taking a sip. She lowered the mug and went on, "At least, in the story, Rumpelstiltskin knew the right answer! Instead, we were all making suggestions and each one was either too ordinary or too weird or too 'There is no way in any realm that we're calling him that', or…"

"Aye," Killian nodded. "Well, Rumpelstiltskin has always set great importance on names, and one would guess that Belle's literary knowledge would also come into play. Uh…" He seemed uncharacteristically at a loss for words, though it took Emma a moment to notice. "I went to see him yesterday. He tried to rope me into that business, too, but I thought it best to avoid that quagmire and allow them to resolve the matter on their own."

Emma sighed. "That's looking better all the time. I mean, I want to help, but…" She groaned and took another gulp of coffee. "I'm so out of my depth, here. I mean, I didn't even name Henry." She set down the mug. "So, what did you go to see him about?"

Killian didn't answer for a moment. "Well, I had a particular purchase in mind," he said finally.

"Uh… do you… want me to ask about it, or are you kind of hoping I'll drop it?"

Killian smiled. "Actually, I've been trying to get the thing out of my pocket for the last few moments without dropping—Blast!" A small object flew out of his jacket and hit the ground with a muffled bump and he dropped to one knee to retrieve it.

Emma chuckled. "You know," she said, "you almost look like you're proposing."

That was when Killian held up a small box, now with a tiny bit of gilt flaked away from one corner, where it had hit the floor. "Actually…" he said, opening it with a nervous-for-him-anyway smile.

Emma's eyes widened. "Oh my G-d," she almost whispered, as she took in the sparkle of the diamond solitaire. "Killian, this is…" She looked at the curving prongs that held the stone in its setting, rounded at the outer edges, then tapering to… beaks. "Swans?" she asked.

"Rumpelstiltskin's embellishment. And he did take the liberty of putting a small charm on the band. It will always fit your finger," he said. "I couldn't very well bring you with me to gauge the size of it if it was to be a surprise, but that meant I couldn't be sure it would fit. He took care of that. You should have no difficulty removing it either, should the need arise, but it won't slip off of its own accord."

Wondering, Emma took the ring from the box and slid it onto her fourth finger. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

"And all the more so when it resides on your hand." He looked up hopefully. "So, it's a yes then?"

Emma nodded, her eyes blurring as her smile spread across her face. "It's a yes. I love you, Killian. I-I want to spend my life with you. Now and always."

The other customers didn't cheer. There was no applause, just a snort and a knowing smile from Granny. "I need at least a month's advance notice for a catered affair," she said gruffly, as she refilled Emma's still-half-full mug. "Oh and congratulations."

Belle shook her head. "I know we wanted a name that would suggest second chances and new beginnings, but these…"

Rumple nodded. "I know a bit about going through life with an unconventional moniker. It can be something of a curse."

"Altan, Irvin, Dag…" Belle shook her head.

"I know." Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "Well, if we should choose to give up on names that denote rebirth, then what about Andrew? It means 'courage'—a trait I think we'd both be proud if he embodied."

Belle gave him a pained smile. "It's one of the better ones, only…"

"Only…?"

She sighed. "What you said about a name being something of a curse… As much as I actually like Andrew, if we name him that, I think it's going to remind too many people of the man you used to be." She winced. "I take it you haven't read Rosemary's Baby."

"No," Rumple shook his head. "I'm familiar with the plot, though." His eyebrows shot up. "The child of Satan…?"

"His mother named him 'Andy'," Belle nodded.

Rumple forced himself to smile. "I think we'd best keep looking." He picked up another small stack of index cards. "Oran, Denver…"

"Maybe we should try a different tack," Belle said slowly. "We've been looking for names that say what we want our child to become, only we've never met him yet. We don't want to… to make him think we're trying to push him into a mold he might not want to fit. Maybe instead of telling him who we want him to become, we ought to be letting him know how he came to be here. With… with support. And friends and…"

Rumple nodded slowly. "Well, that does narrow it down," he said. He took a blank index card and wrote another name on it. Belle smiled. "Much better," she agreed. "But you know," she continued, "that's only half the equation. And while we didn't need middle names back in our land," she went on, holding out her hand for the pen and bringing its point to the card when Rumple passed it to her, "I think this has rather a nice ring to it, don't you?"

"I do indeed," Rumple nodded again, this time with satisfaction. "I do indeed."

Three months later

It was warm for late October, Rumple noted with satisfaction, when he arrived at the Wilderness Park trailhead. Snow and Emma were there waiting for him, together with two dozen eighth-graders, Henry among them. "Good morning," he greeted them, smiling when the children greeted him back in unison.

"I think this is probably going to be our last hike before the snow hits," Emma said. She still wasn't quite used to seeing him in Patagonia down parkas and trail pants, but his customary Armani suits weren't exactly the best thing to wear on a nature walk.

Rumple nodded. "You know," he ventured, "there are things that can yet be foraged in winter. If the school's willing to allow more excursions, it might be worth exploring them."

Snow nodded back, still smiling. "I had to learn fast when I was on the run from Regina. If Red hadn't known more about the woods than I did, I don't know if I'd've lasted till spring."

Rumple started to say something, when he felt his phone vibrate. Frowning, he pulled it out. "Text message," he murmured, opening it. His eyes widened. "Belle," he whispered. "It's time. I have to—"

"Go!" Emma said quickly. "We'll manage."

"Right," Snow chimed in. "I might not recognize as many edible plants as you do in this area, but I know enough of them to manage this field trip. We'll handle the hike and then meet you at the hospital as quick as we can."

Rumple managed a quick, jerky nod before he vanished in a flash of light.

"Still used to seeing smoke after all this time," Emma murmured.

"I know," her mother replied. Then, more loudly, "Okay, kids. Line up, two by two. And first one who finds autumn olives gets a bonus five marks!"

By the time Emma, Snow, and Henry reached the hospital, some five hours later, there was a small crowd gathered in the waiting area. "Do we know anything, yet?" Emma asked.

August shook his head. "He's been in there since I got here," he said. "I guess we'll find out when they tell us."

"It's probably going to take a while," Snow said. "It's usually longer when it's the mother's first." She patted Emma's hand. "It was for me."

"I am… not sure Henry needed to hear that," Emma murmured.

Killian had set up a number of disposable cups on a nearby table and was carefully pouring out amber liquid from a metal flask into them, when a scandalized voice hissed, "You can't have that in here!"

Killian blinked. "It's not for me, love," he told Blue. "I suspect that it'll be in demand shortly, though."

"I don't care," Blue huffed. "This is a hospital, not some tavern. You can't just pour out rum—"

David rose to his feet. "Afraid she's right," he told Killian. "It shouldn't just be rum. People usually appreciate a few choices." He pulled a flask out of his own pocket. "Looks like the two of us were thinking along the same lines when Astrid called," he told his wife. "I brought brandy."

"That was foresighted of you," Regina complimented him. She waved her hand and several crystal glasses filled with pale golden liquid appeared on the table as well. "Cider," she said with satisfaction. She glanced at Blue. "If you'd like to add some berry cordial, you're more than welcome," she offered genially.

"Oh!" The fairy stormed off in a snit.

They waited. They waited longer. Each time the double doors to the ward opened, they half-rose expectantly, and then settled back down when it proved to have nothing to do with them. Finally, Astrid came out, a weary smile on her face. "A boy," she said. "Seven pounds, two ounces, mother and baby both doing fine."

"YES!" Henry exclaimed. His face reddened a bit when he realized that he'd spoken a bit louder than he'd meant to, but everyone else was too busy grinning to say anything.

Killian picked up a shot of rum. "Here, lad," he started to say, then stopped as Emma and Regina both looked daggers at him. "When your grandfather comes out, you'll want to hand this to him," he recovered quickly.

And then, the doors opened again and Rumple staggered forward. He'd exchanged his hiking attire for scrubs. His mask was hanging about his neck, his face pale and sweaty, but there was no mistaking the wonder lighting his eyes. He took in the table of liquid refreshments, completely missing his grandson, as he grabbed a glass of cider and gulped it down. Then he turned, saw Henry holding the shot, took it from him and chugged that, too. "I'm fine," he managed. "I think I should like to sit down."

They clustered around him then, helping him to the sofa while congratulating him and slapping him on the back.

"Uh… Is Belle up for visitors?" Emma asked.

Rumple shook his head. "She will be in due course," he assured her. "But for now, she needs her rest."

"Of course she does," Snow nodded. "Sorry. I guess we're just… excited for you."

Rumple smiled. "No need for apologies," he replied. "I-I think we've all been awaiting this day. Though I think Belle and I have likely been anticipating Emmett's arrival for some time longer than the rest of you lot."

"Emmett?" David repeated, and Rumple sighed in consternation.

"I really must be more exhausted than I thought," he murmured. "Belle and I had meant to announce it together in a day or so, but yes." He smiled at the prince, and then at Emma and August in turn, as he pronounced, "Emmett Augustus." He shook his head and turned back to David. "Really, you needn't look so surprised. You and your wife named your child after mine. Naturally, Belle and I thought to return the favor. Well, making allowances for the difference in gender, of course. And there are other reasons, which I imagine you can guess easily enough."

A babble of excited voices greeted his pronouncement, and for the next few minutes, he sat, sipping another glass of cider slowly this time, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, and letting wave after wave of pure joy wash over him.

Then he excused himself to go back inside and check up on his wife and newborn son.

The (Happy) End(ing)