Chapter 1

New York, 12:20 pm

They have no idea what to tell him: stay awake or try to sleep? Sit up or lie down? Drink plenty of water or drink nothing? Stay warm or cool down? Since they don't know what the poison was made of—can never know, since it's an original, magical concoction—they have no inkling of how to slow its progress. The two of them—Neal and Emma—help Gold into the back seat of Tamara's car, and Henry crawls in after, tucking a blanket from Neal's bed around his grandfather's shuddering body, tucking a pillow on his own knees so that Gold's head can rest comfortably there. Or, given the way the man's body spasms, "rest" and "comfortably" may be too much to hope for.

Emma leans over the back seat and starts to tell Henry to sit up front, let her sit with the sick man, but the determination in her son's expression causes her to pull back. There's nothing she could do for Gold, anyway; psychologically, perhaps Henry can offer more, her own relationship with Gold having always been prickly. She climbs into the shotgun seat and buckles up—the last thing they need is to be pulled over for a seat belt infraction. As Neal starts the engine, she glances back at her son to offer an encouraging smile, since she has no encouraging words to offer without lying. Henry's eyes are fixed on his grandfather's face, though, his hand clutching Gold's.

He's only eleven. A boy of that age shouldn't have to watch a murder happen, shouldn't have to experience the death of a grandfather in the same day he's learned they are related. She never should have brought him here. David and Mary Margaret could have hidden him away somewhere, kept him safe from Cora.

Emma glances at Neal, whose hands are steady on the wheel, but whose jaw is working. Emma knows that look: Neal's grinding his teeth. He does that in his sleep when he's stressed. Neal's eyes flick to the rear view mirror and a tic in his cheek develops, reminding Emma of the depth of feeling the man is capable of. There's so much she needs to ask him, in private: who's Tamara? Are you still stealing for a living? What are your intentions for our son? Do you still feel anything for me? She needs information in order to decide whether to allow him into Henry's already complicated life. Then she glances at Henry and knows Gold was right: it's not her decision. The best she can do to protect her relationship with Henry is to facilitate his relationship with Neal.

Let Neal be the one who screws it up.

Emma reaches for her phone.

Storybrooke, 12:20 pm

Cora and Regina are in the kitchen of the mayor's mansion. They're cooking together, something they've never done before. When Regina was a child and would have delighted in a cooking lesson with her mommy, Cora was too concerned with appearances to allow Regina to enter the kitchen. No, cooking was for servants. It was time-consuming and bloody work, involving plucking feathers, splitting breasts, breaking bones, yanking out innards.

But here, everything's different. Cooking is so much cleaner, and the many gadgets in Regina's kitchen make the work quite entertaining: the coffee maker, the microwave, the stove, the blender, the mixer, the dishwasher and the garbage disposal. In just minutes the kitchen is filled with wonderful aromas and the counters are sparkling clean. Regina pours coffee and demonstrates how to doctor it with sugar and cream; Cora's never tasted coffee, but she takes it black despite Regina's warning, and she likes it. The bitterness teases her tongue.

Cora likes bitter things, Regina reflects as she slides a finger down the hilt of the Dark One's dagger. That dagger is an honored guest at this dinner party, taking pride of place in the center of the kitchen table as the women set out the china and silver. As they sit down to quiche and salad, each woman catches the other studying that knife. For Regina, it's a cog in the wheel that will, very soon, roll over Snow White and Emma, and when her enemies are crushed, her path to Henry will be free.

What happens after that, Regina's not so sure. Yes, it will be fun to control the Dark One. She will get back at him for every insult, every snub, every refusal. She'll begin by ordering him to drop to his belly and wiggle like the worm he is. After that, she'll tell him to lick the ground she walks on. She'll put a collar on him and parade him around town on his hands and knees: "Heel, Rumplestiltskin! Sit, Rumplestiltskin! Roll over!" He will carry her packages and scrub her floors and crouch at her favorite chair, serving as her ottoman as she reads the newspaper. And if he dares to make a face at her she'll swat his nose with that newspaper and trim her toenails with that dagger.

But after that, what? The Dark One will be her slave, but he'll be no less crafty and shifty than he is now. And she knows him too well to think he won't find a way to rebel the moment she slips up, lets down her guard. It's going to be a hell of a lot of work keeping the Dark One for a slave.

As Cora slices the quiche and places the largest piece on Regina's plate, Regina realizes she's worrying for nothing. Mother will take care of Rumplestiltskin. Wise, manipulative, scheming Mother will take care of everything.

New York, 12:21 pm

As Bae needles his fiancée's car down narrow streets made even narrower by parked vehicles, Emma opens her phone. She's no sooner brought up the contacts list when the gadget rings. She checks the caller ID before she answers. "Mary Margaret?"

"Emma! Can you hear me? The reception's dodgy here."

"I can hear you. I was just dialing your number. Listen, Hook found us—I don't know how, but he came to Neal's apartment and he attacked Gold with his hook. It was poisoned, and now Gold's—" she can't say the word, not with Henry listening in the back seat. "We're bringing him back. He needs magic."

"Back to Storybrooke?" Mary Margaret sounds alarmed, and that puzzles Emma.

"Yeah. He says he has an antidote in his shop."

"You can't bring him back. That's why I called. Emma, Cora has the dagger. If you bring him back, we're all in danger, especially Henry."

"How did she—" Emma chooses her words carefully once again. She has to protect Henry from bad news, has to stay upbeat for him. "How did she acquire that object?"

Mary Margaret is silent for a moment, then with a shaky voice she confesses, "She tricked me."

"We have to come back. If we don't—"

David's voice comes on the line. "Don't bring him back, Emma. With that dagger she controls him. There's a town full of innocent people who'll suffer if you do, and if she finds out about the beans and makes a portal, every land with magic is in danger."

Emma lowers her voice, but Neal can hear her and his knuckles whiten on the wheel. "I can't let him die."

David sounds exasperated. "He's Rumplestiltskin. Do you think he'd hesitate to let you die, if it suited his purpose? Or Henry? Emma, you don't even know half of the evil he's done. He's killed people. And remember Ashley's baby? That wasn't the first time he's tricked a mother into giving up her child." When Emma doesn't answer, he presses, "What are you going to do?"

"We have some time before we can get back there. We'll. . . think of something. Evil doesn't win, not on our watch. I'll call you later." She hangs up. With a glance at Neal, she mutters, "We gotta talk, but after we get on board."