One Year Ago

The Underworld

"Hook, I will find you. I will always find you."

How long ago had Emma said that? An hour? A week?

Time didn't seem to mean much as they floated along in the undertaker guy's boat. It was just endless fog, a weird sulfuric smell, and the grim faces and set mouths of the people surrounding her.

An elbow nudged her, and she turned her head to see Henry giving her a small but encouraging smile. Her wonderful boy.

Had she made the right choice, letting him come with them? Probably not, but his threat of following them anyway was an even worse alternative. "How are you holding up, Kid?" Emma inquired.

"Well...it stinks," Henry replied, scrunching his nose like a little boy. "I mean that literally. I hope the whole underworld doesn't smell like this, or it's gonna be a lo-ong rescue."

In spite of the situation, Emma almost laughed. Henry was at a point where he could be serious and mature in one moment, and then complain about a smell like a five-year-old the next. Catching sight of the hooded figure guiding their ferry, she instantly sobered. "We aren't going to be there long enough to worry about it," she told her son firmly.

"Perhaps we shouldn't be here at all," Gold commented, his voice its usual mixture of mildness and scorn as he gazed into the mist.

Emma smothered the hate she felt at the mere sight of him, and stared at the bottom of the boat instead. Maybe she'd forget how much she wanted to punch Gold in the face if she could concentrate on the gentle motion of the river-

Whoa.

Bad idea.

Unexpected dizziness spun Emma's world around, and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from heaving, leaning her head between her knees.

"Seasick, Miss Swan?" Gold asked with exaggerated sympathy.

She really had to find out what spell Regina had used in Camelot to shut up Zelena. "I'm fine," she ground out.

"Are you sure, Emma?" Mary Margret piped up, all motherly concern.

"Really. I'll be all right." After taking a deep breath, Emma lifted her head again. "Just – I'm just tired," she explained, and she was. The last couple of months had been exhausting – emotionally, physically, and mentally.

Mary Margret frowned and seemed about to pursue the issue, but Gold forestalled her by announcing, "It seems we've arrived."

Looming out of the mist was a dark shape that solidified into a dock, peaceful and still. Lined by softly glowing lamps, it extended farther into the murk than she could see.

The boat pulled alongside the dock and stopped, but everybody in the vessel hesitated.

"Well, then, shall we?" Robin asked with strained heartiness, hopping athletically onto the pier and offering a hand to Regina. Regally, the queen took it, and followed the archer in a more delicate fashion.

Emma was next. Robin grasped her hand firmly and supported her as she stepped awkwardly over the gap between the ferry and the planks of wood. She was grateful to him, for she still felt woozy.

"Thanks," she told him.

"It's quite all right." Lowering his voice, Robin added, "Emma, I know we aren't as acquainted as we might be, and it's probably not my place, but – the others are right, you don't seem entirely well. Perhaps -"

"Don't worry about me," Emma muttered, though she was touched at Robin's concern, considering the things she'd done as the Dark One just days ago.

The others proceeded after her one by one, until they were all standing on the dock, huddled in an uncertain cluster.

"All right, you're the Savior, Emma," she reminded herself, squaring her weary shoulders. "So lead."

"Okay, guys," she spoke into the silence. "Let's move."

As they made their way from the dock, the landmarks around them became more and more familiar, until, upon arriving in the center of a town, the truth lie before them in the form of a broken clock tower.

Resting tiredly on its side in the middle of the street, like some enormous, dying beast, was Storybrooke's centerpiece, hands frozen on its face. People, or what looked like people, were milling about the area, seemingly going about their business and not paying a bit of attention to the newcomers. Emma watched a few of them, but recognized nobody.

"This is Storybrooke," Mary Margret exclaimed. "Or, it looks like it. How? Why?"

Emma glanced over at her mother, considering her words. While Mary Margret was correct in that it could almost have passed for a mirror image of their home, an aura of unreality clung to the air. Emma couldn't have put her finger on why that would be, but it pressed on her like a physical weight, distorting the sense of belonging she'd normally have in Storybrooke.

David stepped in to answer before Emma could. "Maybe we should ask someone?" he suggested in his usual lighthearted manner.

"I wouldn't bother," Gold snapped dismissively. "Questioning these souls will get us nowhere. They're nothing but powerless, trapped drones, serving the being in charge of this place."

"And you know this because...?" Regina spoke up.

"Need I remind you again that I have already had the dubious pleasure of visiting this place? Temporarily, but it was not a trip I had planned on repeating," the Dark One said condescendingly, looking pointedly at Emma.

Ignoring his little dig, she argued irritably, "Someone must know something."

"Uhh...Guys?" Henry broke in, pointing.

Turning in the direction he was indicating, she stopped short when she saw a bearded man directly across the street, walking along the sidewalk with his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes glued to the pavement.

For a moment, Emma couldn't find her voice. Then, still disbelieving, she called out, "Graham?"

Storybrooke

Present Day

Killian stalked along the strange, deserted road, vision gradually adjusting to the darkness as he traveled away from the ocean. Eventually, he came across a row of lamps, perched upon ridiculously tall poles, lining the street at intervals.

Soon, strange, tall structures surrounded him– merchants, if the products in the windows meant anything— but from them, nary a light shone. Odd; in the villages to which he was accustomed, most of the shops kept a lantern burning outside all hours of the night.

Killian saw no sign of his nemesis, but told himself that scouting the area was enough for him at the present. The area was so silent that he proceeded boldly down the middle of the street, confident that he was unseen.

At last, he came upon an establishment that showed signs of life. Light winked through the colorful, dirty windows, and music, or some horrid attempt at it, was audible to him, even though he was not in proximity of the doors.

The Rabbit Hole, announced a sign.

Grinning, he sauntered his way towards the entrance. He may have been out of his element in this world, but he could recognize a tavern in any realm. Taverns meant information; information which could be acquired from those who would hopefully be too intoxicated to recall his face the next morning.

Of course, Swan knew he was in Storybrooke, so that proverbial cat was out of the bag, but the fewer people who were aware of his presence, the better.

Edging his way through the doors, Killian surveyed the room before him.

Strange, bright lights seemed to be the décor theme; they were adorning each wall, in a variety of colors, sizes and shapes. Some even had letters, signifying things he couldn't understand. Budweiser. Bud Light. Michelob. Were these this realm's version of 'wanted' posters, perhaps? Or the crests of the land's monarchs?

The noise, visuals, and sheer stimuli of the place almost made him miss a movement to his right, at the bar. The man behind the counter, a thin, pale, reed-like sort of fellow, was bumbling around, reaching for drinking glasses, while mumbling to himself.

"Stupid remodel...Glasses are above me now, not behind..."

Killian was just about to step forward and coerce or threaten the barkeep, whichever was necessary, when he heard another voice, this one familiar, call above the music.

"I was part of his crew for three hundred years, and let me tell you, there was never another pirate like the Cap'n. He..."

Craning his neck, Killian searched until he spotted Smee at a table, holding a stein aloft, cheeks ruddy with drink as he continued to regale the rest of Killian's crew, who were clustered around the first mate.

What were they bloody doing here? When he'd heard the rumor of the Dark One's maid being held captive by Queen Regina, he'd left them all behind for the advancement of his mission, and from there...Well, he'd assumed they'd been in the Enchanted Forest, but they must have been caught up in the curse. This actually made things simpler for him; if they had information he could use, it was all the better. "All right, you useless lot. You've had twenty-eight years of cursed time to spend loafing. I say it's high time to get back to work."

Heads turned in his direction, Smee dropped his stein with a crash, and Morgan jumped unsteadily to her feet.

"Captain!" she shouted, clutching the edge of the table for support.

Killian had encountered Morgan in a tavern in the Enchanted Forest years ago, during one of his 'errands' for Pan. Only sixteen at the time, she had been working as a server, and one who was clearly ill-treated by her employer, at that. After a few discreet inquiries, Killian had learned that the girl's ignoble elder brother and ward had arranged for her to work there, barely feeding her while keeping all of her earnings for himself.

Naturally, given his own private history, this had not sat well with Killian, and he'd confronted the brother, suggesting politely that he return Morgan's wages to her, or Killian would return them himself. The brother had foolishly drawn a sword and challenged Killian to try the latter, and had ended with a cutlass through his gut for his efforts.

Upon returning to Morgan with a year of her wages and the expectation of a slap to his face for the death of her only living relative, he'd found instead a young woman ecstatic at the prospect of freedom, at which point he'd offered her a choice. She could stay in her current employment, or he could give her passage to any kingdom in the realm. Morgan had requested instead to stay indefinitely on the Jolly Rodger as part of the crew.

Naturally, Killian had been unsure of this idea, as the girl had no sailing experience and no natural savagery to her temperament. So it was with some trepidation that he'd brought her on board, having unequivocally warned the rest of the pirates beforehand that if they lay a hand on her, they would be keelhauled.

He had been delighted to find that Morgan took to the ship like a bird to the sky, and what she lacked in physical ferocity she made up in skill. She developed a sharp tongue and learned to drink the rest of the crew under the table, which was why he was so surprised to see her visibly inebriated now.

The only disadvantage was that she idolized him to a degree, in her mind making him out to be the brother she wished her own had been. This not only made him uncomfortable, it was also not the sort of interaction a Captain wanted with a member of his crew, and his repeated attempts at discouragement only met with stubbornness. In the end, he decided that a loyal crew member was a valuable crew member, and allowed her to stay.

"You have something to say, Skylights?" Killian demanded of her.

"Cap'n," Bill Jukes stammered, "you're alive?"

"Of course I'm bloody alive, why wouldn't I be?"

" 'Cause you're dead!" This helpful exposition came courtesy of Cecco.

It seemed his crew were of accord with Swan's belief. "I am not dead, thank you. Smee, get these filthy curs on their feet. We have work to do. It's time for a crocodile to die."

Hope and eagerness entered Smee's eyes as he rounded the table and came to stand before his Captain. "And then go back to pirating, sir?"

Scoffing, Killian replied, "What do you mean, 'go back'?"

"Well, sir, it's just that..." Smee looked back to the crew for support. "You changed a lot before you died, and -"

Killian did not wish to hear more cursed nonsense. "Never mind that. Are you with me or not?"

Smee straightened. "Always, Captain. But...Nobody knows where the Dark One is. Emma did something with him, but -"

"Emma?" Killian cut in with a grin. "Then I suppose I will just have to ask her, won't I?"

"Uh..." Smee pulled off his cap and awkwardly rubbed at his head. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"And why not?"

"It's just, sir, around her you're not – You don't..."

"Out with it!"

Whispering now, Smee finished, "I've noticed you don't always use your best judgment around her. Sir."

"I don't know what that means," growled Killian, "and I don't care for an explanation right now. So tell me, then, as somebody who has lived in this town for quite some time, what is the quickest way to the Dark One?"

Morgan, who had been dancing around the fringes of their conversation since Killian had mentioned Rumpelstiltskin, cleared her throat. "I'm not sure of anyone who could tell us where he is, Captain, but I do know someone who might help us."

"And who is that?"

Lifting her small chin, Morgan said proudly, "We can meet her here tomorrow night. She works here. Her name back in our realm was Madam Mim."

I just wanted to say to all my readers, thank you SO MUCH for all of your support. I had the bare bones idea for this fic all the way back during the midseason hiatus of season 5, but I held back because there are so many better writers on this site and figured maybe only one or two people would look at my story. So your kind comments and follows mean so much, you can't imagine.

Just a couple of other messages: I will be without computer access next week, so it could be a while until the next update, but I am not going away!

Also, I considered writing the underworld flashbacks in italics, but I have also heard that a lot of readers don't care for that. What would your guys' preference be?