Chapter 21

As they stepped out into the stone-grey, wintry predawn, the portal shimmering closed behind them and the London streets almost quiet, Emma rubbed her eyes, allowed herself one final moment of grief and weakness, then firmly pushed it away, squared her shoulders, and prepared to face up to the demands of action. "All right," she said. "Time for a plan. I'll meet the Nolans at Heathrow and explain up front what happened. I don't want them thinking we were lying or conniving or trying to keep anything from them. Killian, if it's all right with you, I'll just bring them to your place – you were going to have them stay there anyway, and we might as well make it headquarters. Liam, you can take Henry there right away, get him settled. Regina, if you could case the British Museum quickly, make sure there aren't any mysteriously dead curators or anything of the sort. All of them are here. We have to be careful."

"I'm sure I can find somewhere suitable to take the lad," Liam said stiffly, the clear implication of his tone being somewhere else, and Killian winced. "I know a fair few places in the city."

"All of which Gold knows about as well." Emma turned to face him. "I'm sorry, I'm not giving you a choice. Henry's welfare has to come first. I know you're angry with your brother, and you have every right to be, but Killian's house is the one place we can be sure Gold can't or won't get into. The rest of us are going to be there, and it makes no sense to have you two out of sight and out of reach. It's in Russell Square. Killian can give you the address. Take him there."

Liam blinked, briefly thrown. "Rus – Russell Square? As in the Duke of Bedford's property in Bloomsbury, where we were going to buy a house?"

"Yes," Killian muttered. "Why do you think I chose it, you stubborn git?"

Liam opened and shut his mouth, nodded crisply, and hoisted Henry up. He hadn't been completely knocked out yet, possibly because he had been turned by two vampires and one of them a considerably powerful Old One, but he was clearly not all there. "You know," he remarked, "I was just thinking, am I the only person to have six parents? Two biological, two adoptive, and two blood. And my blood parents are brother and sister, which is very Game of Thrones. Actually, Killian, you can definitely pull off the Jaime Lannister comparison, former bad boy driven by love finally reforming because of a tough blonde. And Regina could totally do the Cersei Evil Queen thing. It works." Henry paused. "Shit. That makes me Joffrey."

Killian glanced worriedly at Emma. "He's raving. Is he all right?"

Despite herself, she had to bite her lip on a smile. "He's making nerd jokes. He's going to be fine. Do you want to call Will and find out what else he's turned up on the Old Ones registry or Arthur's potential activities? Invite him by, he can help us." She was hoping that showing Liam the fact of Killian having a werewolf friend would bring him around, prove that he had changed his ways even before he knew about his brother's survival. Besides, Will would if nothing else ensure that the mood didn't get too grim. Whether or not he meant to do that would be another question, but still.

"Aye, love, I can do that." He hesitated. "You're sure you don't want me to go with you to the airport? I was the one who turned Henry, I should be there to tell the Nolans about it and face whatever they want to say to me. I don't want you taking what should be my blame."

"Killian. . ." Once again, she found herself confounded by the depths of his loyalty, his inability to see anything but the worst parts of himself while offering such steadfast support and selfless devotion. She put her hands on his shoulders, wanting to draw him in for a kiss even in front of the rest of the family, but after a moment, made herself let go. "All right. Come with me."

He nodded, then stepped off to inform Liam of his address; he had already given David and Mary Margaret the keys, but somehow Emma didn't think that breaking and entering would be much of a problem for the werewolf. As long as he didn't cause too much damage. Liam hoisted Henry over his shoulder; he had finally succumbed to the sunrise and passed out, and as she watched them go, Emma felt a pang that was, for the first time in this entire demented odyssey, almost sweet. She had been so drowned in her feelings of inadequacy, of failing Henry, of leaving him twenty-two years ago, of all the mistakes she had made and her unshakeable fear that she had ruined him for life, that she was only now starting to see a fingernail of the silver lining. He had a large and eclectic family that, despite their personal foibles and rivalries, were all devoted to him, and could be assured of a warm embrace into the supernatural community. She wished with all her heart that he would never have had to give up his humanity, but she had wished it for a long time for herself as well, and that never made any difference. She didn't have to worry about losing Henry now. Didn't have to worry about seeing him grow old and die. They would be together more often, able to truly repair some of the time lost by never fearing to run out of it again. He seemed to be taking it okay, geek jokes and all, still her Henry. As long as it didn't cost him his relationship with the Nolans. As long as he still had that tie back to what had been, what had gotten him here, what had been his and would be as long as she could help it. No matter what, no matter what it would take or what it would cost, Emma vowed that she would make it right with David and Mary Margaret, she would fight as hard as she could to keep them in Henry's life and to encourage them to still be his parents. Not that she thought they'd turn their back on him. They couldn't. It wasn't in them. But they could hate her and Killian, and that was something she had to brace for.

Once Liam, Henry, and Regina had departed, Emma and Killian got a cab to Heathrow, where they arrived at not quite the hair-raising speeds of their last ride there with Will. She was left to reflect on just how much had changed between visits, as they quietly took hands to walk into the arrivals terminal and check the board for the Nolans' flight, which had just landed. There they stood, not letting go, until at last the groggy passengers began to filter in, putting away their passports from customs and checking hotel reservations. David and Mary Margaret were at the back, Mary Margaret carrying a long, thin package that must be her bow (Emma wondered what story she'd come up with to take it as a carry-on: professional archer? Olympic trials? Hawkeye/Legolas cosplay at a con?) and David yawning. Emma squeezed Killian's hand as hard as she could, then stepped forward. "Hey. . . hey, guys. Welcome to London."

David's jaw dropped. He looked wildly at her, then back at Mary Margaret, clearly asking if she saw her too, as if sure that the jet-lag was playing tricks on him. "Emma? How on earth – didn't we just leave you back in New York last – "

"Yeah, you did. It's a long story. A really long story, actually. Killian and I. . . we need to tell you something. We're still going to his house afterward, but we need to find a private place. Grab your luggage, and we'll fill you in."

David looked at her askance, but went to the baggage carousel and pulled off their sensible suitcases, before following them outside and down to the Heathrow Underground station, as the Tube was much cheaper than a return cab ride and they could just take the Piccadilly line all the way to Russell Square. David and Mary Margaret were also clearly keen to experience this nugget of authentic English culture, if the looks on their faces as they bought their tickets were any indication. By now it was late enough that they picked up the full crush of morning commuter traffic on the way through central London, and from the look on Killian's face, the Dark Prince of the Night absolutely did not mingle with the unwashed plebeians and was not enjoying being crowded against the back of the car by a throng of Chinese tourists, a fat chav in an Arsenal shirt, and a businessman who kept trying to check his email on his phone and elbowing him every time they decelerated into the next station. Emma supposed wryly that when you had plenty of old money, were used to being out by yourself late at night, and had lived here for centuries, you could come up with the impression that you did in fact own the place.

It was full light by the time they finally reached Russell Square, bought David and Mary Margaret breakfast (thinking it was the least they could do for what they were about to spring on them) and led them into the park, selecting an empty bench and chasing off the flock of ubiquitous pigeons. With no more distractions to keep them from the moment of truth, Emma fought a brief, overwhelming panic, squeezed Killian's hand hard, and turned to face them. "We need to tell you something, and it's not going to be easy for you to hear. It's about Henry."

"We thought that might be it." A faint line of concern creased Mary Margaret's brows. "Is he. . . he is all right, isn't he?"

"In a. . . in a manner of speaking." Emma swallowed hard. "He's. . . there's no good way to say this. He's a vampire. Killian turned him last night, with Regina's help, to save his life. Henry requested it of his own free will, it was absolutely something he wanted. The person who hurt him is. . . is dead. I killed her. Henry is here with us, at Killian's place, and Liam is taking care of him. He's going to be fine, but he. . . but yeah, he's. . . he's not a human any more."

Forgivably, this took a very long moment to sink in, just as Mary Margaret was lifting her croissant to her mouth. Then it dropped out of her fingers, was pounced upon by the pigeons, and she let out a gasp and covered her face, as David rushed to put an arm around her. He patted her back, holding her tightly, even as he turned an equally stunned and betrayed expression to Emma and Killian. "Henry is. . . Henry is. . .?"

"I'm sorry," Emma said again, feeling tears prickling yet again at her raw eyes. "Nobody wanted this to happen. Nobody planned for this. I didn't want you to hear it or find out some other way."

David continued to look completely blindsided, comforting his wife as he fished for words. Emma did her best to explain the whole sordid situation, emphasizing that Henry had done this of his own volition, and that while they still weren't certain exactly why he had been shot, it was very likely that it had been in the course of protecting Liam from Cruella. She decided not to heap the schism between the Jones brothers on the fire, as David was clearly struggling enough to accept that his son now had a second vampire father without having to also know that said vampire used to be an unrepentant supernatural murderer. She kept assuring him that nobody wanted to take Henry away from them, that she would do her utmost to keep them in his life, as Mary Margaret quietly wept and David continued to look dazed. "We love him," she said at last, feeling it absurdly cold comfort but knowing as well that it was the truest thing that could be said, especially after seeing those looks on Killian and Regina's faces last night. "All of us. He has three vampire parents and a werewolf uncle, we won't let anything happen to him."

"But you already did." Mary Margaret didn't sound angry or accusing, and yet that almost would have been preferable to the sad, broken disappointment and grief in her voice. "Can he return to his career at Harvard as normal? Go back to seeing Violet Percy without this hanging over them? Spend time with Jimmy the way they used to? Join us for Thanksgiving? Any of that?"

"No," Emma said, staring at her hands. "He can't. But he can still have a life. He can still have a family that loves him, and be able to lead a fulfilling and enriched existence, just at night instead of day. The alternative was that he died, and it goes without saying that none of us wanted that. Nobody regrets more what Henry had to give up than me. I know what it's like. I know everything he can't do anymore. But I – " she took a deep breath, reaching for Killian again – "I'm also finally starting to learn everything that I can. And Henry's a hell of a lot more optimistic and resilient than I am. He'll pick it up quickly. The last thing he wants either is to lose you. He said you're still his father, David, and he always will be. Both Killian and Regina want Henry to view them as his parents in his own time, and at his own pace. They're. . . not expecting anything."

David rubbed a hand over his eyes, looking somewhat less than steady himself. After a moment he said, "I'd be lying to say that I never wondered if this day would come. But Henry is our son, and we will always put our family first. We'll never stop loving him, we'd never push him away. We just. . . need a minute to get our minds around this."

"I understand." Emma looked down again, circling the heavy pewter ring on Killian's forefinger. "I think you're taking this a lot better than most people would. I just. . . after you finally thanked me yesterday, Mary Margaret, I. . . I couldn't stand the thought that I'd let you down in the worst way because of it."

The older woman didn't answer, a silent tear slipping from beneath her eyelashes and making a glistening track down her cheek. Then she said, "So, if Killian and Regina are legally recognized as his parents in the supernatural world, what does that mean? Does he. . . have to change his name, anything like that?"

"What? No. He'll stay Henry Nolan, that's not going to be an issue. And vampires either have a blood mother or a blood father, there's been nobody to the best of my knowledge that ever had both. Henry's a unique case. He'll be able to do whatever he likes, probably. Once he. . . once he acclimates a bit."

Mary Margaret pulled a hankie out of her purse and wiped her running makeup, blowing her nose as David kept a protective hand on her back. They remained silent for a few moments longer, until Mary Margaret finally looked up again. "If it was this or losing him," she said softly, "thank you for saving him, Killian. I admit it's very painful to think of him with different parents, but I suppose we have to remember that he came to our family in the first place because of a situation like this. That we too were replacements. And family is rarely a picture-perfect Christmas card. It's always more complicated." She paused, suddenly worried. "I'm sorry, was that offensive? Do vampires celebrate Christmas?"

Emma had to laugh. "No, it's not. We don't get along with religious icons, but we like a decorated tree and presents as much as anyone. There are Jewish vampires who celebrate Hanukkah. It changes your views on eternal life and why religion promises to give it to you, and there are plenty of philosophy and theology books on it, for sure. But I. . . I've actually not really celebrated Christmas. Since the change. So I guess we can make that up as we go too."

Mary Margaret managed a wan smile. She was clearly still not completely on board with it, but was doing her best to be gracious, and Emma, who had struggled for twenty-two years with the fact of having to allow someone else to be Henry's parents, tried not to compare herself negatively to the other woman being able to more or less come around to it in the course of a morning. Mary Margaret was probably compartmentalizing, realizing that the mission and the danger were still greater and that her personal feelings had to be tidily put somewhere they couldn't interfere. Then she wiped her eyes one more time, stashed her handkerchief away, and said pragmatically, "Well then. We didn't come to London to cry on park benches. Let's go."

David helped her to her feet, retrieved the suitcases, and they followed Killian across the square to the rowhouses on the far side. They went up the steps, Killian took the keys from David and unlocked the door, and pushed it open. "As long as we're here, what's mine is yours."

Emma stepped inside after him, glancing around; seeing as her last visit here had been a brief visit at night after tricking and manipulating her way in, she was curious to see it by the light of day. As she remembered, it was sparse and barely furnished, with few modern amenities or elaborate décor; Killian had probably not seen the need for it. But it was comfortable and well-worn, and from the look on his face, he was deeply glad to be home. The smell of something cooking wafted from the kitchen, as Liam was the only supernatural present who could not feed on one of the other said supernaturals, and must have made an emergency grocery run. They headed through the narrow hallway to the back of the house, where Liam glanced up from the stove as he tipped several glistening rashers of bacon onto a plate with toast, eggs, sausages, tomatoes, and beans, a cup of tea steaming alongside. "Been a long time since I've had a proper breakfast," he said gruffly. "I'll wash up."

"I – no, Li, I. . ." Killian hesitated, clearly struggling against overwhelming emotion as he looked at his brother in the kitchen of what should have been their house hundreds of years ago, finally feeling able to cook himself a real human meal instead of slinking out to snack on vermin, or whatever bones and scraps Gold had tossed him. "It. . . I. . . you have all the breakfasts you want. I'll wash up. Henry's. . . Henry's settled?"

"Bedroom down the hall from yours." Liam put the frying pan in the sink. "He'll sleep a while."

Killian kept looking at him hopefully, praying for a crack in his distant, standoffish coolness, but Liam did not seem inclined to provide it, carrying his plate to the table and sitting down. Killian walled off his hurt again as Emma watched, hitching his smile into place and offering tea to David and Mary Margaret, which they accepted; they could do with a restorative cuppa after the trauma of the morning news. They all sat down at the kitchen table, Liam polishing off his breakfast in record time, and Killian excused himself to call Will. He had just returned when there was a knock on the door, he vanished to answer it, and reappeared with a grim-faced Regina. Throwing herself into the nearest chair, she said without preliminary, "Half the curatorial staff of the Department of Ancient Egypt and Sudan at the British Museum has come down with some kind of mysterious virus, and they've missed work for the last two days. The main archivist isn't in today either. So if, say, someone was picking them off and waiting for an opportune time to rob its collections, now would be an ideal moment to do it."

"Mysterious virus, my arse," Killian muttered. "I suppose we're lucky the terrible trio hasn't just murdered them outright?"

"That would attract attention," Regina pointed out. "Press coverage, investigation, people asking questions. Arthur never likes to get his hands dirty outright if he can avoid it, and it's hard to say if he or Gold is the one responsible for thinning the herd. No need to kill them if you can just keep them sick and out of the office for a few days, probably feeding on them for your trouble. One of them will be mesmered into revealing where they keep the stored artifacts and how to access them, probably the main archivist right now. If it's Gold, I could probably guess where he's keeping them, we could just go in and grab them and – "

"Blow our cover spectacularly," Killian countered. "And likely get any other prisoners actually killed for our trouble. Bloody hell, sis, you know I don't like the idea any more than you, but we have to have more strategy than just popping up on his doorstep and hoping that his stupefaction at seeing us renders him momentarily unable to do anything terrible. And if Gold can't really do anything with the Osiris scale unless he has Emma, what use is it to him on its own?"

"Have you gone completely naïve after your hundred years of solitude? Once he has it, he can hold all of London hostage, threaten to cause some terrible catastrophe unless Emma goes back and upholds her promise to work for him! You and I know the best what he's capable of unleashing on this city! Merlin's ideas of what damage he can do and our ideas of what damage he can do are very different! How about we just stop Gold from getting it in the first place and cut off his leverage? Would that be so hard?"

"Brilliant. Why didn't we all think of that before?" Killian rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "And once again, do you have a better plan than walking up to his front door and asking him nicely?"

"I wasn't going to ask him nicely." Regina clenched a fist. "I think we can agree on that. Unless you're feeling extra cautious now that you're a new father? It does tend to happen, I hear."

Killian shot her a black look, glancing at Emma for support. "Well, love, you're the swing vote. Do we risk going after Gold directly and trying to rescue whatever hapless curator he's gouging for information, assuming that it is him and not the terrible trio? Or do we go straight to the collections and defend them against an assault to get the scale, from any one or four of them?"

She had to take a moment to consider. She was honored that he trusted her judgment so much, if not at all sure that it was merited, and could see both potential points of view. On the one hand, she didn't want anyone else to suffer at Gold's hands, especially another human who would have no idea what they had the misfortune to get mixed up in, but Killian was right that gambling everything on a brazen rescue mission had the possibility to backfire badly. Going to the archives seemed like the safer defensive option, posing a larger chance of saving the scale, but if they committed themselves there and Gold decided to use that against them. . .

There was no way to make a completely safe choice, she knew. Not with the stakes what they were and the magnitude of the villains they were facing. Either course of action could succeed, or go down in flames and doom them all. They were looking at her, waiting to see what she would say, even though Regina was a vampire queen, Killian was an Old One, and Liam had been Gold's slave for almost three hundred years, and she had to take a moment to consciously accept that responsibility, to shoulder it. Briefly she wondered if her murder of Cruella made her the new queen of New York; that was usually how positions changed hands in the supernatural world in the past, killing or defeating whoever held it before you. At least she could hardly do a worse job, but that was beside the point. She still had to make a choice.

She opened her mouth, although she wasn't quite sure what she was going to say. But she was interrupted by a knock on the front door, followed by footsteps in the hall, and the next instant Will Scarlet, who apparently felt perfectly comfortable letting himself into an Old One's lair, stepped into the kitchen. "Hey, love, what did y – " At that, he caught sight of the crowded table, and blinked. "Really do have the entire knitting circle over, didn't ya?"

"Just because you can enter without an invitation doesn't mean you should," Killian complained, with the air of one who had tried many times with an utter lack of success to pound some proper manners into the uncultured philistine. Nonetheless, he flashed a small but genuine smile, and Will squeezed his shoulder, glancing around in vain for an empty chair. Denied, he shuffled in to stand between Killian and David, lustfully eyeing up Liam's mostly-empty plate of breakfast. "Got any more of that to go around?"

Liam looked up at him, startled – then frowned. "You're a werewolf."

"What'd I look like, mate? Posh Spice?" Turning to Killian, Will added, "Nothing gets past that one, does it?"

"Watch it, Scarlet. That's my brother."

"Your br – " Will's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Your broth – love, didn't you say he was. . . that is, I was under the distinct and firm impression he was. . . um. . . a large fierce fellow sittin' across from me while glaring. Excellent glaring happenin', really. Couldn't mention that, could you? Give a bloke a little heads up?"

"I thought it wasn't exactly something to be confided over the phone," Killian said to the ceiling, which he customarily addressed with heaven-raised eyes when Will was talking. "Aye, that's him. L-Liam. The others are my sister Regina, David Nolan and his wife Mary Margaret, and you'll have met Emma." He indicated them in turn. "Everyone, this is Will. He's never heard of a brain to mouth filter and I'm quite sure he gave me fleas once, but we get along."

"Never goin' to forgive me for that, are you?" Will muttered. Louder, he added, "You said as well you had a new son, so unless there's somethin' you really haven't told me, I'm guessing it's of the blood sort. Where's the bouncing bundle of joy?"

Killian winced. "He's asleep upstairs, and he'll be for a while. I didn't invite you over to be the perverted uncle, you know. It was a delicate situation and it wasn't what anyone wanted, so while I know it may kill you, please attempt some tact and restraint." He glanced back at Emma. "If he hasn't completely crashed your train of thought, love, where were we?"

"I, ah." Emma took a moment to regain it, as she had still been cogitating over her decision. "We need as many eyes on as many places as possible, and we need to make sure we're covering everyone's weak side. Killian, you go with David and Will to the British Museum and keep an eye on anyone who might try to get into its collections. See if the scale's still there, and if so, guard it with your lives. Regina, take Mary Margaret and head to Arthur's mansion. He doesn't strike me as someone who'd bother finding a new hideout when he has his luxurious pad to go back to. The others are probably with him. Play double agent, tell him you've seen the error of your ways and want to make sure you get that witan seat. Mary Margaret, I'm guessing you can play charming and naïve pretty well. Pose as Regina's drone, maybe you can get him to talk."

"Arthur as in King Arthur?" Mary Margaret blinked. "The one you said was actually evil? I'll do my best, but are you sure they wouldn't decide I was just a walking appetizer. . .?"

"I'll protect you," Regina said. "As long as I don't need to babysit or hand-hold you."

"I can handle myself," Mary Margaret said again, echoing the Nolans' promise back in New York, mildly but with a surprising steel. "I won't slow you down."

Regina didn't look entirely convinced, but accepted the assignation with no more than a curt nod, before turning to Emma. "And what about you? You're planning to take on Gold single-handed, is that it?"

"I. . ." Emma paused. "I have the universus powers, or at least whatever feeding on Merlin has given me. I don't want to send you, Killian, or Liam after him. You're too close to the situation, to him, and he could still take Liam's mind over again. Obviously we can't throw David and Mary Margaret to the figurative wolf who's a literal vampire. It has to be me."

"That's idiotic," Regina said flatly. "You're the one he needs, the one this entire insane plan of his hinges on. If you got there and he already had the scale, what if he – "

"Yes," Emma said. "I'm the one he needs. That gives me some measure of protection that the rest of you don't have. If I come to him, he can't go after anyone else to force my hand, and he can't kill me, because otherwise he's out one universus with no way to get a replacement. I can't put anyone else in danger because of me. I can't let him threaten or hurt anyone else I care about, not any of you. I'm going, that's final, and you aren't changing my mind."

Killian, Liam, Will, Regina, David, and Mary Margaret all opened their mouths at once, thus agreeing on something for the first time since the meeting started. They kept shaking their heads, particularly Killian, whom she had known would object the most vociferously. "Love, no, I can't let you go after Gold alone. Unthinkable. What if he – "

"What if he staked you again, and made me watch?" Emma met his gaze, cool and levelly. "What if he did something worse? To you or to Liam? Whoever I took with me, I'd just offer up as bait. And I can't watch another one of you die. Not again. Not after Henry."

Killian closed his eyes, clearly preferring to walk across live coals rather than accept this, but at last apparently decided that if she had enough faith in her abilities to think she could manage it, and enough conviction of its necessity, it was not his place to cut her down or disbelieve her. That didn't mean, however, that he had to like it. "Fine," he said tersely. "But at least take Will with you to stand lookout."

Emma hesitated, but it couldn't hurt to have an ally in the vicinity if things did go sideways. "All right. But he stays on the perimeter. As far as facing Gold, I do that alone."

"No problems there, love." Will looked slightly apprehensive. "Sure I can't convince you to just, I don't know, change your name and buy a guard dog? Not me, mind. A German shepherd, or a Rottweiler? Or a really mean chihuahua?"

Killian gave him a look, and he held up his hands. "Just tryin' to think practically. Aye, I'll come with you, and mesmer don't work on wolves, so at least he can't jump into me head and drive me like a fun-fair bumper car of evil to some terrible – "

"About that," Killian interrupted, glancing nervously at Liam. "With him, it's. . . more of a guideline. We're still discovering what he can't do, rather than what he can."

"Now you tell me that." Will heaved a martyred sigh. "This isn't a plot to kill me to get my unlimited Oyster card, is it?"

"What do you need an Oyster card for when you've got that hideous hot-rod? Bloody hell, Will, just look after her, all right? I hate this plan enough as it is."

"I'll do that," Will promised, suddenly turning serious. "You know I won't let you down."

Killian met his eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "Aye, love. I know."

"What about me?" Liam interjected. "What am I supposed to do in all this?"

"You're going to stay here and guard Henry," Emma said firmly. "I'm not leaving him here completely undefended, and I don't want you to be hurt any more."

Liam looked unconvinced, as it clearly went against every fiber in his body to let others face danger while he stayed behind in comparative safety – he had been a Navy captain, and from what she had seen, a damned good one. Of course he didn't want to send his crew on something he wouldn't risk himself, even with as much punishment as he'd already taken, but after a long moment, he nodded. "We wouldn't want the lad waking up alone, of course. As you wish."

"One other thing," Emma said. "You know more than anyone how much we need to weaken Gold's grip on you, and we can't give him anything to latch hold of and use against you. When I was in your head, looking for the mesmer, I saw that he – " she nodded at Killian – "had managed to weaken it in just those few minutes you spent out in the backyard together, right after you found each other. Before we leave, you two need to work this out between yourselves."

It was difficult to say whether Liam looked more stubborn, Killian more apprehensive, or everyone else suddenly became very fascinated with the tablecloth and cups of tea. Finally, it was Will who spoke up. "Why, mate? You got a problem with your brother?"

"I don't," Liam growled, eyes distinctly golden and a tone in his voice suggesting that lesser-ranking members of the pack should shut up sharpish if they didn't want the fur to fly. "He's the one who appears to have the bloody problems."

"Oh?" Will sat up straighter, shifting protectively toward Killian as his own eyes took on a tint of lupine yellow and his ears laid back, lips curling over a pair of elongated canines. "I don't care who you are, or how long you been a wolf, or how sad your own story is. You hurt him one more time, I'll kick your furry arse from here to Reading."

Liam looked justifiably confused at this apparent willingness by one of their own kind to defend a wolf-killer, as well as chafed at the idea that this scrappy upstart could actually take him head-on in a fight. As for Killian, he laid a hand on Will's arm, backing him down, as they shared the sort of look in which nothing was said aloud but much was understood. In it, Emma could easily see how long they had known each other, how much pain they had shared with each other, and how much trust there was between them despite their constant snark and banter, and she had no doubt that Liam could as well. Indeed, he looked slightly less certain of his convictions, and glanced away with a cough. "Fine, then. We'll talk about it later."

"I was thinking now," Emma said. "There's no time to waste. Killian and I can handle the daylight for the time being, and I don't want you to have to take another shot, Regina. Will that feed you had on Killian last night hold you over?"

"It should do the job for today," Regina said. "I imagine Arthur will offer something in the way of sustenance as well, if I turn up promising to help."

"Just be careful with drinking it," Emma warned. "He was feeding us on Nimue's blood back at the hotel in Boston, and it had a definite effect on both of us. It would do something to you for sure."

"I'll handle it," Regina echoed. "My lookout to worry about, Miss Swan, not yours. Especially since you're the one planning to take on Gold."

"Yes," Emma said neutrally. "Where's he hiding?"

Regina hesitated, then sighed. "His townhouse in Chelsea, I imagine. He's lived there for many hundreds of years, and as I said, Old Ones don't change their stripes or their territory easily. Even someone who's broken as many rules as Gold will want that familiarity, that safety. I'll give you the address. At least that way we'll know where to pick up your corpse."

"She dies, it'll likely turn into ash before you can get there," Will commented unhelpfully. "Buy a nice little porcelain vase, kind you pop Grandma in on the mantelpiece?"

Killian smacked him on the arm.

"This what I get for defendin' your honor, eh?" The young werewolf pouted. "You're such a fickle fellow, Jones. No wonder it would never have worked between us."

Liam looked even more startled at this, as well as leveling a narrow-eyed glare at Will as if suddenly wondering if he needed to give him the overprotective big brother runaround several decades too late, but Regina cleared her throat with a sound like a gunshot, and everyone jumped. Then they pushed back their chairs, took the cups and dishes to the sink, and prepared to disperse on their assigned missions. Emma noticed David already eyeing Killian like a hawk, and hoped he wouldn't get so carried away in grilling him about his intentions on her and/or Henry as to lose sight of their actual task. She doubted it, though. David might have that sometimes irritatingly unswerving moral compass and black-and-white view of the world, but she knew he'd fight with everything he had. It might be good as well to pair up Henry's new parents with Henry's old parents, which she had done on purpose. Get a chance for them to know each other, to work together, to trust each other. Regina and Mary Margaret had already agreed to their assignment, Killian and David would certainly hold up their end.

Emma herself did not have much to prepare. Ordinary weapons wouldn't do her any good, and coming in empty-handed might induce Gold to underestimate her, or at least think that she had come to help him, as promised, long enough for her to get the lay of the land. Oddly, she wasn't very scared. Intimidated, yes, and not sure if she'd ever see any of the others again, and still sad, but not scared. She had a sense of inevitability about it, almost of destiny, as if perhaps Merlin hadn't made the world's most egregious mistake and doomed them all to die out of hand when he created (or saw, or whatever he had done) her as the universus. It was different, and strange, and poignant, as if it was finally starting to flower just when she might be going to die anyway, but she still didn't think so. Something else lay in store for her, something strange and shadowed, and she was setting out at last on the road to meet it.

"Be careful," was all Killian seemed capable of saying, as they stood in the front foyer, holding hands and touching foreheads. "Bloody hell, love, be careful."

"I will be." Emma managed a faint smile. "You too. He could just as easily be going after the British Museum as he could be hiding back at his place. Look after David, all right?"

"I suspect he'll be looking at me with a disapproving expression the entire time, so that shouldn't be a problem." Killian quirked a wry eyebrow. "But I've yet to see you fail, Swan. You can do this. We'll see each other again. I don't know how or when, but we will."

Emma looked at him, fragile heart feeling too full, wanting to say they would, wanting to believe him, wanting to see the light on the other side more than anything. But she didn't know, and she couldn't say, and finally all she could do was cup his face in her hands and kiss him for a hard, long moment. "Hey," she whispered at last, when they pulled apart. "I'm glad I met you."

"And the same." He still didn't take his eyes off her, the imprint of his gaze heavy in her soul. "Don't let Will do anything stupid, all right?"

"Heard that." Will loped down the hall, having considerately withdrawn to give them a moment of privacy. "Same for you, Jones."

Killian nodded, clasping Will's arm quickly, then letting them both go, as Emma opened the door and stepped out into the overcast London day, Will stoutly at her back. She didn't know if she would be strong enough to go forward if she looked back, and so, though it killed her, she did not.

Once he was sure that Emma and Will had gone, that they had not forgotten anything and would not be returning, Killian turned on his heel and went back inside, down the hall to the kitchen where only Liam was left, still sitting in his chair and looking up at the grey light slanting through the high window. He himself had rarely seen his own house by day, or in much of a state to remember it, and he felt a brief joy of it, of having it, a home, a place that had been his for so long and yet nothing more than a glorified coffin. Somewhere he went to lie down and forget, to make the world stop. Seeing it with people in it, with a family, bringing it to life, had jarred and moved him deeply, and so, for that, for all of them, he had to face up to this. Give it a try. For whatever good it would do, it didn't matter. He couldn't carry on like this.

"Li." Killian closed the kitchen door with a creak of old hardwood and sat down across from him. "Talk to me. Please."

For a moment longer, Liam obstinately carried on pretending that the walls had developed a keen interest in heart-to-heart conversations, and that surely nobody else actually present in the room had actually spoken. Then at last, he turned his head, meeting his brother's eyes with a shock that Killian felt almost tangibly, snapping through the still air. "What do you want me to say?"

"Something. Anything. Shout at me, if you want. I'd deserve it. Just. . . bloody hell, please. Don't shut me out. I can't stand it. You're breaking my heart. After having lived without you so long, and then finding you, and discovering that you survived in the worst possible way, and now you know what a monster I became, and you're stonewalling me. . . Li, please. Just thump on me a bit, call me a selfish, pigheaded, purblind idiot, and forgive me. Thump on me twice, if it helps. Please. Please."

Liam looked pained at the open pleading in his voice, and he sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. Finally he said, "I'm not angry at you, Killian, as much as I am at myself. I failed you. That day with Gold, after he'd turned you. . . I should have protected you. I should have gotten you out of there. And then. . . all that time as a slave. . . on the rare occasions I did remember who I was, I told myself you must have gotten away. . . you were safe. Surely you wouldn't have been as weak as I was, to give into him. I always expected the best of you, and you had never once disappointed me before. But this. . . hearing this. . ." He closed his eyes. "Then I knew you weren't. That all the lies I'd told myself to comfort myself were just that, lies. You fell as far as I did, little brother. I couldn't help you. There was no good outcome to what happened to me. There was no saving grace. Just both of us in pieces."

Killian closed his eyes, struggling against the hole in his chest, until it felt as if the floor had vanished out from beneath him and he was adrift in a great dark sea. "I know I disappointed you," he croaked. "I know I abandoned everything you wanted for me or raised me to be. And of everything that happened, that was the one thing I could never forgive in myself. So if you don't, I'll. . . I'll understand. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Liam looked back at him with eyes glittering too brightly, as at last he reached out a scarred hand and covered Killian's with it, twisting their fingers tightly together. Then at once he got up and moved around the table toward him, kneeling in front of him and taking hold of his other hand. "Bloody hell," he said, voice rough with unshed tears. "Never forgive you? After what I've done? Gold wasn't always mesmering me, you know. Not even he could keep up that level of power and control forever, especially when he was weaker. He convinced me too. Had me believing it was the only way, I had to help him, I had to do this for him, and I did. Sometimes just to make the pain stop. Sometimes because it was the only life I could see or remember. Killian, I have loved you for my entire life, more than anything in the bloody world, from the moment Mother put you in my arms and you were a red-faced little thing that would only stop crying when I held you. And nothing will ever change that. I'm sorry. Christ, I'm so sorry."

Killian felt as if his back had been broken, as if the air had been sucked from his lungs, as he slid gently onto the floor next to Liam, their hands still clutching, chests heaving, unable to form coherent words or do anything but shake. They rocked together, holding on, holding on, until Killian's head leaned against Liam's shoulder and Liam wrapped him fiercely in his arms, resting his chin in Killian's tousled hair. "Selfish, pigheaded, purblind idiot," he whispered, kissing his forehead. "I'll probably thump you later."

"Then I'll thump you right back," Killian managed, gasping a laugh. He shut his eyes, reminded of all the nights as boys aboard ship, squashed into the same evil-smelling hammock below decks, and how he had fallen asleep by listening to Liam's heart under his ear. Steady and constant as the evening star, reminding him that he was not alone, he was never alone, that his compass would always point north and his winds be fair, no matter how much durance vile they had to endure in the meantime. No wonder he had floundered, broken up and sank, caught in a terrible storm, when he lost all of it at once. He still didn't know what he had done to deserve it being returned to him, even in as dark and dangerous circumstances as these, but the gratitude hurt him physically, made it impossible to breathe (lucky thing he didn't strictly need to), to stand up, to open his eyes, without feeling it. A sweet pain, unimaginably sweet, sharp and sad and clear. Burning clear and bright as a single candle, a flicker of hope against the darkness and the worst it could offer. Still there. Still there.

They sat like that for several minutes, until there was a muffled shout from outside the kitchen, and the trance broke. They disentangled themselves and got to their feet, wiping their eyes with their knuckles, laughing unsteadily, as Killian prepared himself. "I love you," he said. "Whatever happens, Li. . . I just want you to know."

"I know." Liam smiled softly. "I love you too. I always have, and I always will. I'll look after Henry here. I suppose he's actually my nephew now, isn't he? Go."

"Aye," Killian managed, tongue and heart tied in too many knots to come up with anything else. "If we don't come back. . . do everything you can for him. Make sure he knows the right sort of people. Has the best afterlife you or anyone can give him."

Liam nodded. He didn't say that of course they would come back, that everything would be all right, for he knew as well as anyone that this was no guarantee to make. "I'll do that."

Killian squeezed his hand quickly, then let go, turning away, letting himself out of the kitchen, and finding David waiting at the end of the hall. He offered a somewhat stiff nod, which the other man returned, and they let themselves out into what was now a steady drizzle, walking to the corner and the few hundred yards up to the main British Museum entrance on Great Russell Street. While they may be there on an important, world-saving mission, the place did not look to be burning down on the spot, and David wanted to look around. "Besides," he added, "we have to scout the Ancient Egypt exhibits. Gold might have persuaded the curators to put the scale on display somewhere it's more easily acquired, rather than having to dig through all the sealed boxes of stuff in the basement."

"True," Killian agreed, impressed at this evidence of critical thinking. They hooked onto the back of the nearest ubiquitous throng of jumper-clad schoolchildren, slipped into the Egypt section, and commenced their best inconspicuous wander from display case to display case. Killian couldn't repress a brief conviction that Gold might try to bring the mummies to life to chase them around, though he supposed he'd just seen too many pulp films (if nothing else, they were good for passing a lot of empty time). But considering what Gold had already been proven capable of, it wasn't as far-fetched a threat as it sounded.

They finished a first circuit without success, and paused in one of the connector halls, watching the schoolchildren proceed dutifully toward the exit under the shepherding wing of the chaperone. Unexpectedly David said, "You don't have any kids, do you? Other ones?"

"Henry is the first." Killian had wondered if this conversation might be coming, and wasn't sure whether to prepare himself for advice or accusations. "Hardly the traditional path to parenthood, but there you have it. I assure you, I do not view the obligation lightly."

"I suppose I just. . . wonder what a vampire father does." David glanced at him sidelong. "You can't exactly teach him to play catch or how to talk to women, so it's. . . what?"

"I could certainly teach him both those things, particularly the latter, if he found himself in need or desire of my help. Vampires love their children no less than humans love theirs. In most cases." Killian forced away the thought of his own blood father, the man Emma was now striking out on her own in a desperate attempt to stop. "And like humans, we have our failures and our abusers and our manipulators. Supernatural power tends to magnify those flaws, but it never creates them. Nobody becomes a bad vampire unless they were a bad person first."

David looked briefly taken aback, as he had likely still been hanging onto the idea that while vampires were probably very nice people when it came to individuals, as a species they were colder or inferior or unable to understand deep feeling, less deserving or desiring of love and empathy and home. When in fact, as Killian had learned over and over, the danger of supernaturals came the most not from their inhumanity, but from their deep-rooted humanity, those most primal bundles of instincts and needs and pain. The change never artificially forced someone to become a monster. There was no moral component to it. It just gave them the ability to act on what had been latent within them, whether good or bad or neither, when the old rules and restrictions no longer applied. No wonder it was all mixed up, like a mirror dropped and shattered into a thousand pieces. Showing only parts, only fragments. Then again, he knew who had invented it in the first place, and for no heroic reason. Nimue's transgression in imprisoning Merlin, destroying Camelot, and turning the magic of the Book of the Dead to dark purposes had been ingrained into vampires from their beginning, and hung inescapably over them now, the ultimate question of whether a creature made from an evil root, even many branches down the line, could ever overcome it and turn to good. Killian wanted to think so, but he didn't know.

"Well," David said after a moment. "I'm not sure what I should call you."

"Just Killian will do, mate. Doesn't need to be any fancier than that. And you might not like or trust me much yet, but we are family now."

"I suppose." David didn't look to be rushing to invite him to any get-togethers, but Killian hadn't expected that in any case. "So. . . you and Emma? How long has that been going on?"

"If she comes back alive, I suppose we'll work out what exactly it is." Killian kept his eyes on the far wall. "Whatever we do become, it's as much up to her as it is to me."

David paused, then nodded. They turned back into motion, checking the other floors and levels of the museum in case Gold had put it in a less obvious exhibit to deter suspicion, but didn't see anything that looked like an unassuming bronze scale that was in fact an awesomely powerful and dangerous magical object. The museum was steadily emptying in preparation for closing, as Gold evidently did not want to have to blast a swath through the crowds if he did not have to (he was probably more worried about potential witnesses than collateral damage) and if he was planning an attack, had scheduled it for the night. They had done their best to find out if anyone had gained unusual access to the collections, but nothing seriously seemed amiss, and no maniacally laughing vampire had thus been spotted, so he must not have come. Yet. If the scale was still here.

Realizing that they were going to have to stay in the building past closing hours, Killian towed David to an unobtrusive spot, mesmered the guards into walking straight past them as they made their final sweep to check for stragglers, and waited until the place had gone quiet. Once he was fairly sure they were not about to be nabbed by a late leaver, they stealthily made their way back to the Ancient Egypt exhibit. Killian was not concerned about he himself being caught on security camera, what with the fact of vampires not showing up on them, but it did strike him that if the footage showed David Nolan, respectable husband, father, and productive American citizen, skulduggering around the British Museum late at night, questions might be asked and problems created. As long as they didn't touch anything or trip any hidden alarms, hopefully nobody would have any reason to check.

They reached the Egypt section and swept it over one more time. Still nothing. Killian was unable to repress the growing conviction that they were in fact too late, that one of the four must have already stolen the scale and absconded with it, but if so, why not reveal themselves and make their offer to Emma? Unless that was happening at Gold's house right now, and he had let her walk into a trap. He fought down a surge of lacerating panic, the half-certain knowledge that he had failed her too and they were never going to see each other again. That kiss had tasted more than halfway like a goodbye, and he knew those bitterly well by now. Even as much as Emma insisted that Gold wouldn't kill her, that as the universus she was protected by the fact of him needing her, it was doubtful whether she thought that equated to actually coming back.

Killian clenched his fists, reminding himself to keep it together. He gazed into the glass of the nearest display case, seeing no reflection, just that faint blur. Perversely fitting. Possibly a blessing. For bloody certain he wouldn't have been able to look himself in the eye all these years.

He shook his head, turning around and intending to rejoin David in the far gallery. But he hadn't gotten a step when the woman sitting on the bench in the corner, whom he hadn't seen or sensed at all even with every ability being an Old One could offer, rose to her feet. He hadn't seen her before, face to face, but nonetheless, he knew instantly who she was. Felt the room grow as cold as if the temperature had plunged thirty degrees at once, and, accordingly, froze in place.

"Good evening, Killian," Nimue said, and smiled. "Now that it's just you and me, I think it's more than time we talked."