Incarcerus Chapter 25, an once upon a time fanfic

Chapter 25

London, 1916

The low grey light slanted through the window, casting pale shadows, as Killian Jones considered the effect, cursed the meteorological misfortunes of this place, and decided that while it was hardly the equivalent of stepping out into the full, burning sun (neither of those terms being applicable to the variety of sun customarily encountered in England) he could at least take solace in the fact that this was the fifth straight morning he had done it, and as there had not resulted either a very long nap or a smoking heap of ash, he might be nearly at the strength needed to proceed. Even if not, the moment had come. Ever since the city had heard of the uprisings in Ireland, coming together over Easter to try to throw off the chains of English tyranny, he had decided that this Irishman, however long away – he hadn't been back to the country of his birth since he left it two centuries ago, seeing nothing to be gained in doing so – would have to do his own part here. Videlicet, killing Robert Gold at last and for good.

Killian turned away from the window, stalking across the floor and then testing how fast he could flash back to the other side of the room. He had killed and fed on a wolf last night, a strong one, so he shouldn't be suffering any weakness in that department, and told himself that this would be the last. Once he had done for Gold, he would have avenged the wrong altogether, both Milah and Liam. Wouldn't need to keep killing wolves to tide himself over, to do something, anything to make it stop hurting, to lash out at something else than his scabby, blackened husk of a self. They hadn't managed to start a new pack in London this entire time, the longest lacuna in recorded supernatural history that the Tails had no foothold at all in the city. He had had to go as far as Winchester last night to find one, and even that was still regarded as unwisely close by the English alphas. Any other regional differences among them had been put aside in their burning hatred of him, and he didn't plan to hide. They knew well enough where he lived. If they wanted to come by and kill him, if they were brave enough, he wouldn't stop them. His head on a spike, the rest of him dismembered, burned, and scattered to the four winds sounded about an appropriate punishment.

Having satisfied himself of his physical prowess, he turned to his weapon. The rest of Europe was slaughtering each other in the no-man's-land of the Western Front and its trenches, with mustard and chlorine gas and Gatling guns and barbed wire and mortars, all the monumental and pointless carnage that resulted when twentieth-century man had all the newest and most modern methods of killing each other, and still an eighteenth-century notion of how to do so. In contrast to such sleek, mechanized murder, his own armament was far simpler. Merely a slender polished stake of finest Lebanese cedar, three feet long and of middling weight, designed to be fought with as part sword, part javelin, and with a tip intended to splinter once the killing blow had been struck. He had practiced the particular motion a hundred times, a thousand. To stab Gold just deep enough to reach the heart, but not to strike it. Stop just short, while the cedar splinters worked slowly through his body and the core of the stake – solid silver – tormented him with its nearness. Killian having had so long to contemplate, it was likely the most slow and painful way to kill a vampire that had ever been invented, and he could not wield the bloody thing bare-handed; he had to wear gloves. Even then, he felt reeling and nauseous if he practiced with it too long. He had taken to training with a replica of the exact same shape and weight, made of ordinary hardwood with no silver, so the only damage he could do was if he got too carried away on a twirl and stabbed himself in the heart like an idiot. That being no danger, it allowed him to increase the hours of training, while the real, lethal item lay locked inside its case. Today, like one of the Japanese samurai preparing for his own death, it was finally time to open it.

Killian allowed himself a smile, though the effect on anyone observing it would have been the last thing from comforting or pleasant. Fond as he was of the black leather that he had come to consider his signature ensemble, he had also left it off; he needed full range of motion and no extra weight, and as even a vampire gentleman could be unpleasantly inconvenienced in a vulnerable area by an overzealously tight trouser fit, he had elected for loose grey serge, tucked into black boots. A white shirt with an open neck, sleeves rolled over his forearms, to be sure of nothing snagging or getting in his way or slowing down his stroke. Not even any of the necklaces or rings he had accumulated over the centuries like a jackdaw, taken from the wolves he killed. Other vampires would have regarded them as boastful trophies of war, testaments to their fearsome nature. For Killian, it was different. He couldn't put an exact number on how many he had murdered, and he was afraid that without them, he might forget altogether. This way, if not their faces, at least their shades (so much as supernaturals had immortal souls, it being a popular topic of enquiry recently) were kept close to him, reminding him who he was. Now there was no more need for them. In this, at the end, he knew.

Inventories complete, Killian returned to the window. He had not selected the date of Gold's assassination from patriotic sentiment alone. The humans he had mesmered to spy on him reported that Gold had recently completed work on a particular project – something related to his book, Liber incarcerati, and his ever-devoted obsession of making its horrifying vision a reality. It had taken enough time and effort that he was in a serious lull with his powers at the moment, thus rendering him the weakest he had been in several hundred years, and if he was allowed to rest and recover, he might reach a place where he was completely indestructible. It had to be now; Killian simply could not afford to wait any longer. After a hundred and eighty-two years, Milah and Liam would finally have their justice. Then, soon, he'd see them again. Assuming supernaturals were dealt the same as humans after their death (another one for the theologians), but even if so, they would have arrived at one destination in the afterlife, for the good people, and he was decidedly destined for a different one. Perhaps he'd get a glimpse of them, as he was dying. Just one, to know they were safe. Then he would close his eyes, and accept his fate.

He was just about to open the case containing his stake, standing over it with key in hand, when a knock at the door startled him badly; consumed as he was in the ritual of his last morning, he hadn't even heard anyone coming. A brief and ludicrous part of him wondered if it was one of Gold's minions, along to formally throw a gauntlet at his feet, but Gold didn't know this was coming. And he could not fathom who would be dropping by the lair of one of the most infamous and dangerous vampires in London, unless it was another distressed young woman begging him to turn her and save her from some disagreeable marriage her awful relations had cooked up. That happened on occasion. He always told them he was terribly sorry for their misfortune, sent them away, and shut the door. Monster or not, he did have standards.

Now, however, Killian strode to answer it, prepared for a trap, for an attack, for something even worse. And when he cracked it open, he discovered to his complete surprise that it was in fact the latter, something worst of all. None other, in fact, than his sister.

"Regina." Only the barest glaze of wintry politeness iced his voice. He hadn't even laid eyes on her in several years, their ambitions and their ruthlessness becoming ever more incompatible, and he was extremely skeptical, to say the least, of this eleventh-hour social call. "To what do I owe the. . . pleasure?"

"You can skip the obsequies, Killian. We both know you don't mean them." She looked amused. Also, as if she certainly did not intend to be fighting dread dark lords any time soon, or anything else that would muss her highly fashionable couture. In defiance of the custom for wasp-waisted gowns with severe buttoned necklines, she wore some frilled and fanciful confection of slashed blue silk and black taffeta, bouffant sleeves and a plunging bodice revealing far more than a proper Edwardian gentlewoman would have considered in any way acceptable (though poor fat Bertie had been dead for six years and considering his libidinous adventures, would not at all approve of any style of clothing for women that made it more difficult to sleep with them). Her hair was pinned up, her lips painted red, and her fanged smile was quite truly terrifying. Whatever initial push he had given her to accept her new nature, she had then dived in headfirst on her own accord. Even looked to Gold as a mentor and teacher for a few years, until that nasty business with Zelena. Now she was entirely her own loose cannon, and one that might swing with Killian, but far more probably against him. Bloody hell, what did she want?

"You misunderstand me. That wasn't actually a rhetorical question." He tilted his head, surveying her sharply. "It's the daylight hours, and you're not nearly so old as to be able to be awake on your own. Shouldn't you be unconscious in your luxury coffin somewhere?"

Regina looked at him disdainfully, closing her parasol with a snap and allowing him to see the silver tip. "They're testing out a new medicine, you know. Something that allows vampires to stay awake during the day. It tastes like hell and makes you feel even worse, and yet it's still not as unpleasant as having to use it to come see you. For that matter, aren't you going to invite me in? It's most impolite to visit over the threshold."

He stepped back, teeth gritted, to give her a gallant bow and an offered hand. "Please, sis. By all means, come in and visit."

She smirked, taking his hand with her own lace-gloved one and stepping inside. Then she came to a halt, glancing around at his bare, dismal rooms, and clucked disapprovingly. "Jack the Ripper's murdered women of the evening lived in better lodgings than this. Unless you were the Ripper, and that's where you got the idea? I was under the impression, however, that you had more of a taste for wolf."

"I wasn't," Killian said coolly. "As a matter of fact, I caught the man in Whitechapel one night, and killed him myself."

"Really?" Regina arched an eyebrow. "Whyever didn't you inform the newspapers? They were going mad over a dozen potential culprits a day, wondering where he'd disappeared to and if he was still roaming free. You could have been a national hero."

"Please. They don't bloody pin Victoria Crosses on vampires. Nobody needed to know. I stopped him, that's all that matters."

"Disliked the competition to be London's most feared thing that went bump in the night?" Regina perched on the only available item of furniture, a rickety old chair, as if determined not to let too much of this place get on her. "Town not big enough for the both of you? Or had he just murdered your favorite whore?"

"Is there some purpose to this visit?" Killian took care to show extra teeth when he smiled. "You see, I'm rather in the middle of something. Terribly busy, loads to do, and – "

"I know," Regina interrupted. "In fact, that is my purpose. I know what you're planning to do. And I'm here to tell you that you can't."

"Can't?" He pushed off the wall, sauntering closer with studied coolness, but a threat lurked barely veiled beneath. "As in can't physically accomplish it, or shouldn't do it for conveniently undisclosed reasons that benefit you? Because if so, love, you're wrong on both counts."

"You are such an idiot." Regina rolled her eyes heavenward. "Whatever you think you're going to do, you can't. He won't die, or at least not for good. And before you say something even stupider and use up valuable air that could be better employed by, I don't know, the rats in the floorboards, it isn't because I still care for him, or because I have any interest in your well-being. It's because you simply cannot kill him, and who knows what you'll unleash if you try."

"And you know this how?" He took another step. "Some useful condition or caveat that he disclosed to you about his immortality?"

Regina hesitated. "No."

"Liar."

"Whatever I do know was forty years ago and likely far out of his calculations now. And even if I knew for certain, I wouldn't tell you, because you have nothing to offer me in return. It wouldn't be a fair trade."

"So – what? You've come by to tell me to not even try? That's very bloody fascinating, and I've given it due consideration. My decision is to ignore it completely. Time to hop along and play with your little evil tea set."

"Idiot," Regina said again, almost as if in awe that one man could contain within himself such a vast and impressive vacuum of knowledge or reason or restraint. "But I have to ask, if you are going to try, what are you hoping to accomplish? Overthrow Gold to take his place? I want to know, you see, if I have to kill you next."

"What?"

Regina smiled. "Call it fair warning. I don't care what you do to Gold. But if you have your sights set on becoming him, you might cause problems for me, and I'd take that as a threat. I'm going back to America, you see. Boston. The queen there is old and inefficient, and I intend to challenge her for power. Once I have command of the city, who knows what else could follow? And if you plan on doing something similar in London, such a path could lead to. . . conflict."

"Don't worry," Killian said loathingly. "I have no plans to make a play for his power after he's dead. I just want him there, and have only wanted that for three bloody human lifetimes now. If your concern in calling is to ascertain whether your rise to the top might be inconsiderately interrupted, you have your answer. I wish you well as far away from me as you care to go. Sail on the White Star Line across the Atlantic, I hear they have a smashing reputation."

"If by that you mean into icebergs, you're correct." Regina leaned back. "In fact, I was going to offer you the chance to come with me. To work for me. I could use some help in establishing myself, and you must be tired of murdering werewolves and brooding about your poor life choices. Leave Gold behind and do something that might lead you to a future. My future."

"What – you mean you and me, together?" Killian barked an incredulous laugh. "And who took such pathos and umbrage in reminding me that she was my sister?"

"No, you cretin," Regina snapped. "I don't mean 'our' future in some ridiculous romantic sense. I mean exactly what I said, my future, since between the two of us, I'm the one who has one. You're good at killing and not much else, and I have a need for someone with that skill while I make a name for myself in Boston. My mother's dead, did you know? A few years ago. She can't stop me anymore. Can't hold me back. I intend to build everything my way, and now I can. You would do well to be on the right side of it."

Killian laughed again, turning away. "You are too much," he said. "Bloody too much to even contemplate, much less listen to with a straight face. What do I get out of it, to be patted on the head? To sit up and beg for treats? Perhaps you thought to chain me up in the yard and make me bark at intruders? If it's a dog you want, I'm sure there are plenty of strays in Boston."

"If I wanted a dog, I'd have approached the wolves, if I could find any that you'd left alive." Regina eyed him flatly. "As for what you get out of it, I thought it was obvious: you get to survive. And I think I know you well enough to guess that's the one thing you value over your revenge. It's a waste, you know. It's a waste."

"What, that I should unprofitably die instead of doing your dirty work?" His voice rose almost to the brink of a shout. "You don't care if I'd do things a hundred times worse, as long as it got your cold little hands on all the strings you want to pull, imagine yourself doing as deftly as Gold? God knows I hate the man, but at least he's good at being bad. You, on the other hand, you're just a poseur and an imbecile. You've been flailing about in some idea of being a supernatural force to be reckoned with, a queen in waiting, but you're just a sad little – "

"Oh, because you have a monopoly on tragedy?" They were almost nose to nose now, hissing like a pair of alley-cats, as she stared at him with slitted eyes. "Only you are allowed to do awful things because you lost someone you loved, is that it? If my mother hadn't killed Daniel – "

"– at least I know who I am, know where this is leading, while you're asking me to serve as your bloody flunkey and slave – "

"It is a waste!" Regina screamed, loud enough to drown him out, cheeks burning white except for two high spots of hectic color in her cheekbones. "It is! Your brother is long dead, my sister is insane, you lost that drone and I lost the man I loved. If I'm not much mistaken, when I first came to London, you wanted us to be siblings. Now I'm offering you a chance you don't even deserve, and you're just going to throw it away because – "

"Sorry, love." Killian grinned roguishly at her. "The idea of abandoning my life's work and the chance to avenge the gruesome murder of the only two people I ever loved, in exchange for the opportunity to serve as your stooge and henchman, isn't exactly irresistible. If you wanted what I offered when you came here, you should have taken it then. No longer on the market. Alas."

Regina flinched, ever so slightly. "What if I told you why I don't think Gold can be killed? About the un – someone?"

"Oh, now that's back on the table? As I said. Too late. And if someone stops me from killing him, I'll kill them too. I do not, however, anticipate it being a problem. Nobody has ever made a weapon like mine. Do you want to see it?"

"I have no interest in your toys," Regina said coldly. "All I ask is that if you're planning to leave dangerous things lying around after you're done with your suicide mission, be so kind as to make sure someone else can't get their hands on them."

"I suppose you're quite a bit too young to manage it yourself, otherwise you'd snap it up. But Gold is the only one old and evil enough to misuse it, and once he's gone, there's nobody else for the vampire world to worry about – except for you, in a hundred years or so. Endlessly relieved that I don't plan to be around for that. Now, it's long past time for you to be on your way."

Regina paused, then rose with icy dignity to her feet, smoothing the dust from her lap. "So be it," she said. "I shouldn't be surprised that you're ultimately such a disappointment. Everyone in my life is, after all, and it's taught me that all I need to care about is myself. Find a way to have my own happiness, no matter what, since nothing and nobody else is worth giving a damn about. You and I both know that by now, don't we? So then. This is goodbye. Chase your fool errand to its inevitable end. Go out to die. If at the last moment you change your mind, don't come crawling back to me. We're done."

With that, before he had the chance or wherewithal to answer with the correct calibration of dismissive, sarcastic quip, she turned around, lifting her skirts from the dirty floor. Glided through the door, and vanished through it, without once slowing or looking back.

It closed behind her with a whisper, and she was gone.

London, Present Day

It was dark in the house, sometime after sunset, when Killian woke. He'd meant to do so earlier, but he had simply been too exhausted and drained, despite his best intentions. He still felt quite a bit less than top form, but as he rolled over and stared at the ceiling, Emma's arm slipped lower on his chest; she was still asleep, nuzzled into his side, a frown remaining etched between her brows even in unconsciousness. Last night, he had instinctively sensed that there was something she wasn't telling him, something important, but he hadn't wanted to pry, hadn't wanted to spoil the wordless joy and relief of their reunion with more questions and interrogations. She was safe, that was all that mattered, and apparently, his catastrophic slip-up with Nimue hadn't been completely fatal. Not through any merit of his own, but because Emma had had the strength to do the necessary thing, to make the hardest choice. God, he did not deserve her, not a single bit. And yet he would fight until the end, and beyond, to keep her.

Killian shifted; he would have gladly lain in bed with her for another few days, but he doubted a bad situation had gotten remotely better while he had been out of it. Emma murmured in her sleep and moved closer, snuggling into him again, and he felt his resolve swiftly weakening, sorely tempted to kiss her awake and have her just one more time, but he couldn't. Instead he nudged her arm off his chest, pressed a feather-light kiss into her palm and folded her fingers over to hold it there, and laid her hand on the covers. Then he rolled out, dressed, and staggered down the stairs to the kitchen.

David, Mary Margaret, Henry, and Regina were sitting at the table, the former two just finishing their dinner and the latter two abstaining, though by the look in Henry's eye, he was going to need a feed soon. Regina was still thoroughly battered from their fight in the cave, and although she was up, it was clear she wasn't ready for any more rough-and-tumble action just yet. On sight of Killian, she folded her arms and looked away. "Planning to go postal on us again, or do you have a warning system installed now?"

"I – I'm not planning on it." He took a seat at the table, fighting the spasm of guilt that twisted his stomach. "Sorry, love. You're right about me. I've always been an idiot."

That startled Regina enough to turn her head fractionally back toward him, although she resisted meeting his eyes. After a moment she said, "Well, I'll live. And I heard Emma retrieved the scales somehow, so you didn't manage to ruin everything. Resist the urge to bite down on any more extremely evil Mothers of Darkness, and we might still have a chance."

Killian was about to flash back that he'd like to see her do so if it was that easy, but resisted. "Where are Will and Liam?"

"They went out," Henry said. "Will's trying to reason with the werewolves, and Liam volunteered to go with him. Said it was his fault, and he had to face up to it. If they learn his story, they'd likely feel pity and outrage on his behalf, instead of blind bloodlust. Failing that, they're trying to stop the wolves from just going after the regular vampires of London indiscriminately. Remind them that Gold and Nimue are the real enemies."

Killian experienced a sickening stab of worry at the thought of Will and Liam wading into the middle of this mess, especially when their fellows might well consider Will a sellout traitor with no self-respect due to his relationship with Killian, and Liam as too long Gold's slave to know anything about being part of a pack, much less trusted to make decisions for the rest of them. "Did they say when they'd be back?"

"No," Henry admitted, "but I don't think there's much we can do about it at the moment. They seemed to feel that the danger was greater if they didn't go, and I'm inclined to agree. Nobody's fired the first shots at Fort Sumter yet, so to speak, but it's not looking good."

Regina jerked, lips tightening, and Henry looked confused. Killian said quietly, "Her fiancé served in the Civil War. Daniel Colter. Survived Gettysburg, came home, and got killed by her mother instead. It's a raw subject."

"Oh." Henry looked abashed, doubtless struck by the fact that what was a harmless historical metaphor for him was of direct and painful personal relevance to his new mother. "Well, I said I'd go with them, but they insisted I stay behind. Didn't think a fledgling vampire and your blood son would be exactly the thing to get the situation calmed down, and didn't want me in the way if it went further south."

Killian frowned, as this did nothing to ease his concerns, but there was indeed not much he could do about it at this juncture. "Do we have any notion of what Nimue hopes to accomplish with all this maneuvering, aside from a rather novel attempt to lower London's ridiculous property prices?" To say the least, having gangs of angry supernaturals rampaging through the streets of a major world city and financial center would have a deleterious effect on both the global economy and the tourist industry. And unlike in the comic-book films, where cities were routinely destroyed at the cost of billions of dollars and then magically rebuilt in a few years, just in time to be leveled again in the sequel, that kind of damage didn't go away overnight. Especially in the twenty-first century, where dangerous individuals with political agendas who intentionally caused death and danger to the general public were better known as terrorists. Taking out somewhere like London would affect the entire world, the entire planet's future. If this was step one of Nimue's plan to do Gold one better, to acquire absolute power in the truest and most terrible of ways, she had made a smashing start to it.

"No." It was David who answered. "She has plenty to gain from another immortal war to end all wars, but it also feels as if she has something else to make a play for. You were the one under her influence and with her in your head. Why don't you tell us?"

"Watch it, human." Regina glared at him. "It's hardly as if he has a bootleg Xerox of her evil manifesto. Good thing too, really."

David shut his mouth, though with a look that clearly said he had not forgotten the incident at the British Museum, and could not be sure that Killian would not mesmer and abandon him again if Nimue should suddenly appear and put in the request. Killian supposed that was no more than he deserved, as it tended to be a bad first impression when you bamboozled someone into forgetting the last few hours, left them in a closed institution where being discovered by security would have gotten them into a great deal of trouble, and then took off with a notably nefarious villain to cause havoc – not even considering the fact that before all this happened, you were trying to get them to accept you as their son's new father. As if following this train of thought, Henry put a hand on David's arm. "It's all right, Dad," he said. "We've seen how powerful Nimue is, what she can make people do. You can still trust him."

David harrumphed, as if to say that he would be the judge of that, thanks, but consented to dial back his baleful stare a few notches. There was a brief silence as everyone thought very hard about what sort of chaos might appeal to Nimue aside from the obvious, but drew a blank. Then they heard footsteps on the stairs, and Emma ducked into the kitchen, wearing one of Killian's old dressing gowns and hair still tousled and stiff with salt. At the sight of the powwow, she raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, did I interrupt something important?"

"Not particularly, love." Killian managed a smile for her. "Just trying to come up with what else Nimue might be after by trying to start a war. Nothing had occurred to us."

"Is that where Will and Liam are?" Emma slid into the chair next to him, and their fingers linked together. "Anyway, it. . . it doesn't matter. If I can find Nimue, I think I know what to do. We have to stop her first before we can go after Gold, so we can't waste time."

Killian glanced sidelong at her, wanting to ask what she hadn't said about the scales, but knowing she wouldn't tell him here with everyone watching. "But if you defeat Nimue, you'll be in exactly the position Gold wants you in. Fully empowered as the universus and able to do whatever wretched ritual he needs to become all-powerful, which seems to involve killing the rest of us. Even assuming you make it through the trial with Nimue, it's too much for Merlin to expect you to defeat two dark ones in a row, alone. Someone else needs to help with Gold."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Let me guess. You?"

"My feelings for the bastard are no secret. If requested, I'd be happy to go after him again – but only if requested. I'm not going to do it if the only purpose would be personal vengeance, and frankly, I think Liam deserves the honor of tearing his throat out more than I do. The three of us – him, me, and you – we could at least slow him down. Weaken him. Then Emma can land whatever coup de grace is needed to finish the job."

"Liam can't keep Gold out of his head," Regina said. "We found that out last night. He'd be just as likely to turn on us or do something to lead Gold to us. And if you went under Nimue's control again – what am I supposed to do, kill you both? It's better for me to do this alone."

"What, as if you're the one who can be trusted to swoop in and dispatch him? You can't match him, love, and you can't bring yourself to permanently end him, let's just be honest. If you don't trust me or Liam to do it, then – "

"There's one other choice," Emma said. "And I'll be the first to admit it's a very long shot, but we're at the point where those might be the only kind we have left. There's a vampire who's older than Gold by about a millennium, very powerful, and able to command the kind of resources to allow him to, say, manipulate Old One registries and set up and frame whoever he wants. And who just might have an incentive to do something about this."

"What?" Regina looked at her in horror. "That's your plan? Ask Arthur?"

"You're the one who's been talking to him," Emma pointed out stubbornly. "He is the Potentate. He can make things happen. And he's currently hitched his wagon to Nimue, even though she's the one who destroyed Camelot in the first place. If he can be persuaded to see that she's actually going to destroy England all over again, and then whatever else she can, if he really means anything he says about being the once and future king, maybe he could step up."

"That's a dangerous plan, love," Killian cautioned. "Not to say that you're entirely wrong, but still. And how do you fancy that we'd get an introduction?"

Emma hesitated. "Zelena."

"My sister?" Regina's lips went white. "Oh, this should be good. Please, tell me how you're going to convince her to abandon Nimue, who's given her everything her demented little heart wanted, to take us for vampire tea and cookies with Arthur. Are you completely out of your – "

"Just listen!" Emma said, exasperated. "Zelena came to find me when I got out of the cave last night. She was worried. Nimue hasn't given her the one thing she wants: me. Her methods are completely screwed up, yes, but everything she's done – the attacks on Harvard, the attempt to isolate me from the rest of the supernatural world so I'd have to turn to her, making Lily into a vampire thinking she was giving me a sister, going to London after I told her to – has been about trying to get me to come home with her and live as her daughter. Of course she's doing it wrong, but it's not something she's lying about, or that she's ever tried to hide. I. . . I honestly think if it was a choice between sticking with Nimue or saving me, she'd take the latter option. And that, considering I am the only one who can stop Nimue, could very well end up being life or death for us, and however many other people. Humans and supernaturals alike."

"So you're wagering everyone's safety on the idea that Zelena really does want to play house with you? That she actually loves you?" Regina looked as if she wanted to issue a stronger denial to this heresy, but was still reeling from it even being seriously proposed in the first place. "And what, you'd move in with her and start picking out wallpaper patterns? I can't see it."

"I have no idea, all right?" Emma's hand tightened in Killian's grasp. "I know what it sounds like. But if this is what we have to do, you can't let your personal history with your sister get in the way. We know Zelena has been working with Arthur. Both of them can be leveraged to turn against Nimue, and she's the greatest threat. Maybe it's time we split up the terrible trio."

Killian paused a long moment, disliking the idea with every fiber of his being, but forced to admit it might work, if they also thought they could leap into thin air and suddenly learn how to fly. "If you think so, love," he said, "I'll help you. But Christ, can't we just send a bloody fruit basket first? Or since it can't be eaten for obvious reasons, a flower arrangement?"

"I don't think flowers work on Arthur." Emma looked at him tenderly. "Give me a moment to shower and get dressed, and then I'll see if I can get in contact with Zelena."

With that, she disappeared upstairs, leaving the rest of them to sit in stunned silence. Regina was chewing her tongue furiously, but succeeded in not calling them every bad word in the book, for which Killian duly applauded her, and he could see that Henry was getting furtherly fidgety, wearing that glassy-eyed stare of a new vampire fixated on every jugular vein within convenient biting range. So he stood up and said, "Come with me, lad. Let's get you something to eat."

Henry followed him into the living room, as Killian rolled up his sleeve and gave him his wrist. Henry clamped down at once, hungry and clumsy and clearly still not comfortable with the overwhelming, primal urge that was quite foreign to his nature as an urbane, intellectual adult, a professor and teacher used to keeping things in control, not knocking them further out of it. He was already much more powerful than other fledglings Killian had known, and he felt a shy sort of pride in it, as human fathers must feel to see their sons doing well in school, or being taller than their peers and dunking on them mercilessly in basketball, or winning competitions, or otherwise standing out from the crowd. Not that Henry needed to be special as a vampire, because everything special about him had already existed when he was a human man. Not that it made any difference to the deep-rooted, wrenching love that Killian felt when he'd seen Henry open his eyes in the first few seconds after that new birth, when the change took hold and he came back to life. He would have loved Henry even if he was stumbling over his own feet and couldn't get his fangs out without biting his tongue. If he wanted to be a vegetarian vampire who snacked on blood tofu. If, God forbid, he sparkled and brooded and wanted to stay in high school forever to stalk boring girls (though Killian would have had to give him a very stern talking-to about that). It didn't matter. Loving a child never had anything to do with their accomplishments. Only with their existence. Only with the way it was completely intertwined, forever, with yours.

After a few more moments, Henry finished his feed, let go, and stepped back, wiping his mouth with an embarrassed expression. "Hey. Thanks. I'm sorry about Dad – about David. I'm sure he won't hold a grudge. Well, for too long."

"Neither of you have anything to apologize for." Killian buttoned his shirt cuff, not quite able to meet Henry's gaze. "I did him wrong. Did all of you wrong, and you were the ones who stopped it, and me, from getting any worse. Though he did get in quite a considerable whack upside my head, so I hope he'll consider the score at least partially settled."

Henry's mouth quirked. "You never know. He still remembers the time Jimmy and I scraped the mirror off his truck when we were sixteen. Granted, we'd borrowed it without permission, and granted, my license hadn't actually come in the mail yet, but you'd think I was personally responsible for breaking the arm off the damn Venus de Milo, the way he went on about it. I even paid to replace it out of my allowance, I don't see what the problem is."

Killian snorted despite himself. "Prickly man, your father, isn't he?"

"Just stubborn," Henry said. "And determined to protect his family at any cost. I don't think he cares as much what happened to him, just that the rest of us were in danger. But there are bigger fish to fry now, and he'll see that. What do you think Emma isn't telling us?"

"You sensed that too?" Killian was startled. "Bloody hell, I wasn't entirely sure I wasn't just imagining it. Something Merlin said, I think. She wasn't quite forthcoming on what exactly it was, just that she talked with him in the cave. Could be anything, but I rather have a feeling it might be just what it will take to use the scales."

Henry considered, then nodded, as if to confirm that he had had the same idea. They returned to the kitchen, waiting a few more minutes until Emma came downstairs, washed and dressed and looking more or less presentable. "Well," she said. "I have to admit, I'm not sure what the quickest way to find Zelena is, but she can't be too far away. She's possibly even at Arthur's right now, she mentioned how nice it was when she was trying to get me to join her. And Regina, I know you know where that is, so if you could please tell us?"

Regina sighed deeply, but appeared to have grimly resigned herself to the necessity, and gave them an address in Kensington, which was about where Killian had expected Arthur to live (the location of the Potentate's residence was not common knowledge, the way it was for the President or Prime Minister). The visiting delegation appeared to be Emma, Killian, and Henry, as while Regina might have established a diplomatic bridgehead with Arthur (on mostly false pretenses, but still) she for obvious reasons was not the best person to take on a trip intended to improve ties with Zelena. Killian of course was not about to let Emma go alone, and Henry had served quite well as mediator of supernatural family difficulties before, so it made sense to let him continue in the role. Besides, all three of them knew Arthur, had stayed at his hotel in Boston, and were familiar with his methods of operation, though they would be very wary about accepting his refreshments. As well, if nothing else, it reminded Zelena of all the family she could have if she rejected Nimue and convinced Arthur to come with her. Whether or not the thought of being the grandmother of an English professor appealed to her, it couldn't hurt to try.

Killian and Henry did their best to ensure that they too were dressed for a prestigious social call, Henry instinctively trying to check his reflection in the mirror and remembering that he couldn't anymore. As he headed the hall to fetch his coat, a voice said, "Killian."

He glanced up. "Not afraid you'll catch something if you stand close to me?"

Regina flinched, as if to accept that she had probably deserved that. Then she said, "If you absolutely have to go visit my crazy sister and a man who very badly needs them to invent vampire Valium, can you at least look after our son?"

Having been girded for another smart remark, that took Killian briefly by surprise. Then he said, "I promise, I'd never intentionally put the lad in danger. But he's not a hapless human, some fragile little weakling I constantly have to worry about. He's one of us now, and he's learning fast. I trust that he can handle himself, and you have to trust that I will do everything in my power to be sure of it."

Regina paused a long moment, then nodded. "All right," she said quietly. "I'll trust you. Now go, before I remember what a stupid idea this is and stop you."

Killian glanced at her, then nodded. Emma and Henry reappeared, ready to go, and he took his own overcoat. They headed out into the night, and he decided to hail them a cab, rather than showing up unannounced in front of Arthur's mansion at vampire speed and making his crackerjack security team suspect funny business. They sat tensely as the cab navigated the crowded streets of central London, keeping an eye out the window for any instances of vampires or werewolves spectacularly murdering each other in public places, but didn't see any overt signs of a war's outbreak – yet. Killian also couldn't help looking anxiously for Will and Liam, as if he thought he'd somehow glimpse them among the anonymous masses, and couldn't resist asking Henry, "Did they say where exactly they were going?"

"Will knows where the London werewolves hang out, I assume there. Gold got a pretty nice piece of him in the cave, not to mention the vampire who attacked him yesterday, so he went home first to get his motorcycle. Said he didn't want to be running around under his own power if he didn't have to. It's a nice bike." Henry's mouth quirked. "Ducati?"

"Aye," Killian said wryly. "As you may have noticed, Will has a great fondness for things that go very fast and make loud noises. But if he's still hurt enough that he'd rather ride than run, if it goes sour and they have to fight their way out – "

"They'll be fine," Henry said soothingly. "Liam's with him, and he can handle anything. He's the oldest and strongest wolf in London by a long shot."

"Aye," Killian muttered again. "Because I killed the rest of them."

Emma, sensing his distress, put a hand on his knee, and a certain gloom fell over the car for the rest of the ride (their driver was a human, but had been listening intently to Punjabi talk radio the whole time, so there was no fear of him overhearing their conversation, and even if so, it probably was far from the weirdest thing discussed in the back of a black cab). Then they turned into a broad promenade lined with large white rowhouse mansions, a veritable fleet of luxury cars parked along the street – BMWs, Mercedes, Range Rovers, Maseratis, until Killian thought wryly it was indeed a good thing that Will wasn't here, as he would have been sorely tempted to accidentally borrow the keys for one. They glissaded to a halt, and Killian paid their fare; while not as wealthy as some other vampires who had spent the last few centuries on the stock market, a nest egg that had been accruing interest since the start of the Hanover dynasty didn't have to dig through couch cushions for loose change. (He had in fact periodically gone through the ritual of pretending to die and leaving it to himself, and the BoE account was currently under the name of a Mr. Colin Jones, supposedly the original Killian's several-times-great grandson). They got out onto the wet sidewalk, eyeing up the door with the number Regina had specified; from the looks of things, Arthur also owned the houses on either side. Probably the entire street, come to think. They were definitely in his territory, and they would bloody well have to watch their backs. They came in peace, or at least as neutral ambassadors, but not for nothing was the invitation protocol the vampires' biggest legal bugaboo. And they had not been invited.

Nonetheless, Killian if nothing else believed in doing what was in front of him, and he never cared how grandiose and impressive his foes were supposed to be. "Come on, then," he said, straightening his collar and striding up the steps. "Time for an awful family reunion, eh?"

Emma gave him the hint of a smile, both of them standing protectively in front of Henry, as she raised her fist and knocked crisply. They waited as the sound echoed away into the house, both of them doubtless wondering how fast they could get out if this took a turn for the unfortunate, until a white-gloved vampire butler opened the door and regarded them haughtily. "Excuse me? Did you have an appointment?"

"I – no." Emma's fingers plucked nervously at her skirt. "We were – "

"If this is a matter of legal business, the witan bureau offices are in Westminster. The Potentate does not receive unsolicited petitioners, he is simply far too busy and important, and if you're selling something, I assure you he does not want that either. And next time, don't turn up without phoning ahead, otherwise we will have to conclude that you are a possible threat to – "

"Wait! Listen. I'm Zelena Mills' daughter. I was wondering if she was here."

At that the butler, who had been ready to throw them into jail for bad manners at least, blinked. The name meant something to him, enough to halt his tirade, and he snapped his mouth shut with a click. After a moment, he said, "I will enquire. Please wait."

"Well, something definitely crawled up Vampire Jeeves' ass and died," Henry remarked, clearly in an attempt to defuse the tension, once the subject of his remark was out of presumable earshot (then again, he was a supernatural, you never knew). "Do you think Arthur gives the staff Round Table codenames? Like, Sir Gawain, get my newspaper? Sir Kay, clean the bathroom? Sir Lancelot, under no circumstances sleep with my wife?"

"Wait." Killian glanced at Emma. "Remember when Will said there was a Guinevere meddling with the Old Ones registry, and that she was supposed to have died in the 1800s? The hell do you suppose Arthur's done with her?"

With a slight tilt of her head, Emma signaled him that this wasn't the time to ask. They all straightened various items of clothing, attempting to look like reputable individuals who would be admitted into the private residence of a powerful and dangerous supernatural and politician (it was questionable which of those things made him less trustworthy). The butler reappeared, gave them a final supercilious look for good measure, and said, "She is in the parlor. I will take you."

Emma's hand groped for Killian's again, and he took it reassuringly, holding hard, as they followed the butler through the hallway and into a room at the back of the house, with gilted wallpaper, gleaming furniture, large windows looking over a garden, and Zelena sitting primly on a striped-silk sofa, sipping blood from a china teacup. At the sight of them, she stared, blinked, put down her cup, then got hastily to her feet. "Emma! Darling, so you did decide to come? And you've even brought my ridiculous brother with you? How. . . delightful."

"Z-Zelena. Hi." Emma looked intimidated, but didn't retreat, as Killian pointedly glared the butler out of the room. She allowed Zelena to approach and air-kiss each of her cheeks, standing stiffly, then said, "We need to talk to you, and it's important. If you mean what you've been saying about wanting us to be a family, about getting to actually be my mother, you'll listen."

"What? Of course I mean it!" Zelena pouted. "Everything I've done has been for that. Couldn't you tell?"

"When you had your minion kidnap me back in Boston, blamed it on Killian, chained me up with silver, threatened to kill Henry, had me watch you turn Lily, then had us hunt that girl – Aurora Stefanopolis – through the woods, it might have been hard to tell, yes." Emma's voice was cool and level. "I know you thought you were making me into a stronger vampire, to help take my rightful place at your side, but everything that you thought will make me want to join you is just driving us further apart. You have a chance to start over again, though. To make a different decision this time, and atone for your mistakes. Do you want to hear it, or not?"

Zelena's lucent green eyes flicked between the three of them, as if judging the likelihood of a trap or moral lecture or some other undesired correction of her behavior. Then she said, "Very well. I suppose I have nothing better to do. What is this fascinating proposal, darling?"

"We were hoping you and Arthur wanted to help us stop Nimue," Emma said bluntly. "You have plenty of good reasons to, not least because she'll turn on you and destroy you the instant she's led you along to helping her get what she wants. She has no intention of giving either of you anything, and she's going to destroy Arthur's kingdom again, just like she did the first time. Only this time if she does, it will take the entire supernatural world with it. I know you don't give a damn about that, or anyone. But I do. I give a damn. If she succeeds, she'll destroy me too, and you'll be alone again. I don't think you really like your flying were-monkeys and your bloodies and all the other monsters you surround yourself with. I think you like being the real Witch of Salem because it helps you feel like you have a purpose, a way to matter to people, even if they're afraid of you or don't even know you exist. Sitting alone in that warehouse where you took me, watching them go by below. All those people with families, with friends, with things they build, not just what they tear down. No wonder you hate them so much."

Zelena's smile wavered. She opened and shut her mouth, picking up her teacup as if for a bracing sip, then putting it back down; it rattled on the saucer. After a moment she said, clearly striving for light dismissiveness, "Well, the monkeys are a trial, I'll give you that. Not much difference from when they're men, though, is it?"

"If you're referring to Walsh, I'm no longer angry with you for that." Emma's voice remained calm, although she was holding Killian's hand so hard that he grimaced and had to loosen her fingers slightly. "Or even for turning me into a vampire. But that isn't going to vanish overnight. I've lived with the weight of your actions for twenty-two years. I know a bit about your own story, from what Reg – your sister has told me. About your mother abandoning you and never even giving you a chance to be her daughter, so you've tried the opposite on me. You've tried to cling to me at every turn, no matter the methods or my feelings or the cost to everyone else, and so you've done the same thing. You drove me away and you made me hate you and it's led us to this. It's not going to work, Zelena. It's never going to work. If you want it to, you have to do something different. And it's not just me at stake now. It's everyone. Please."

Zelena sat very still, so much that Killian could see the small shifts of air around her, as if a great absence of motion, of silence, of abyss, had gathered in one place, and all the onrush of the universe had simply stopped, as easily as turning off a switch. "Well," she said again, rather faintly. "I – well, I suppose I didn't know how. I never did. I – I love you, Emma. I do. I'll always fight for that. I just. . . if this is true. . . I don't seem to have been very good at it."

Emma let go of Killian and crossed the room, kneeling in front of Zelena and reaching for her hand. "I can forgive you," she said, barely above a whisper. "Even now. But you have to help us. You have to get Arthur to listen to us. He's the Potentate, he has to be able to stop a war. He can't keep giving Nimue everything she needs to end the world as we know it, our world. I know it's full of crappy people and I know in your mind, probably none of them deserve to be saved. But it's the only world in which anyone can have a future. That. . . that you can."

Killian frowned, hearing something in her voice that made him wonder if she was including herself in that reckoning, or if it was a dream that she no longer saw as belonging to her. What the bloody hell did Merlin ask her to do? He was getting less comfortable with it by the minute, whatever unknown price Emma had promised to pay for peace. He and Henry glanced at each other but did not speak, not wanting to break the fragile moment, as Zelena closed her eyes hard, wicking away the suspicious glimmer on her lashes. Then she opened them and said, "Wait here. I'll go get Arthur."

Emma visibly slumped in relief, almost shaking, as Zelena got off the couch and clicked out, and Killian moved quickly to kneel next to her, putting his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest without a word, and he stroked her hair, resting his chin atop her head. "You're bloody brilliant, love," he whispered in her ear. "Amazing. If this works, it'll be all thanks to you."

Emma raised her head to give him a tremulous smile, and they were still on the floor when Zelena returned, followed by Arthur. Upon beholding his guests, he looked startled, then smiled broadly. "Ah, my friends! So good to see you again! Dr. Nolan, did your book get sent off to press in time?"

"It did, actually," Henry said awkwardly. "Thanks. And there have been a few other developments since then as well."

Arthur glanced at him, took in his new vampiric state, and adopted a sympathetic expression. "I see. That must have been difficult. Is there anything I can do to make it easier? Drinks?"

"No," Henry said hastily. "I've fed recently, it's all right. Did, uh – did Zelena tell you why we wanted to talk to you?"

"Not entirely." Arthur seated himself regally on the large armchair, clearly as if it were a throne, and he now considered court to be in session. "But I am, of course, willing to listen."

Emma, Killian, and Henry exchanged further looks, before launching into a rather disjointed, three-part explanation of why they were seeking his assistance. Arthur sat with the professional smile of someone used to fielding all sorts of inquiries and who was well-used to giving no hint of whether he thought they had merit or not. When they finished, he said, "I do admire your patriotic sentiments. And it is true that an open war can ultimately benefit no one, and I most desire a peaceful and perfect kingdom. Hence why we have to be powerful enough to make sure neither this nor another can come to pass again."

"So – you're willing to help us stop Nimue from starting this one?" Emma was clearly choosing her words with utmost care. "You have to know you aren't exactly, well, very trusted in the vampire world. This is the same sort of chance we're giving Zelena, to start over. To be a real hero, the kind Merlin always wanted you to be. You could save England and all its people, human or supernatural alike. Isn't that what King Arthur was always supposed to do, or at least what he always represented? You still can. It's not too late."

"Merlin." Arthur leaned back in his chair. "So he's still around to drop cryptic advice on our heads like anvils, is he? Surely, my dear, you're wise enough not to take it at face value?"

Emma blinked. "Merlin didn't ask me to do this. It was my idea, and I'm not going to beat around the bush. The situation is dire. We need your help."

"My help." Arthur's lip curled around the word, revealing a flash of fang. "By which you mean for me to admit that I am still nothing more than a pawn and a dupe in Merlin's infernal games, a sidekick to the universus who's supposed to do the actual world-saving? That he, of course, could not tell me any of this, nor even hint at it? I have spent centuries trying to play Merlin's games, Miss Swan. Trying to be the 'hero he always wanted me to be.' And I've discovered by now that there is no possible way to win. I almost rather pity you. If you live long enough, you'll learn the same thing, and as terribly as I did. And I certainly have no intention of lowering myself to beg for your forgiveness! As if you have any right to dictate whether or not I am respected? As if you have any idea about what I need to do?"

Killian stood up. "Perhaps," he said levelly, "you'll speak more considerately to the lady?"

"Sometimes honesty must not be considerate." Arthur stood up as well. "Or what, wolf-killer? What will you do? You have the gall to ask me to stop a war, when it's one you've planted the seeds for over the course of nearly three hundred years? At least I've spent this long trying to be a hero! What the bloody blazes have you done, but fall?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Henry was the third to get up, positioning himself between the two older vampires like a referee whistling a heavyweight fight dead in the ring. "Gents, take it easy, take it easy. Nobody's fighting anybody in here, we have enough of that happening elsewhere. Arthur, Your Majesty, none of this is meant as any kind of insult. Trust me, if anyone knows your full story, it's me. Well, at least what the ballads and romances had to say about it. Of course we know how hard you've tried. Just think about it, all right?"

Arthur took a step backward, but didn't take his gaze off Killian. "Oh," he said. "Trust me, I shall. Think about all of it, most carefully. Especially what excusable motives you can possibly have for coming here and trying to dissuade me from my moment of final, greatest triumph." He turned his head, speaking to someone just outside the room. "You can come in now, my lady."

There was a pause, and then the door clicked again. A faint, sweet scent of rose perfume drifted in the air, it swung wider, and Nimue stepped in, holding something in her hand. Something almost familiar, that gave Killian a cold and unaccountable spasm of terror, merely aside from the sensation of seeing her. She looked straight into his eyes, and he could feel something rising, crawling out of the recesses of his head where he had so barely pushed it, coiling and ensnaring him. Could feel it coming up again, that mad blackness, that insanity, and struggled against it as hard as he could. "Bloody hell," he managed. "Emma, Henry, run."

"Nobody's going anywhere, I'm afraid." Nimue waved a hand, and the door shut and locked behind her. "Do you recognize this, Killian? You see, it's partly why I was so certain you would help me with our minor Merlin problem. And you still are going to, but never mind. There's never been as good a killer as you, whether before or since, and now this. It's the only thing strong enough to kill the universus, and I have you to thank for that as well. You're a marvel."

With that, she held up the object, and sickening terror washed over him as he did, in fact, recognize it. The stake, the one he had specially designed to kill Gold, made of cedar and cored in silver, the weapon to ensure the slowest and most agonizing death possible. She must have been fanning long-simmering resentments between Teeth and Tails at least in part to give her time to search for it, to make sure nobody was available to see her or stop her. Arthur stood watching with a satisfied smirk, as Henry looked wildly at Killian, Emma was frozen, and Zelena frowned. "Wait," she said, glancing back and forth between Nimue and Emma. "No, wait."

"No time for you to get soft, I'm afraid." Nimue smiled. "We tried the first plan, to drive your daughter to our side. It didn't work. We tried the second plan, to be rid of Merlin and the scales. That didn't work either. Of course I didn't want to do this, but I'm afraid that killing Emma is the only way left to ensure that I have everything I deserve. Arthur understands. Why not you?"

"No!" Zelena took a step. "No, you can't kill her. She'll be good, won't she? No threat to you?" She glanced frantically back at Emma. "Won't you, darling? Be good?"

"I'm sorry," Emma said. "I'm not going to make promises I can't keep."

Nimue regarded both of them pitilessly, something ancient and savage glittering in her eyes, something far beyond mere blood rage or a vampire's hunting instinct. Then she shrugged. "Very well, then," she said. "I suppose I just have to kill you both."

With that, she lunged, too fast to be seen. Killian roared and threw himself into her path, having a confused impression of Zelena doing the same, feeling the sear and burn of silver at far too close range; having already been staked once in the recent past, and thus with vivid memories of how unpleasant it was, he was in no haste to repeat the experience, but he didn't care. As long as Nimue didn't use his weapon, his own weapon, to kill Emma, he would take a hundred stakings, not that he would survive long enough for it. No Liam to lick the wound this time, no potions to stop the damage. If this was it, so be it.

Everything was chaos for a few seconds more, until suddenly the world snapped back into place, and Killian staggered. He was on his knees with no memory of how he had gotten there, and he felt as if he had been dropped from the sky to smash on the floor, but he hadn't been staked. He looked around madly to see where it was, fearing the worst, and saw Zelena sprawled flat with it buried through her sternum, jerking and gasping as the poison of cedar and silver worked slowly into her. There was no sign of Nimue, until Killian turned his head and saw her thrown against the wall, looking dazed, as Henry had his fangs out, snarling in her face. Apparently, sheer instinct had taken over, and he hadn't cared that she was the first and oldest of vampires, and he had barely been one for a week. Had indeed managed, by the look of things, to take her thoroughly off guard, and perhaps he was right about having quite a bit more power than your average fledgling. Arthur stood in the middle of his living room which had just turned into a supernatural free-for-all, looking slightly stunned. Then he said, "Why, you – "

Emma was on her knees, just behind Zelena, as Killian tried to crawl to her. His limbs weren't working the way he was used to, and he could still feel the encroaching darkness, swallowing him in a dizzy spiral, down and down and down. "Now!" he yelled at her. "Whatever you have to do, love, now! Do it! Now!"

She looked back at him, anguished. There was a glimmer of something in front of her, the air twisting and reshaping, until the Osiris scales sat on Arthur's carpet, shining and undamaged. A definite look of shock and horror crossed Nimue's face to see them, and Emma picked them up, got to her feet, and started toward her; Henry wouldn't be able to hold her much longer. Killian rolled over agonizingly, felt something burning, looked down, and saw a shard of the stake embedded in his own chest. He ripped it out, trying to judge how to shield her if Arthur decided to attack. The world kept swimming. Zelena wasn't moving anymore.

Emma reached Nimue. Held up one dish of the scale to catch a drop of her blood. Bit her wrist, putting it above the other dish, but didn't let her own blood fall into it just yet. Instead, she looked back at Killian, and their eyes locked. He was too far away, too far away to help her, and whatever was about to be done was now, and he still didn't know the price, and it was too late. Too late. For them, for anything but this.

"Killian," Emma whispered. "I love you."

She let go of her wrist.

The drop of blood fell into the scale.