Chapter Twenty-Five—"When You Lock the World Out…"

"Thanks for picking me up, Belle." Henry grinned as she opened the gates to the Sorcerer's House the morning after Rumplestiltskin had freed Regina and Robin. "It's kind of a long walk to get here from the loft."

"You're welcome." Belle smiled. "It's good to have company, after all, and you do have a great point about this house. There might be more than just those blank storybooks hidden away here, and I don't think we can afford to have more surprises."

"No kidding." Her step-grandson looked like he'd had quite enough surprises to last a lifetime. "It might be nice to get ahead of a problem for once instead of running around like crazy after everything goes to crap."

Belle almost chided Henry for his word choice, but she decided to let it pass. Weren't grandmothers supposed to be the indulgent ones, after all? Regina could worry about policing Henry's language if she didn't like him using 'crap'. Besides, she quite agreed. "Well, maybe we can figure out what other objects are hiding in the house and do just that."

"Yeah." Henry's grin was infectious. "So, where do you want to start?"

"Well, I thought we could start with whichever room randomly shows up out of nowhere," she replied as they walked into the front hall. "After all, this house does seem to sprout rooms when they're needed."

"Kind of like the Room of Requirement?" Brown eyes sparkled.

"Yes, I was actually going for the Harry Potter reference." Belle grinned. "But clever allusions aside, I've really started to think that this house is more than it seems. So far, there have been two different portals in it—neither of which showed up until exactly when we needed them. And the house itself just seems, I don't know…"

"Magical," Henry finished. "I think you're right. There's something really weird about this place. Does Grandpa Gold know what's up with it, or can Merlin's memories tell him?"

The mention of the old sorcerer, who was usually inside her husband's head and sometimes outside it, made Belle sigh. "Merlin's not that helpful. Usually. He has his own motivations, I'm afraid, and telling Rumple what's in a house Merlin never actually used isn't high on his list of priorities."

"Oh." Henry frowned thoughtfully. "Wait a minute, if Merlin never actually used the house, doesn't that mean that it should be Grandpa Gold's? I mean, he is the Sorcerer, now. Maybe you two should move in."

"We already have a house, Henry." But his earnest expression made her smile, and the idea did make Belle think. There were some good memories in their current home, but there were lots of bad ones, too. And there were so many reminders that the house had belonged to the Dark One that it sometimes took them both aback; Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin was trying to be better—and he had changed so much—but she also knew that there were times that the pink mansion brought him back to the many lonely years he had spent there. Maybe Henry is onto something, Belle thought. But…no. We can't.

"Hey, what's that?"

Henry had stopped by the big floor-to-ceiling windows in the huge living room, and was now pointing out at the sun-filled courtyard of sorts that seemed to serve as part of the backyard. There was a fountain there, Belle knew, but Henry headed out the door before she could get a word out, striding up to the fountain and studying it. Belle followed as quickly as she could, really looking at the fountain for the first time. It was strangely simple for such a fancy house, with a round base and two progressively smaller cup-like edifices coming out of that. Water jetted up into the air and then cascaded downwards gracefully, but it was just a decorative fountain. Wasn't it?

"There's writing on the base," Henry said, and Belle crouched next to him to read it. "'All Persons are Forbidden to Drink at this Fountain'," the boy read. "And there's something else, but it's not in English. I can't read it."

"I can." The words were in Gillikin, which was a variation of Elvish. Belle hadn't tried to read anything in Gillikin since her days in the Dark Castle, but she had been working her way through Elvish spell books lately, so it only took her a moment to puzzle out a translation. "All those who drink from the Forbidden Fountain of Oz will be banished from memory into the Waters of Oblivion."

"The Forbidden Fountain of Oz?" Henry echoed, and Belle could only nod as he turned to look at her with wide eyes. "Okay, stuff at this house just got a lot more weird."

"Not to mention more dangerous," she breathed.

Belle knew two different legends concerning forbidden fountains, after all, and no one seemed able to decide whichapplied to the Forbidden Fountain. Which was supposed to be in Oz, not Storybrooke. Still, one said that anyone who drank from the Waters of Oblivion would lose their memories…while the other said that they would be banished from the lands of fairy tales forever.

It just figured that the inscription could be read both ways. Another dangerous and magical thing had arrived in Storybrooke, and this really was the most inconvenient time for it.

They were gone.

Her trap had failed. It shouldn't have failed, though, and Zelena wanted to scream. Regina was all too full of herself, high on her so-called redemption and turning into someone who wanted people to think she was a goody-two-shoes. Zelena knew better, and the trap had been designed to expose Regina for what she was, but that hadn't happened. Dark magic hadn't been used to break out of her perfectly made trap. In fact, the trap hadn't been broken at all. It had been disassembled.

"It's not fair!" she wailed at the sky, glaring at the trees and tempted to fireball them.

Regina wasn't smart enough to do this. Zelena's little sister wasn't patient enough to bother. She was all brute power and as subtle as a sledgehammer to the head, even when she was using light magic. Regina couldn't have done this, which meant someone had helped her. It couldn't be Emma. Emma wanted Regina to suffer almost as much as Zelena did—and wasn't that just a priceless little change to the world? So, who had done it? Who had helped Regina? It certainly wasn't the idiot outlaw. He wasn't good for much except as a way to hurt Regina. Robin was dull and magicless, a stereotypical 'good guy' with a dark past. He was boring. And useless.

So, then, who?

They were all still out looking for Roland, a fact that made Emma feel a twinge of sick regret. She hadn't meant for Zelena to go after the child—but that did hurt Regina, didn't it? And Regina did deserve to be punished. So long as Zelena didn't actually hurt Roland, which Emma knew she could stop her from doing, everything would turn out for the best. Emma could make sure events played out according to her plan. The Wicked Witch thought she was so clever, but Emma was worlds more powerful than she was. She could handle Zelena.

For now, however, she had someone else to visit.

She'd been waiting in the sheriff's station when he walked in, accompanied by several others who left soon afterwards, heading off in four separate directions upon David's commands. Emma watched from the shadows as her father studied a map, his arms crossed and his expression grim. He looked worn and worried, and for a moment, she thought that Henry had been right—she should have been there for him. Emma hadn't just lost her mother; her father had lost Snow, too. And even though so much of her just wanted to be left alone to grieve, in her heart, Emma knew that was wrong. I'm not making this better by trying to face it alone, she thought, swallowing hard. Am I just making it easier for the darkness to influence me?

No. Still in the shadows, Emma shook her head firmly. She knew that she was the best one to contain the Dark One. She was the Savior, and she was better like this. She got more control over it every day, and that was why she was here, wasn't it? After all, her plan to make Regina suffer was bloodless. Oh, Roland might be traumatized a little, but he was young. He'd forget. And Emma would stop Zelena before it went too far. I might even enjoy that. First, however, her father.

David had turned to leave the station while Emma mused, so she stepped out of the shadows quickly, emotion overwhelming the need to look put together and in control. "Dad?"

"Emma." The word came from his lips like a prayer, and the relief on David's face was enough to make coming here worth it.

She gave him a tentative smile. "Hi."

"Hi." He didn't look like he knew what to say, either, but David stepped forward with a welcoming but strained smile, opening his arms to her. "Oh, Emma."

She shouldn't do it, Emma knew, but somehow she found herself stepping forward, burying her head in her father's chest and holding onto him for dear life. She'd missed this, missed belonging, and she wanted to cling to him forever. Maybe I can come back. I can fight this. I can—

He won't understand any more than the others do, a voice within her whispered, and Emma couldn't tell if it was her own. She didn't think those were her thoughts, but she still knew it was true. Even Killian doesn't really understand what you've become, much though he claims to. But at least he knows darkness. This one still wants to be a hero and defeat the darkness.

"What's wrong?" David asked suddenly. He must have felt her stiffen.

"Nothing," Emma said quickly, pushing the thoughts aside. "I'm sorry it took me so long to come. I just…"

"You were grieving. I know. I should have come to find you." Her father's voice was gentle, far gentler than Emma deserved. "I should have thanked you. You saved my life."

"No." Pain reared up, making her throat tight. Emma closed her eyes against tears. "I didn't. I didn't save either of you."

"If you'd let me argue against you ripping my heart out for much longer, I'd be dead, too," David said softly. "Instead…instead I carry your mother's heart within me. And I can feel her, here, with both of us."

"You…you can?" Emma looked up at him, gulping. She hadn't expected that. She hadn't known what to expect. Most of the time, she tried not to think about how it would be with Snow gone, just tried to bury herself in avenging her mother. But if what David was saying was true…

"Yeah." His smile was sad and a little broken, but strong all the same. "We both love you, Emma. No matter what."

"I'm not sure I'm worthy of that," she whispered before she could stop herself.

"Don't say that." David's words were surprisingly strong, and a large hand cupped Emma's face gently. "You're our—my—daughter. And I love you."

"I'm the Dark One." You won't understand.

"That doesn't mean you can't be loved. Or that you shouldn't be. There are so many of us who love you, Emma. So many of us who want to help you. I know it's been hard, and I can't imagine how lonely you've been, but your family is here for you."

A bitter snort tore out of her. "That's why Regina came to yell at me."

"She is Regina. Yelling is her way of saying she cares."

But the attempt at humor fell flat, and Emma pulled away, her face twisting up in a furious snarl. "She cares so much that she let my mother's murderer walk away. And Regina still wants to protect him!"

"Emma—"

"No! You might want to be understanding and not blame him, but I won't accept that." She backed away another step, glaring. "Arthur is going to die, and I'm going to make Regina pay for stopping me."

David rocked back like she'd dealt him a physical blow. "Is that why you let Zelena out? Henry said he thought it was you."

See? the darkness taunted her. Even the boy betrays you. They all will, eventually. Love is weakness. With an effort, Emma shoved the voice aside, not letting it goad her into more anger than she already felt roaring through her veins. Henry. Think of Henry, she told herself, desperately grasping for the love she felt for her son. Yes, Henry had guessed right, but she couldn't hold that against him, could she? It wasn't his fault that he still lived with Regina.

You should fix that. Keep him to yourself. Keep him safe.

"Where is he?" Emma demanded, avoiding the question David had asked. "Where's Henry?"

"He's with Belle. He wanted to help with the search, but with Zelena running around, it's too dangerous." There was something sad in David's expression, something resigned and broken that Emma refused to pay attention to.

"I won't let anyone hurt him," she snarled, affronted at the fact that her father even thought she'd endanger Henry. Letting Zelena run around freely went against Emma's initial vow to feed the darkness by stopping wrongdoers, but it was only temporary. She'd kept the magic-binding cuff, and would put it back on the annoying witch once she was done using her. Emma could make things right. She knew that.

"I know that," David said softly.

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to, dear.

David cocked his head, looking confused. "Like what?"

"Like I'm out of control." Emma took another step back, sucking in power to calm herself. "I'm not. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Letting Zelena out was wrong," her father said softly, stepping forward and reaching out to her. "Help us catch her. Help us find Roland. Please."

For a moment, she was tempted. Emma knew that she could help, that she could step back into the inner circle again—only to have someone decide she wasn't good enough the moment they remembered she was the Dark One. I don't belong there, anymore. I'm not blind, now. I used to worship the 'right' thing to do because it was expected. Now I'm free. Pushing aside her burning need to belong, as well as the almost overwhelming desire to hug her father once more, Emma pulled away from the gentle hand on her shoulder.

"We'll talk later," she promised, and vanished in a swirl of black smoke before her father could see her cry.

He doesn't understand. He can't. She knew that, but then why did leaving hurt so badly?

None of them can.

They stumbled on the room almost by accident. After finding the Forbidden Fountain, Belle and Henry had continued to explore, finding a second library full of actual books and not empty storybooks, an entire hall full of magical weapons (she'd had to pry Henry out of there), and a strange sort of garage holding two golden chariots. None of the rooms seemed to move, but there were definitely rooms there that neither of them remembered seeing before. Henry started taking notes on his phone as they headed out of the second library (which Belle had barely pried herself out of), muttering to himself about how this house made up for never getting his Hogwarts letter.

"Have we seen this one already?" Belle asked, stopping in front of a blue door around the corner from the library.

"I think so?" Henry looked down at his phone. "Um. Green door, purple door, double blue doors, garage with a chariot in it, and the room with no doors—nope, I didn't make note of a single blue door."

Chuckling, Belle reached for the doorknob. "Well, then, let's take a look."

"Sure." Henry tucked his phone away while she opened the door, and then they both froze, staring at the brilliantly colored playroom—where Roland sat on the floor, playing with an amazingly detailed set of toy soldiers.

For a moment, they both stood frozen, staring at the little boy, until he looked up with a sunny smile. "Henry!"

"Roland?" Henry stuttered, and then bolted forward. "Where have you been? Have you been here the entire time? We've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Uh huh." Roland nodded solemnly. "Mama brought me here. She said Papa is coming soon. Have you seen Papa?"

"Yeah, he's worried sick about you," Henry replied, and Belle met his wide eyes as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. They both could guess what had happened to make Roland think his mother had brought him there, and Belle felt sick.

"He doesn't know about Zelena?" she asked, pulling her own phone out as Henry sat down next to Roland.

"No. Mom, uh, wiped his memories of it. She and Robin thought it would be easier for him."

"I see." Belle wasn't sure if that had been the right call or not, but Roland wasn't her child. "I'll call Robin," she said instead of casting judgment, quickly dialing her friend's number. He picked up almost right away.

"Hello?"

"It's Belle," she said without preamble, stepping out of the room while Henry asked Roland about the soldiers he was playing with. "Henry and I are at the Sorcerer's House. We found Roland."

"You found him?"

"He's okay. But"—she closed the door quietly behind herself—"he thinks that Marian brought him here. I think Zelena's impersonating her again."

"Oh, God, I—" Robin cut off, sounding nauseous. Belle could almost hear him shaking his head. "Regina and I will be right there."

The second time Rumplestiltskin found himself within Merlin's memories, he at least knew what was happening. Yet seeing through Merlin's eyes was eerie; now he could think as himself even has he felt Merlin's thoughts and feelings. He was not quite Rumplestiltskin and not quite Merlin, more than a passenger yet less than a participant. Yet he knew that he recognized the beautiful woman sitting across the table from Merlin—even if Merlin's memories gave her a different name than the one that eluded Rumplestiltskin.

"She's gone, Merlin," Danns' insisted. Her voice was compassionate while her eyes were cold; Merlin didn't notice the victory lurking in the depths of the Black Fairy's gaze, but Rumplestiltskin did. He knew a manipulator when he saw one, after all. Merlin, however, was grieving.

"She…she was so strong. How could I let this happen?" Merlin was slumped in his chair, despondent. Grieving. "Nimue…"

"She volunteered," the other reminded him, and Merlin's head snapped up.

"Because none of us knew what would happen! I thought her goodness could overcome the darkness, and now—now—"

"Now she is a monster."

Merlin slumped again. "Yes."

"We must act," Danns said after a moment's silence. Rumplestiltskin studied her out of the corner of Merlin's vision, managing to isolate himself from the Sorcerer's crippling grief. She wasn't upset. No, the Black Fairy was calculating and measuring, watching Merlin grieve without a flicker of regret. She had supported him in creating the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin recalled. Merlin had done the work, but Danns' a'Bhais had encouraged him. And now she watched Merlin mourn for the loss of the woman he had loved—a realization that rocked Rumplestiltskin to his very core—with mild concern.

None of that concern, however, was for the Dark One. It was merely for Merlin. And it was not, Rumplestiltskin realized, strong enough to stop her.

"No." Merlin straightened. "I must act. I allowed Nimue to take that darkness on. Destroying her is my responsibility."

"She'll try to sway you," Danns' warned him. "You have seen how she is, now. She seeks to use your love against you, always."

"I know that," Merlin growled.

"Then kill her quickly, and be done with it."

Those words echoed in his mind with finality as Rumplestiltskin snapped out of the memories, sitting behind his workbench and blinking rapidly. Merlin had hesitated, weeping for the woman he had loved when he summoned the Dark One. He had fallen to his knees, nearly dropping the dagger, until Danns had arrived to remind him of his purpose. She was his best friend, Rumplestiltskin realized. Sometimes his lover, too. Merlin's love life had been complicated, although his grief for Nimue seemed real enough, he'd also had genuine feelings for the Black Fairy. Not love, but a close friendship that had made him trust her enough that he killed his former love when she told him to.

He didn't know that would make him the Dark One, but she had guessed. Rumplestiltskin shivered wildly. Bad enough that Merlin had let his own lover absorb the darkness and become the first Dark One; he had then killed her out of a broken sense of loss and duty, thus becoming the Dark One himself.

Shock had made Merlin drop the dagger, but Danns' a'Bhais had not hesitated a moment before picking it up.

"I can't do that twice," Regina whispered to Robin, who had Roland in his lap and was holding onto him tightly. The boy was oblivious to the danger he'd been in, giggling happily about his new toys. He'd clearly been lonely—because Zelena was bonkers enough to leave a four year old alone!—but Roland was unharmed.

And, unfortunately, of the belief that Regina's loony half-sister was his mother. Again.

"Why not?" Robin looked up worriedly.

"Zelena undid my first memory wipe. Messing with memories is difficult at best, and at his age, Roland's mind is still developing. Mucking around in his mind a third time might erase things we don't want him to lose."

"Oh." Robin glanced down at his son again, his face a mess of pain. Roland, however, remained oblivious, and hopped down to go show Henry the very nice television that the Sorcerer's House had apparently provided. "Then how do we explain this to him? It'll be like he's lost her all over again."

"I know." Regina sighed. From what Roland had told them, Zelena had told him that she—"Marian"—had been away for a bit to find them a new home where they would live happily ever after as a family. Now Roland wanted to know where his "mother" was, and there was no way to erase that. "I guess we tell him the truth."

"What, that the woman who killed his mother was impersonating her?" Robin hissed, and Regina laid a hand on his arm.

"We can tell him it was a mistake, and that his mother is still dead. That Zelena is a bad person and was wrong to impersonate Marian. We don't have to tell him the rest."

That was a horrible answer, but it was the best Regina had. Judging from Robin's sigh, he didn't have any better ideas. Aside from putting my insane sister under a sleeping curse so that she can't go after Roland again, anyway, she thought darkly. The thought had occurred to her before, but maybe it was a decent plan. People could give birth while under a sleeping curse, right? She'd have to ask Maleficent on that one.

"I guess so," Robin said softly, and Regina swallowed hard. She desperately wanted to hold him, to give him shelter from the hell in which she knew he was stuck, but Roland would wonder what was wrong if she did. So, Regina contented herself with taking his hand and squeezing his fingers gently.

This is the second time Zelena has hurt Robin and Roland to get to me, Regina thought darkly. But it's going to be the last. Her sister had wanted her to embrace her darkness again so that Zelena could 'expose' her for a fraud, but Regina wasn't going to do that. She was angry, yes—downright furious, in fact—but Regina had learned a thing or two since her days as the Evil Queen. There were other ways to stop Zelena, and then her victory would be the fact that Zelena was still healthy and alive to see Regina happy with her family.

"We'll tell him together," she promised, and Robin gave her a grateful smile. Whatever he had been about to say, however, died on his lips when Belle came back in the room.

"Zelena's been staying here," the librarian said, anger lurking in her blue eyes. "I found the room she's been using. There doesn't seem to be anything useful in it, but you might want to take a look."

The last bit had been directed at her, so Regina nodded, trying a nasty smile on for size. "Sure. I'd love the opportunity to dig through my big sister's toys."

"Toys?" Roland piped up before Henry distracted him again, but the fact that Roland was listening made all three adults inch closer to the door.

"Well, at least that tells us where she's been hiding." Robin ran a hand over his face tiredly; neither of them had really slept the previous night, not with Roland still missing. "Though I imagine she'll find somewhere else, now."

"Maybe we should go knock on Emma's door, next," Regina grumbled, and tellingly, no one argued with her.

"I think we're going to have to do something about this house, though," Belle said logically. "Henry and I found a number of objects and books that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, and I think the house itself is magical. We can't let people like Zelena take this place over."

"Shouldn't that be your problem? Or your husband the Sorcerer's?" Regina asked before she could stop herself. She was worn out and stressed, and more than a little annoyed that Rumplestiltskin had dropped the problem of Zelena so resoundingly in her lap. Granted, Regina did want to control how her sister was dealt with, but she would have thought the wily old bastard would be rather motivated to keep Zelena locked away.

Instead, he was holed up in his shop, researching obscure locator spells they now wouldn't need.

Belle rolled her eyes. "I'll talk to him."

Meanwhile, the Sorcerer had some unexpected visitors of his own. The first was David, who looked haggard and horrified. The other two, however, looked almost as dumbstruck but far less comfortable being there. Legacy of my reputation, I suppose, Rumplestiltskin thought wryly, watching King Midas look around the shop warily while Geppetto trailed behind him, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else and hoped that the two monarchs didn't notice him.

"We need some help, if you're willing," David said by way of greeting, and something in his tone made Rumplestiltskin close the book he'd been reading.

"Belle told me that she and Henry found Hood's boy. Is he all right?" Rumplestiltskin figured that Regina could heal any problems Roland had, so David's appearance suddenly pleading for his help made little sense. Yet he doubted that David would have brought along Midas and Geppetto if this had been about the boy. Despite himself, he was curious.

"As far as I know. Regina and Robin went to get him." David took a deep breath and glanced guiltily at the other two. "No, it's…well, it's something Zelena did. We were hoping you might be able to reverse it."

"Ah. That depends on what it is."

"She turned my boy—and three others—into stone," Geppetto spoke up. The old man swallowed hard and looked a little terrified, but he forged onwards. "No one found them until this morning."

"August, Kathryn, Frederick, and Michael Tillman were helping in the search last night," David explained. "Everyone assumed they'd kept looking until Archie found them while he was walking Pongo this morning."

"Can you turn them back?" Midas was more confident than Geppetto; he'd dealt with Rumplestiltskin more than once, after all, even when Rumplestiltskin had been the Dark One. After all, Midas would have turned everyone and everything into gold if Rumplestiltskin hadn't made that gauntlet for him. "I'll pay whatever price you demand. For all of them."

Geppetto turned towards Midas in shock, clearly intending to thank him, but Rumplestiltskin waved a hand.

"I'm not in that business anymore," he said, wondering how many more times he'd have to say something like that. Probably a thousand. Granted, magic—even his—still came at a price, but when it came to actually helping others, it wasn't a price anyone but Rumplestiltskin could pay. "At least not for things like this."

"Are you free now?" David asked as the other two gaped.

"Lead on."

Well, that hadn't exactly gone as planned. Still, Regina looked stressed and terrible, and Emma was certain that Zelena had other plans to make her sister miserable. That's good enough, she decided. Regina was distracted, and Zelena had unknowingly done her a favor by paying that little visit to Rumplestiltskin. The new Sorcerer had had an all-out panic attack, and since then, he'd stayed away from most people. The woman Emma had once been would have pitied him, or at least felt a pang of guilt with the realization that Zelena had damaged Rumplestiltskin far more than anyone had expected, but the new her simply shrugged. It meant that neither of the town's 'helpful' magic users were available to get in her way, so she was free to do as she saw fit.

Talking to her father had made her think of a few things, had made Emma realize that she didn't have that much time. She wanted revenge against Arthur, and the longer she waited, the worse acting against Camelot's annoying king would look. So, Emma needed to put her revenge first. Zelena was clever enough to make Regina suffer for weeks before she got caught, so Emma realigned her priorities. Arthur had killed someone she loved, so today someone Arthur loved would die.

She teleported herself to 'Widow Morton's' house with a thought, appearing on the front walk and striding towards the front door without missing a beat. Emma didn't know why Guinevere had been in Storybrooke this whole time, and she didn't really care. Arthur seemed to love his queen, so Emma would kill Guinevere. It's justice, she told herself. Maybe then she'd even leave Arthur alive afterwards. She could make him suffer like she suffered, like her father suffered. Then he could live with the heartbreak. Yes, the darkness whispered, deep in her mind and starting to sound like an old friend. That's beautifully ironic, and no one will be able to prove who did it. Arthur will know, but what he doesn't see, he can't prove.

She could come up with an alibi, too. Someone reliable. Maybe she'd go and apologize to Regina, say that she was sorry for overreacting, and express relief that Roland was all right. She wouldn't admit to letting Zelena go, of course—because it wasn't like they had evidence, only a lunatic would believe Zelena if she let the truthslip—but Emma could play nicely, and then she'd have a solid alibi for killing Guinevere and she'd have a front row seat to Regina's misery. Yes, that would be perfect, she decided as she waved a hand to force the polished teak front door open. Emma used enough magic that the door creaked and its hinges wailed, but she was eager to get on with it. Eager to let her power out to play.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Guinevere said from the living room that was to the right of the front hall. She was sitting in a leather armchair like it was a throne, watching Emma with uncannily calm green eyes. And she didn't rise. "Honestly, I thought it would be sooner."

"Are you in such a hurry to die?" Emma cocked her head curiously. Guinevere hadn't struck her as an idiot.

"Not at all. Would you care to join me for a drink? I'm very partial to this world's coffees."

"I'm not here to drink coffee with you," she spat, gathering power to herself. Her magic answered eagerly, swirling within her impatiently, and Emma felt a slight but hungry smile creasing her face.

Guinevere laughed, sipping her coffee out of a fine white china that cup was decorated by a strange black and silver design. "No, I imagine you're here to kill me so that you can make Arthur suffer."

"You'll learn not to be so blasé about that very quickly."

"Hardly." The other woman put her cup down in its saucer primly and then rose. She was tall enough to look Emma right in the eyes, but only barely. Yet there was something about her calm that set Emma's teeth on edge, something that set her instincts to screaming.

Emma was out of patience. "Do you have any last words for your dear husband?"

"No. Only actions, and they're for you."

Magic roared out before Emma could reply, smashing into her and throwing her back against the wall with a crash. The power was unlike anything Emma had ever felt before, dwarfing even her own nearly-inexhaustible well of darkness, and it made her feel like she was trapped in a swirling vortex of fury and pain. Angrily, she shook the blow off, bouncing away from the wall and gathering power into her own hands. She didn't need a complicated spell, just a hammer-blow, and Emma threw that at Guinevere with all her might.

Only to find that the other woman was gone, and her power dissipated into thin air. Whirling left, Emma almost turned in time to block the next blow, but it slammed into her, too, throwing Emma towards the door. Unfortunately, the door had somehow shut since her entrance, so she crashed into that, too, hearing wood splinter as she hit. Grunting in pain, Emma struggled to her feet. Don't stop now, the darkness taunted her. So far, you're worse at this than the coward was. At least he killed an army of ogres in his first battle. You're having your ass handed to you by Storybrooke's dance teacher! The mocking tone made Emma snarl wordlessly, and this time she summoned a pair of fireballs so potent and powerful that Regina would have wept with envy.

She'd burn the entire house down if she had to, because there was no way she was going to let Guinevere—

The fire sputtered and died in her hands, leaving Emma to gape. She could feel the magic closing in, suffocating her spells even as she worked them, and the Dark One definitely didn't appreciate that feeling. Desperately, she teleported towards the armchair that Guinevere had abandoned, hoping to free herself from the magical tendrils she could feel reaching out for her. But they followed, even when Emma threw a tidal wave of power at her opponent strong enough to make Guinevere fall back a step. Grinning, Emma wheeled on the older woman.

"I don't know what trick you're playing, but you can't stand up to me," she said, feeling the darkness singing viciously.

"Of course I can." Guinevere's smile was serene.

"Dream on. If you really—" the words chopped off as the invisible tendrils turned to tangible arms of dark magic, whipping around Emma and suddenly tightening.

Spinning, she summoned her own power to burn through them, but the other woman's magic twisted around Emma like a tornado, tightening until she could barely breathe and then picking her up off the floor. Urgently, she looked for a way around that, but even the spells that the darkness told her should break her free did nothing—and then Emma felt herself slam into the floor once, twice, and then a third time. She cried out despite her best efforts not to, but Guinevere ignored her pain. One slender white hand twitched, and Emma was torn off the floor after the third impact. The tornado constricted, and suddenly its edges were like sharp knives, cutting into Emma's clothes, her skin, and her very soul.

She fought furiously, but nothing she did worked. Once, she almost broke free, only to have the power slam her back into the floor another three times, and Emma felt ribs break. Her cries turned hoarse and painful. What doesn't kill you is food for revenge, the darkness snarled. Kill her!

I can't! Emma thought desperately, fighting with all she had and finding it not enough. Finally, however, the black and silver tornado dropped her, and Emma crumbled to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Dizzy and almost drunk on the pain, it took Emma a long moment of blinking to realize that Guinevere was standing over her.

"Now," the older woman said with a slight smile, "you were saying?"

Kill her, the darkness whispered impotently, raging against having been defeated so ignominiously.

"I'll kill you," Emma whispered thickly. Her mouth was full of blood.

Guinevere shrugged. "You're welcome to try. But if you persist, I will feel obligated to stop you. Including your little games with the Wicked Witch."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You can't prove anything."

"Can't I?"

"You're not the type to sit on evidence you can use."

"Oh, actually, I am. I tend to wait until I need something. But what I need right now is time, so I'm willing to make a deal with you, Dark One." A thin smile touched the pale face. "If you don't say a word about my magic—which, as you undoubtedly surmise, is a bit of a closely-held secret—I won't get in your way. I'll let you do what you want, unless, of course, it involves killing my dear husband. I can't have that."

"His death is what I want," Emma snarled.

"Are you so sure about that? Is there nothing that you want more?" The knowing look Guinevere gave her made Emma's stomach twist up in a knot. What did she want?

I want my family back, she thought, and for once the desire was purely her own, not the darkness'. The Dark One inside her was strangely silent, maybe cowed a little, and Emma's thoughts were her own. For the moment. I want to be rid of this darkness. I want to be me again—

No. I don't. Even if it's pulled out of me, it'll just infect someone else. And I'm the Savior. No one else can stand up to it like I can. I just need…I just need to not be alone. Then I can do this. Emma couldn't tell if the darkness was working on her or not; she didn't think it was, but how could she tell when it often infected her very thoughts? But her concern about Guinevere was genuine enough. And I need to figure out who the hell this woman is and if she's a threat to Storybrooke.

"Why do you want time?" she demanded, struggling to her feet. Emma was pretty sure that she had a few broken ribs, and her left leg felt strangely heavy, too. She could feel the power rolling through her, though, making her body work even when it hurt. The darkness was good for that, she realized. Only the dagger could kill her. Anything else was just pain.

"I have my reasons. Now, do we have a deal, or do we resume our little…tête-à-tête?" That smile was sharp enough to cut diamonds.

Time would serve Emma, too, though. Maybe being hit in the head was what she needed; she felt more like herself than she had in weeks. This woman, whoever she was—Emma wasn't convinced that she was merely Guinevere, not now—was dangerous. And Emma needed time to figure out how to beat her and what she wanted.

"Fine," she snapped. "We have a deal."

"Good." Green eyes narrowed. "Now, Dark One, get out of my home. You are not welcome here. Yet."

Kill her!

No. Emma would not be stupid just because the darkness was angry. Leveling one last glare at Guinevere—she still wanted to kill the woman to make Arthur suffer, but Arthur no longer seemed to be a threat worthy of attention—Emma summoned up all the dignity she could muster and teleported away.

Even having seen Rumplestiltskin stabilize a magical portal—not to mention the dozen or so other acts of magic he'd seen from the man over the years—David was surprised how quickly the new Sorcerer was able to turn August, Kathryn, Frederick, and Michael Tillman back from being stone statues. Rumplestiltskin merely studied the four of them for a moment, head cocked and wearing an unreadable expression, and then twirled a hand in the air. Immediately, the stone façades melted away from all four figures, leaving them staggering and blinking.

"—id. He said that he thought you let Zelena out." August had clearly been in mid-sentence and hadn't noticed that the situation had changed just a bit while he'd been a stone statue.

Still, it took a moment for David to comprehend what he'd just said, and when the words sank in, he felt like his heart had been torn from his chest. Again. "Who were you talking to?"

August turned to stare at him, blinking in confusion. "What—what the hell happened?"

"You were turned to stone statues," Rumplestiltskin answered bluntly. "You'll be fine, though your mouth might be a bit dry."

"Yeah." The former puppet worked his jaw distractedly. "Just a bit. You turned us back?"

"Yes." Did Rumplestiltskin flinch slightly? David wasn't sure. He was still thinking about what August had said. He knew what it had to mean, but he didn't want to know. He didn't.

"Well, I guess you're not the Dark One, anymore." August shrugged. "I guess all four of us just saw how much that can change someone."

"Emma did this to you." The words came out, flat and broken, before David could even completely admit it to himself.

"Yeah. She didn't like how we overheard Henry say that she'd let Zelena out."

Someone crushing his heart had hurt less than this. "Oh."

To give August credit, he looked unhappy, but that couldn't even approach the wild maelstrom of pain in David's heart. He could almost feel Snow's hand gripping his desperately; his fingers closed tightly on thin air, because he needed someone to cling to, now. His daughter had done this? To a man who had been her friend, and three other people? She had seemed so conflicted when she had come to see him just that morning, so broken and so alone. David had reached out to her, and he'd almost gotten through to her—and yet Emma had known she'd done this. She didn't even mention that she'd left four people as statues. Is this what she meant when she said I wouldn't understand?

Watching numbly as Midas hugged his daughter and son-in-law only increased the pain; David just stood there as Michael Tillman headed off with August and Geppetto. Emma, his daughter, had done this. She was the Dark One, but he had been so convinced that she was doing better after she'd killed Granny. Emma had seemed to be fighting the darkness; Killian had told David how afraid of it she was, and that she seemed to be winning.

Except this. This was just plain cruelty, all because Emma hadn't liked something people had told her. Emma can still love, Belle had told him. She still feels everything, but her ability to care about how other people feel is severely impaired. Was that what had happened here? Or had the darkness told her to do this?

"She didn't kill them, you know," Rumplestiltskin said quietly from his side, and David finally remembered to look at the former Dark One.

"No, she just turned them to stone." David knew he sounded broken and bitter, but what parent wanted to see their child do this?

"Many Dark Ones would have." There was no condemnation in Rumplestiltskin's voice; he merely spoke facts. "She's not lost yet."

"But her doing this doesn't mean she's fighting it, either."

"Does it?" The other man snorted. "Do you have any idea how many horrible things I did, particularly in the early days? I was terribly fond of turning people into snails and crushing them, and yet—even after that—I did learn to fight the darkness. Usually."

"But she—"

"It's not that black and white," Rumplestiltskin cut him off, making David blink. "This isn't black and white. She can't always win. If you could defeat the Dark One by mere force of wanting to, that darkness would not be such a terrible curse. You can succeed for a while, but in the end, it always comes back to you."

"You helped us. You killed Pan." The words stuck in his throat. "You weren't indiscriminately turning people into statues, or snails, or anything else." But my daughter, the Savior, is. David wanted to cry.

"After centuries of experience managing that darkness. She's learning."

"Is she?"

Rumplestiltskin gestured at where the four statues had stood. "Otherwise, those four would be as dead as Granny."

Roland was safe, so Henry tried to call Emma. He knew that she'd let Zelena out—she hadn't quite said so, but Henry knew Emma well enough to know when she was lying. And he desperately wanted to know why. Emma wasn't like that; she cared about people! No matter how angry she was, Henry knew there had to be a way to get through to her. Grandpa Gold had told her that Emma needed love and support more than she'd ever let on, and Henry was determined not to leave her alone.

But she didn't answer when he called, and after three attempts, he put the phone down glumly and headed downstairs to where Regina and Robin were trying to explain Marian's death to Roland. Then, a little bitterly, he decided that he should just talk to his mom's boyfriend. At least she let Killian through the door when she was upset, and someone had to check on her. Even if it couldn't be him.

Killian let himself into the house when Emma didn't answer his calls, either; Henry had found him in the diner with David, and had told them both about how Emma wouldn't answer his calls at all. They were all still more than a little shocked at the idea that Emma would ever work with Zelena—dark as she was growing, it seemed so out of character for her. David had already told Killian about how he and Emma had spoken earlier, and how Emma had almost seemed willing to listen before she abruptly left, so Killian headed out towards the house he shared with Emma, hoping that adding his concern to David's would get through to her.

Mordred, of course, walked up before he'd managed to make it five steps away from Granny's front door.

"Killian, I—"

"Not now, mate," he cut his newly-found uncle off. "I have to be somewhere."

Mordred stopped and studied him intently. "I understand. Can we talk another time? There is something I'd like to run by you. Something I think can help."

A strange feeling twisted in Killian's gut; he should have told David, at least, about Mordred's offer to help Emma. Keeping it a secret from Emma was one thing; she'd made it obvious that she didn't want to give up being the Dark One. By now, Killian knew that they would have to save her over Emma's objections, so although he felt guilty for deceiving her, it was for the best. David, however…well, David felt like he did. I should tell him, Killian decided. But later. First, I need to make sure she's all right…and not letting some other psychopath out of prison.

"Tomorrow," Killian answered. "I'll find you at your…castle." Saying that sounded ridiculous in this world, but his paternal uncle had gone and built himself an impressive fortress in the forest, so Killian would call it what it was.

"Tomorrow it is." Mordred nodded and strode away, but neither of them noticed Zelena watching from the shadows.

"I think we have to do something about that house, Rumple," Belle said as they prepared dinner together. She was chopping vegetables—which they both knew was safer than letting her use the stove, even after all this time in Storybrooke (her early attempts at cooking had nearly burned the house down, which Rumplestiltskin still teased her about)—while her husband worked on the chicken. A part of her still marveled at the fact that they were back to an easy, domestic relationship that felt more real and open than the few moments they'd managed to steal in the past, but the rest of Belle was getting used to having her husband back.

Blissfully, delightedly, used to it. She liked the man he was now, and she thought Rumple was beginning to do so, as well. For the first time in his life, I think he's happy with who he is, she thought, putting down the knife to wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his cheek impulsively.

His glowing smile was a welcome reward for the kiss, and Rumplestiltskin beamed down at her. "The Sorcerer's House?"

"Unfortunately, Regina pointed out that it kind of is our problem." Coming up on her tiptoes, she perched her head on his shoulder. "Given how you are the Sorcerer and all. And I did find it in the first place."

"And it's chock full of magical objects, portals, and the Forbidden Fountain," her husband groused. "As well as being, apparently, a safe haven for Zelena to use at her leisure."

"On the bright side, I doubt she'll go back? Right after I found the room she'd been using, the house seemed to, um, swallow it whole."

"Did it?"

Belle shrugged, squeezing her husband's waist as she felt him try to relax despite the mention of Zelena. "Well, the room disappeared. So did the stuff she left in it. I don't think the house liked her at all."

"Or perhaps you didn't." Rumplestiltskin studied her contemplatively, and Belle knew the look on his face. He had an idea, and it was going to be a good one.

"Emma?" Killian called gently. She hadn't been downstairs, but her car was out front. While he knew that Emma teleported as often as she drove these days, the fact that the damn cat wasn't downstairs indicated that she was home. Poor Bandit was always more friendly towards Killian when Emma wasn't around; at first, the cat had seemed hostile towards him, too, but the nastier Emma treated it, the more the cat sought him out. Sometimes, Killian thought the beastie was trying to tell him something, but he knew that was more than a little crazy.

She didn't answer, so he made his way up the stairs, pushing thoughts of Emma's angry cat out of his mind. The wooden steps creaked under his feet ominously, and Killian tried to push his irrational worry out of his mind. She's the Dark One. It's not like anyone can really hurt her. I know better than anyone how hard that is!

Yet Killian knew that there was a big difference between physical and emotional damage. Emma was still suffering from the loss of her mother, still grieving deeply in a way she refused to share. She said she was fine, that she was stronger now, but he knew that the wounds ran deeper than Emma would admit. She cried when she thought he wasn't looking, cradling her baby blanket to her chest in dark corners when he wasn't supposed to be home. He'd caught her making dream catchers and drawing out her own memories of Mary Margaret to watch, but Emma always hid them away when he approached, and she wouldn't talk to him about it.

Killian just wanted to help her, just wanted to hold her, but Emma only wanted passion, lust, and—fortunately—love. But she didn't want comfort and she refused to be 'weak', no matter how many times he told her that grieving wasn't weakness. His heart broke for the woman he loved, because he knew that Emma was there underneath the façade of the Dark One, suffering in lonely silence. He'd never truly appreciated how much the darkness could warp someone until now, because while Emma had been closed off, she had never been—

"Emma!" Her name tore out of him as he opened the door to their room, finding Emma lying on her side on the bed, bruises covering her face. Her expression was listless, and she just looked battered; her tight bun was half torn out, and her clothes were dirty and even her pants were ripped above the left knee.

She didn't even look at him, just kept staring at the far wall. "I'm fine."

"Emma, love, you look—you look—"

"Don't say it," Emma cut him off flatly, sitting up. But Killian didn't miss the wince of pain.

"You're hurt," he whispered, approaching her as slowly as he would a wounded animal. These days, there was no telling what would make Emma flee. "Let me help you."

"I said I'm fine!" Hazel eyes turned on him furiously, but the anger dissipated quickly, replaced by the same listlessness.

"All right." Killian reached the bed and crouched next to her, reaching out to put his hand gently on her arm. "Can I do anything?"

"Yes. You can leave."

Resolutely, Killian pushed back the pain those cold words caused. This isn't Emma, he told himself. This is the Dark One refusing to show weakness. "I'm not going to leave you when you're like this."

"This is what I am," she snarled, bounding to her feet, and shoving him back. Tripping, Killian almost fell, barely catching himself as he flailed. "Get used to it."

"Have I implied that I'm not?" he demanded before he could stop himself. "I'm trying to be here for you, but you keep locking me out!"

"You want me to be weak. You want me to be who I used to be, some afraid little damsel who you can play hero for," Emma retorted, rounding on him with blazing eyes. "But I'm not. I'm stronger, and I don't need your help!"

"You certainly need someone to help you from getting worked over like that." The moment the words were out, Killian knew they were a mistake, but Belle had been right. Loving a Dark One was hard, even when you knew that the real person was under there and didn't just have to take that on faith. He loved Emma with all his heart…but saying that he didn't want the old Emma back would have been a lie.

"I can take care of myself." Her eyes flashed, but her voice went cold. "Now, why don't you go help my father since you both have become so buddy-buddy?"

"We both want to help you, love."

Emma's smile was frigid enough to cool the room by a dozen degrees or so. "Someday, you'll understand that I don't need help. Until then, get out."

"What?" Shocked, he rocked back a step, staring at her.

"I said to get out of my house." Emma stepped close to him, laying her hand on his chest and leaning in. "I'm not what you want. You want her, the woman I used to be."

"I never said that," Killian objected. "What brought this on? What made you think—"

"I can see it in your eyes!"

Hurt finally made his fury rise to meet hers, and Killian found himself shouting: "That's because you're not listening to what I'm saying! I love you, Swan. Only you. Loving means helping someone when you see them hurt. It doesn't mean I think you bloody weak! You're the strongest person I know. You always have been."

The anger in her eyes wavered, and for one heartbreaking moment, Killian could see Emma breaking through. "I—I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know what's gotten into me. It's like I can't stop myself."

"I know, love." Reaching out, Killian wrapped his good arm around her, and was so relieved when she didn't pull away. He didn't understand, but he was going to do his best to stand by her.

Did that mean he was enabling her? He knew that David had asked her about letting Zelena go, and Emma had refused to discuss that. Killian burned to bring the same subject up but he knew that would probably only result in Emma pushing him away, too. Killian refused to help Emma do anything so wrong, but was ignoring what was happening so that he could try to help the real Emma—not this impostor who he saw daily—any better? He didn't know. He just knew that he couldn't abandon her when she was so racked by darkness and by grief.

"You should go," Emma said softly, but at least now her voice was empty rather than full of darkness. "I'm…I can't stop myself. And I don't want to endanger you, either."

"You'd never hurt me." He knew that like he knew his own name. Better, actually.

Emma drew away, tears in her eyes. "I was almost angry enough to."

"But you didn't."

"You should go. I…I need to be alone for a little while. I'll call you." As he watched, the bruises on her face faded, and her clothing repaired itself. It was like watching Emma vanish as the cracks closed, leaving only the Dark One in her place.

"I'd rather stay." Killian tried to step forward again, but he never made it, instead finding himself on the loft's front doorstep.

Inside, he could hear baby Neal crying, and he knew exactly how the infant felt.

Author's Note: Next up, Chapter Twenty-Six—"You're Locked In", where Emma finds new purpose, Zelena throws a tantrum, Henry goes to his grandfather for magical help, and Sir Percival starts investigating Belle.

While you're waiting, don't be shy! Reviews are cookies, and as I write madly for NaNo, they are the best encouragement ever.