Chapter Twenty-Six—"You're Locked In"
Emma was glad she didn't have to sleep, because doing so without Killian there the night before would probably have been impossible. But she couldn't trust herself. She knew that, which was why she'd sent him away. She had let Zelena out, and she'd even thought it was a good idea. Self-revulsion bubbled up at that thought; Zelena had endangered a child who Emma knew, and Emma had done nothing. What am I becoming?
Better, the voice inside her whispered. Stronger. You'll take what you want.
Except she'd failed in that, too. She had gone to take revenge on Arthur by killing Guinevere—as Arthur had killed Emma's mother—and she had failed. Guinevere, somehow, possessed powerful and terrifying magic the like of which Emma had never seen before. Camelot's queen, once merely an aloof widow who stayed on the fringes of Storybrooke society, had beaten the Dark One handily. Fury rose up inside Emma at the very thought, but she pushed it down with an effort. She had to figure out what had happened there. She had to figure out what Guinevere was after, why the woman wanted time. Emma had agreed not to tell anyone about the other woman's magic, but she hadn't said that she wouldn't do anything in the meantime. Or that she couldn't lead others towards finding out about it.
Having a purpose made her feel better, more like herself. She could do this. Emma could be the Dark One and still help others. Oh, she still burned for revenge against Arthur and needed to put Regina in her place, but once Regina had suffered enough, Emma would let that end. And as much as the idea hurt, killing Arthur could wait, too. First, she needed to figure out how to protect Storybrooke from Guinevere—for whom, Emma was beginning to suspect, Arthur might be no more than a pawn.
Did she want my mother dead? The thought hit her hard, taking Emma's breath away with the force of the blow. It wasn't impossible. Arthur claimed not to have known what was happening when he'd stabbed Snow, but he might have been lying. And Guinevere could definitely have been involved if that were the case.
Don't trust her, the darkness whispered suddenly, making Emma blink. She's more than you think. Immediately, Emma tried to probe into that knowledge, but there remained a stubborn blankness, and emptiness in the collective memories of the Dark Ones that she hadn't yet encountered. Many times, she had been able to dig into those memories to find information, spells, and even actual images of past events, but now there was nothing save a vague warning that made her skin crawl.
Emma felt cold. She had sent Killian away to protect him from her darkness, but she wasn't the real threat, was she? Even the darkness within her wasn't the threat. She was fairly certain that she wasn't just being paranoid, either. There was something going on in Storybrooke, something she'd been blind to. And everyone else was so focused on her that they'd missed it, too. But it was time that stopped. One member of her family was dead already, and Emma's instincts told her that Guinevere might endanger others.
It was time to find out exactly who and what Guinevere was. And then destroy her.
Mordred watched the Dark One leave her home, and grimaced. He had feared that he was right, but the gauntlet confirmed his suspicions: she was keeping the dagger with her at all times. Apparently, the new Dark One had learned from the experiences of her predecessors, and chose not to hide the dagger anywhere save on her person. Pity. He needed the dagger for his plans, and asking Killian to get it from her would break the fragile trust between them.
Well, then. He would simply have to find a way to force her to give it up.
"I'm not sure you want me to babysit, mate," Killian said as David pulled his jacket on, and a part of David figured that the pirate certainly was right. After all, what father in his right mind allowed a (mostly) reformed pirate to watch their small child? But he'd come to know Killian fairly well in the past months, and he knew that the other man loved his daughter. He won't let anything happen to Neal because of his love for Emma, David thought, throwing Killian a teasing smile.
"What, you can face horrible monsters without flinching, but you're afraid of a baby?"
"Hardly. But the little lad might be afraid of me." Killian's expression grew a little pitiful. "Wouldn't he be better off with Henry? I'm sure that he'd be happy to help."
"Henry's got other plans, I'm afraid." David had spoken to his grandson about said plans that morning, and had approved of Henry's overarching goal—as well as his desire to pull his paternal grandfather into the mess. "Besides, it's only until Ella can get here. She has to take Alexandra to the doctor's this morning for a follow-up. It should only be an hour or two."
Killian groaned. "While you get to do exciting things like organize a manhunt for Zelena."
"The perks of being sheriff, I'm afraid." David chuckled before turning serious. "Thank you, though. I feel a lot more comfortable knowing Neal is with someone I can trust."
"I'm honored by your trust, David." Something flashed across Killian's face that David couldn't read. "I merely hope I'm worthy of it."
Was that the old doubts rising up, or something else? David knew that Killian wasn't always comfortable with how his past didn't quite merge with the Charming family ethos, but he'd thought they were past that.
"You are," he reassured the other man, and then headed out. He had a Witch to catch.
"At least Rumple decided to give me something useful," Regina groused, fighting the urge to roll her eyes as she put the magical globe down on the desk in her office. Her old teacher might have stepped away from dark magic, but he was still as ornery and as difficult as ever. Figuring out which way Rumplestiltskin was going to jump was still a challenge. "I would have thought he'd be as motivated as we are to get Zelena locked up again."
"I really just think he doesn't want to deal with her, honestly," Robin said quietly from her side, and that made Regina turn to give him an odd look.
He'd said something just like that when Regina had asked Rumple about why he was staying out of this fight, and it hadn't made sense then, either. Rumplestiltskin had tried to kill Zelena—hell, he'd succeeded, technically!—and then he'd worked with her. While Regina was prepared to admit that he had done the latter under duress, she knew how much her mentor hated her sister. She even agreed with him wholeheartedly, which meant that the old bastard should have been the one insisting on this spell, not her. She opened her mouth to say just that, but Robin shook his head to forestall her.
"Just leave it," her lover said gently. "I understand things a lot better now, given what happened in New York."
Regina frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Let's just say that I'm not the only one who Zelena took advantage of," he replied grimly, and Regina jerked back in shock.
Robin couldn't mean what she thought he did. No. Zelena wasn't that crazy—
But of course she was. She doesn't have any sense of boundaries. I thought I was bad as the Evil Queen, but Zelena is far, far worse. Regina turned the thought over in her mind carefully, divorcing emotion from the equation and thinking about what Robin was implying. She'd never even considered it before, but Zelena had had the dagger for months. And she seemed to hate Rumplestiltskin almost as much as she hated Regina—she'd even gone to great lengths to kill his son! Regina had never stopped to wonder why, given that Rumple had taught them both. I assumed that was because of me, but what if there was something else there?
Regina really didn't want to think about that. Their mother had been involved with Rumplestiltskin. Was she the only vaguely sane member of their entire family? Regina knew that she'd done some terrible things in her life, but in comparison to her mother and her sister, she at least felt like she was a reasonably rational person.
"Just thinking about that makes me sick," she whispered.
Robin's smile was very crooked. "You and me both."
"Oh, Robin, I'm sorry. I…" She didn't know what else to say, so Regina just reached out to take his hand, and his smile grew a little less strained.
"Let's just find her, yeah? I know I'd sleep a lot better knowing she's locked away again."
Neither of them had to mention the nightmares Robin had experienced when they'd finally gotten to sleep the night before; Regina just squeezed his hand tightly and nodded. "Me, too."
Studying the globe, Regina took a deep breath. For someone who had brewed more than a few sleeping curses, she really did hate pricking her own fingers, but the damn thing used blood magic, so blood it would have to be. At least she knew that Zelena was the only relative she had running around town, unlike a certain pirate who had just discovered that he had an uncle and a grandmother he'd never known about. I'm glad Mordred isn't my uncle, Regina thought wryly. Even if it would mean he'd stop looking at me like I'm the most attractive woman he's ever seen.
"I hate bleeding," she grumbled, reaching her hand out. But at least the irony of using her mother's globe to find her sister was faintly amusing.
"Then why bother?" Zelena's giggle made Regina's head whip around. "I'm right here. No need to go looking for me, sis."
"Well, that certainly saves time," Regina growled, instinctively stepping between Robin and Zelena. "So, why don't you help things along and come back to the asylum quietly?"
Zelena lounged against the doorframe lazily. "Fat chance. I like my freedom. I just wanted to come check on my dear sister and ask how it was to have to ask someone to rescue you from my trap."
"How about I ask you how it feels to be charbroiled?" Regina snarled before she could stop herself, and years of habit brought a fireball to her hand.
"Regina." Robin's voice was soft, as was the hand suddenly on her arm. "You can't."
"Yes, you wouldn't want to hurt the baby, would you?" Zelena cooed. "My baby. Who you'll never have."
"You don't deserve that child."
"Well, if I don't, neither do you," Zelena shot back. "You were every bit as evil as I am wicked, yet you get to keep Henry. And no one's trying to lock you away, either, despite all you did."
"I've worked to make up for that!"
Zelena snorted, but Robin got in before she could say more. "Speaking of being locked away, how did you get out?"
"Someone let me out, of course." Her eyes gleamed. "But I won't tell you who. I'll let you guess, lover." She blew Robin a kiss. "I'll give you a clue, though. Not everyone likes your precious Regina."
"That's such a surprise." Regina rolled her eyes and took several steps forward. "C'mon, sis. Give it up. Storybrooke's not that big, and you've lost your hidey hole. We'll track you down wherever you go."
"Not without that globe, you won't!" Zelena's smile was dazzling, and Regina realized just what she meant a moment too late. She whirled around, reaching—both physically and with magic—for the globe, but it was too late. The globe and Zelena both vanished in a cloud of green smoke, leaving Regina and Robin alone.
Regina broke the lamp on her desk before she could rein in her fury.
Grandpa Gold really was very different now, Henry decided. For one, he was a lot more soft spoken, a little more hesitant. He also had a lot less sharp edges, though Henry had a feeling he could be just as snarky and short-tempered if pressed. But he smiled more, now, too, reminding Henry almost painfully of the dad he hadn't known for nearly long enough. His brown eyes were warmer, too, and Henry had a feeling that Grandpa Gold sometimes saw Baelfire when he looked at Henry, just like Henry sometimes saw his dad when he looked at his grandpa.
It made them both a little sad, but that was okay. It was a good kind of sad, at least, or the best kind you could get when things were the way they were. Right now, however, Henry had two other parents to straighten out, so as much as he wanted to start asking questions about his dad, he knew it needed to wait. "So, I was kind of hoping you could help me with something," he said after they got the hellos out of the way and settled in behind the counter in the pawn shop.
"What kind of something?" Rumplestiltskin asked curiously. Gramps would just say yes, but then, he doesn't have the Sorcerer's power at his disposal. I guess that makes you have to be careful, doesn't it? But he didn't mind the caution. Henry liked the way his two granddads were different. It made things interesting.
"Mom—Emma—is mad at my other mom. I'm pretty sure she let Zelena out because of it." Henry tried not to sigh, and failed. "I know Emma wanted to kill Arthur, and Regina stopped her. Now that she's the Dark One, I'm not sure she can forgive that. Can she?"
Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath before answering. "She can, but it's hard. In the early days, feeling anything but fury and darkness is very hard. Emma's strong—far stronger than I—but the darkness has its ways to warp things without you noticing."
"I kind of figured that, yeah. She's not the same, even when she's trying to be." Henry bit his lip. He wasn't there to complain. He wanted to help Emma, and the best way to do that was to get her to come back to her family. Still, it was nice when Grandpa Gold put his hand on his shoulder. Really nice.
"No, she isn't." The fact that Grandpa Gold didn't make excuses or try to tell Henry things weren't that bad was a big relief, too, and it helped Henry force himself back on track.
"So, uh, I was wondering if there was a way to lock the two of them in a room together. Without magic. I'm sure I can talk Mom into it, but Emma's going to be more difficult. She might not want to."
His grandfather's eyebrows rose. "You want to lock them up until they come to an understanding?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"That's a…novel concept." Henry could watch the brilliant mind whirling, could see options flashing through Rumplestiltskin's eyes. So he waited patiently, hopefully, until his grandfather said: "Unfortunately, there isn't a location inside Storybrooke where that will work. Not one that can be constructed on short notice, or without a great deal of power we may not be able to spare at the moment."
"But you have an idea." Henry felt a grin tugging at his lips.
Brown eyes met brown; Rumplestiltskin smiled back. "Yes, I have an idea."
Unfortunately, Regina had been right. She had lost her nice hiding spot, all thanks to Rumple's annoying librarian and Regina's nosy brat. Zelena had, of course, made that pesky little deal with Emma that said she wouldn't hurt Henry—and keeping that deal was useful for the moment—but that didn't mean she couldn't punish Rumple's little woman. And hurt him while I'm at it. I should have made him kill her when she came down to 'rescue' him, Zelena thought, still annoyed with herself for letting that opportunity pass by. However, she could make up for that, now. In part.
Most of the town was out looking for her, she knew, in a massive and pointless manhunt. But none of them were hunting on the nicer residential streets, particularly not the ones with the extra-expensive houses. So, Zelena teleported herself to the front lawn of #403 St. George Street, pausing to study the massive pink house for several moments. No one seemed to be home, which was a pity; Zelena would have happily burned Rumple's former maid to a crisp. But, still, she would be delighted to make the woman suffer, and what better way to do that than to destroy her home?
It really was an ugly pink monstrosity, anyway.
Zelena knew exactly which spells to use, and she twisted them up together before letting the power flow out of her hands. Rumple always thought he was so smart, but he didn't really have much in the way of protections on his house, now did he? She imagined that most of them had vanished when he'd ceased to be the Dark One, and whatever magic he had now clearly wasn't powerful enough to stop her. That thought made her grin, and Zelena stayed to watch the pink house start to burn.
Her bird tracked Killian easily. Pigeons were her animal of choice for Watching Spells, as they went everywhere and no one noticed them (they were also obstinate creatures that were touchy by nature, which Morgan appreciated), and this one was clever enough in its own way. Morgan had befriended the bird before placing a minor compulsion spell on it that allowed her some minor control, but the bird generally seemed to understand what she wanted while she watched through its eyes.
Of course, her magic was still as touchy as the pigeon. It came and went, still suffering from the massive outlay of power she had put forth so many centuries earlier. Morgan supposed that freezing herself and a few others in that crystal cave had not been wise—nor had been her ill-advised foray outside of it three centuries earlier—but her choices had been limited at the time. She had already been exhausted by creating the portal that had sent Lancelot and his companion to the Enchanted Forest, and exhaustion had made her easy prey for the new Dark One. Still, she should have made sure to keep an eye on Ragnelle and the boys, even when her power flagged, which was why Morgan felt the need to spy on her grandson, now.
He really did look like Gwaine. Watching him made Morgan's heart tighten in her chest; she knew that she had never been the best of mothers, but she had loved her sons as well as she had been able. Losing Gwaine, even though he had chosen the risks, had believed in the plan she and Mordred had cobbled together, still burned, even after all these years. She might have hated her husband, but Gwaine had been her son. Lot had only ever been a brutal oaf who lied and murdered.
Killian, however, seemed to be cut from his father's cloth. Right down to loving someone to distraction.
Even as she watched—with the pigeon perching on the white picket fence outside the Charmings' loft—Killian pulled his ringing phone out of his pocket. His face lit up when he saw who was calling. "Emma!"
Morgan took a deep breath and inched the bird closer, catching some of what the Dark One said in response:
"…have said that. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to protect you, because I don't want to be like Rumplestiltskin and hurt those I love."
"You haven't," Killian told her in the voice of a man who was too deeply in love. "And you won't. I know that."
"I wish I had your confidence."
You shouldn't, Morgan thought towards her grandson. She knew firsthand how much loving a Dark One could hurt…but at least this one seemed to love Killian back. I was a fool, but will he follow in my footsteps, or have better luck? There was no way to know, not really, until everything either fell apart or didn't.
"It starts by not pushing us away," Killian told his Dark One. "The croc—Rumplestiltskin—and I may never get along, but even I can tell you that he did better when he was with Belle. I think that he needed reminding that you need something to fight the darkness for."
There was a long moment of silence, and for a moment, Morgan wondered if her grandson had gone too far, pushed too hard. Then Emma's voice came very quietly: "Killian, I…"
"It's not just me, love. It's all of us. You have a family who wants to love you and be here for you. Don't forget that."
"I…I'll try not to." The next words were so quiet that Morgan could barely hear them: "Can…can you come back?"
She didn't bother to listen to Killian's excited response. Instead, she just turned the matter over in her head, wondering if her own prophecy—the one Merlin, the prat that he was, had absconded with and made his own—about the Savior destroying the Dark One might just be true, after all. She'd always known things would be complicated, and Merlin had foreseen that the two might merge…but perhaps things were not what they had anticipated.
Sighing, Morgan realized that she really needed to talk to her son. Mordred's age-old quest might have turned out to be easier than anyone could have believed.
Rumple had been cranky about going to Granny's for lunch, but Belle had talked him into it. She liked checking in on Ruby every now and then, and besides, Ruby had taken to including extra pickles for free when her husband wasn't looking. Belle knew that Ruby had actually taken a liking to this new and improved Rumplestiltskin, who tried to pretend he wasn't looking out for her. He'd thrown Gilles Conomor (known as Bluebeard back in their world) straight out of the pawn shop for trying to rent the diner out from under Ruby, not even bothering to let Ruby know that Conomor had offered twice what Granny had paid for the place on a monthly basis. He might not even have told Belle about that if she hadn't walked in on Conomor smugly pointing out that Gold had always been mercenary enough to take the money and not ask questions.
Some of Storybrooke, Belle reflected, really hadn't seemed to get the memo that Rumplestiltskin was a very different man now that he wasn't the Dark One. She knew that Rumplestiltskin preferred that, in some ways; he still feared even the appearance of weakness, but she was slowly bringing him around to the view that not everyone viewed kindness as a weakness.
"Thank you, by the way," Ruby caught them right after they stepped outside, making both Golds stop cold.
"For what?" Belle asked, but Ruby looked at her husband instead.
"Conomor came in here to try to intimidate me into giving up the diner. After I hit him a few times, he admitted that he'd tried you first, and you sent him packing." Ruby's smile was brilliant, but Belle caught a tinge of embarrassment in her husband's expression.
He really doesn't know what to do with people thanking him, she thought, squeezing his hand and giving him a smile of her own.
"I, uh, well, you're welcome," Rumplestiltskin stuttered, and then managed to bring himself back on balance. "Besides, it made good business sense. Conomor was more likely to use the freezers to store dead bodies than lasagna, and you've always been a good investment."
Ruby laughed. "Well, then I promise not to put him in the freezer if he starts sniffing around again."
"How badly did you hit him?" Belle wondered, and her friend shrugged.
"Not that hard." Ruby's smile was devilish—but vanished as someone else walked up. He was one of the knights from Camelot, though Belle didn't know which, but just seeing him made Ruby's entire expression freeze and her eyes narrow. "Can I help you?"
"I am not here to cause a disturbance," the knight replied stiffly. "I merely wished to speak to the lady here."
Belle blinked as those curious hazel eyes focused on her. "Me?"
"Yes. Please forgive me for the intrusion, My Lady. I am Sir Percival, one of King Arthur's most loyal knights." With that, he bowed and took her hand to kiss, something no one had done since long before the curse—or, no one save Rumple, anyway, who certainly didn't do so in Percival's courtly and stifled manner.
"Belle Gold," she answered slowly. Something about the intense way that Percival watched her made Belle uneasy, and she could see Rumplestiltskin watching warily, too. Good. I'm not the only one who finds this odd. Ruby seemed suspicious, as well, or at least hostile towards Percival.
"Belle?" The knight shifted minutely, letting go of her hand and looking disappointed. "That is your name?"
"Is there something wrong with that?" A chill ran down her spine, and Belle exchanged a glance with Rumplestiltskin.
"It would help a great deal if you told us exactly what you're looking for, dearie." There was an unmistakable edge in her husband's voice, but for once, Belle didn't mind. The way Percival was watching her, like a dog who wanted to steal a bone, made her very uneasy.
"Nothing," Percival said quickly. "I am afraid I was looking for someone else. Excuse me." He sketched a quick bow and departed before any of them could say more.
Belle bit her lip, watching him go. Once she was certain he was out of earshot, she sighed. "That was very strange."
"I get the impression that Percival is a bit strange." Ruby rolled her eyes. "Last time he came to the diner, he was plotting revolution."
"He was what?" Rumplestiltskin twisted to look at Ruby, but his sneer wasn't aimed at her. "Fool."
Ruby snorted. "Well, I'm just glad he's looking for someone instead of trying to incite a rebellion."
"This time." Belle kept watching the knight's retreating figure, and she didn't miss the way Arthur met him across the street. Something strange was going on, and she wanted to know what.
The dreamcatcher shook slightly in her hands as Emma watched herself stride into the diner, her eyes so bright and hopeful that they seemed to belong to a stranger. She rushed forward, embracing both of her parents with all of her might—and despite their surprise, both hugged her back immediately.
"Mom! Dad!" Going to the past had taught her some valuable lessons—and not about how time shouldn't be screwed with. It had made Emma really, truly, appreciate both of her parents and who they had been, in addition to who they were. And she'd almost lost her mother there, had been so certain Snow had been dead—
The way fate seemed to come full circle just burned. Don't think about that, Emma told herself, watching her mother's confused smile through her tears.
"You weren't answering your cell. We were worried," her dad said.
"I'm fine." She'd turned to look at her mother, emotions welling up in a wonderful way like she could barely remember ever having felt. "I'm home."
Snow looked like she was afraid to hope. "Do you mean…that you're not…leaving?"
How could Emma have ever wanted to leave this behind? "I'm not going anywhere."
Henry had leapt to his feet. "We're staying in Storybrooke?"
"This is where we belong. This is where our family is." Her eyes met her mother's, and Emma knew that she'd never seen Snow look so happy.
Waving her hand, she banished the image as quickly as she could, unable to take the happy look on her mother's face, unable to accept that her mother was gone. She remembered how she'd told them that she loved them, how they'd embraced her without hesitation, letting Emma hold onto both of them tightly. Her mother had been the first real friend she'd had that she got to keep, and it felt like fate had cheated Emma by taking her away just when Emma finally accepted her family. It hadn't even been that long since she'd internalized the fact that Storybrooke was her home and that she really, truly, had family…and now she'd lost her mother.
Emma could feel the tears streaming down her face, faster and faster and hotter and hotter, but she refused to let herself sob. She had to move on. She had to be strong. She had to—
"Emma?" a soft voice asked, and suddenly she realized that Killian was right behind her, that he'd been standing there for some time and she hadn't even realized it. Gulping desperately, she turned to face him, the dreamcatcher dropping from nerveless fingers.
He put his hand on her shoulder, and Emma hesitated.
Don't let him see you weak, the darkness warned her. He'll use it against you. They always do. Look at Belle, all sweet and good. Even she used the dagger against her own True Love. This one has hated the Dark One for centuries. Don't trust him!
Killian could have betrayed her a thousand times, though. He could have walked away. He could have let her fall through the portal to the past by herself. He could have not fought by her side a dozen times—but here he was. Part of Emma, so much of Emma, wanted to pull away. She wanted to tell him that she was fine for the hundredth time, wanted to do this alone because she had always, always saved herself. But maybe this wasn't about saving. And maybe she didn't want to be alone.
So, she didn't pull away when Killian pulled her close, finally letting the tears spill over where someone else could see them. Once she started, the grief seemed to well up uncontrollably, gushing out of her like a fierce river of pain. "I miss her so much."
"I know, love," he whispered, and Emma let Killian hold her.
She would grieve, finally, and then she would fight. Emma had let herself lose track of why she'd taken the darkness on, but she could remember that, now. She'd wanted to save everyone, and she had. And maybe she didn't need saving, but that didn't mean she could let the darkness rule her, either. It had taken advantage of her grief over her mother's death, had encouraged her to remain isolated and alone. No longer. No more. Emma would fight.
A few minutes after they returned to the shop, Belle's phone rang. Being Belle, she put it on speaker when she didn't recognize the number, and they both leaned in to listen.
"You might want to check on your house, dearie," the familiar voice said, and Rumplestiltskin felt fear jackrabbit up his spine. Just hearing Zelena's voice was almost enough to send him into another panic attack, and while he was able to push his terror down—barely—he almost didn't grasp the significance of Zelena calling Belle until it was too late. "What's left of it, anyway!"
A giggle, and then a click—Zelena hung up before either of them could react.
Immediately, Belle took his hand, and Rumplestiltskin was ashamed of how comforting her slightest touch was. All powerful sorcerer, indeed, he scoffed internally, and then his mind finally overcame his emotions.
"The house?" Belle asked worriedly, and Rumplestiltskin forced himself to focus.
"Let's go," he said, swallowing hard. "Do you mind if I teleport us?"
She shook her head, clearly worried, and he reached for the still-unfathomable magic at his fingertips. It barely took a thought to bring them to their front walk, a place instinct had told Rumplestiltskin it was wiser to aim for than anywhere inside the house. Smoke engulfed them almost immediately, making Rumplestiltskin and Belle both cough, until he used magic to create a smoke-free bubble around them. A wave of his hand forced enough of the thick black smoke aside so that they could see, but he almost wished he hadn't.
"Oh, no…" Belle's voice was haunted, and Rumplestiltskin felt her back up a step without meaning to; the heat was intense from where they were standing; their entire house was caught in an intense, raging, conflagration. He could feel the flames on his face as they grew larger and larger, stoked by dark magic that was way too far along to stop.
Quickly, Rumplestiltskin teleported them to the street, not wanting to risk Belle anywhere near that fire. He didn't have any particular fear of fire—not having set two buildings ablaze himself, both when he didn't have a magical route of escape—but he still didn't want to take chances. Holding Belle tightly by the waist as they landed in the street, he scanned the inferno, watching the threads of Zelena's magic and working to discover if it could be picked apart. Ironically, complicated spells were far easier to disassemble; the simple ones, ones that merely called upon a natural element or two with no finesse, were fiercer and often stronger, and much harder to deconstruct. Or reverse.
"Can you fix it?" Belle asked, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head.
"I can put out the fire and stop it from spreading," he answered heavily. "But the house…the house is lost."
He would have to put out the fire if they didn't want nearby houses to burn down, too; the wind was mild, but a tiny breeze was enough to spread embers. And Rumplestiltskin could rebuild the house with magic, but that would take a far greater outlay of power than he wanted to use—and would require actually building a new house. The type of dark magic that had been used to create the flames completely precluded rebuilding the house as it was, which meant that it, and everything inside it was gone. He could replicate much of it, although that would require him to remember everything that was there…and it still wouldn't be the same. Mere desire did not great magic make, and he knew they'd lost most of their belongings, no matter what else happened.
"Can I help?" Belle asked suddenly, and he turned to meet her blue eyes, recognizing the look. She hated being helpless, but this wasn't something he could teach her in a few minutes.
"Next time," Rumplestiltskin promised. "I…I have to do this now."
"All right." She nodded quickly, and Rumplestiltskin saw Belle steel herself before stepping away. They both wanted to hang onto one another at the moment—their home was in flames, with everything they'd built in this world turning to ashes. Well, almost everything. Even through the thick smoke, Rumplestiltskin could sense his pair of fire-prevention spells still working. Most of his wards had crumbled when he'd ceased to be the Dark One, and in the confusion of the past weeks, he hadn't thought to recreate them. Yet those two spells held firm, and would continue to do so if he could put the rest of the fire out.
Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin strode forward a half-dozen steps, raising his hands and centering himself. Sirens wailed in the distance, finally coming to stop the fire, but as much as Rumplestiltskin wanted to leave this problem to them, he knew that a magical fire would get worse before it got better if they tried to put the blaze out by conventional means. So, he raised his hands slowly, summoning power—not something foolish like water—and envisioning the way in which the fire itself was built. After all, physical events weren't too different from magic; they were each constructed of different elements which could be pried apart to break down the reaction. One only needed sufficient power to do so.
And, in this case, sufficient magic to overcome the darkness Zelena had infused into her spells. Fortunately, Rumplestiltskin had both. He had wanted to be cautious with his power, had not wanted to dig too deeply until he understood it better, but apparently today was not a day to be conservative. Letting out a breath, Rumplestiltskin shaped the power he could feel surging eagerly within him, using one hand to smother the chemical reaction of the fire while the other employed light magic to counter the dark magic Zelena had used to set the blaze. Nothing happened at first, so he dug deeper, feeling the air around him tremble. One moment. Two. Power rushed through him, pure and clean, strong enough to take his breath away. Chills ran up his arms immediately, and even though Rumplestiltskin heard brakes squealing as the fire trucks stopped behind him, he ignored it.
He could feel the fire dying. Slowly, he absorbed the magic Zelena had used—she'd tried to be clever and make it something that even he couldn't dismantle; so long as the power was in the air, it would seek a new target to burn. But Rumplestiltskin quickly realized that by pulling it inside himself, his magic would wipe it clean, stripping the dark purpose away like it was straining impurities out of water. The process was a little uncomfortable, but his power shielded him from the worst of it, and Rumplestiltskin let the spell roll through him as he pulled it free of the fire. Then he finished the job of breaking down the actual flames, watching in his mind's eye as the fire became embers, and then the embers turned to ash.
The smoke cleared last; he hadn't needed to see to know what he was doing, so Rumplestiltskin didn't bother with it until he was done. Besides, he really didn't want to see the ruins of the home he'd lived in for 30 years. He might not have chosen it, but that big pink house had become more his home than the Dark Castle had ever been. It was home because I had someone to share it with, he knew, glancing over his shoulder at his wife.
Belle, pale and stricken, looked at the burned out frame of their home with a sadness that dwarfed Rumplestiltskin's own. Aside from the library—which had long been protected against fire to keep Belle's precious books safe—and the cellar where Rumplestiltskin did magic, the house could barely be called ruins. Zelena had done her work well, and a magical fire always burned hotter than a natural one.
"Are you all right?" she asked softly, coming to his side.
He was still shivering, Rumplestiltskin realized. Too much power? He wasn't sure. Shoehorning an original power into a now-purely human body did not come without a price, and he was both exhausted and full of energy. Still, he could have gone six rounds with a dragon if he needed to, so he shrugged. "Yes."
"It's all gone," Belle whispered, and Rumplestiltskin wrapped an arm around her as firefighters cautiously approached the quietly steaming wreckage.
"I'm sorry." Now wasn't the time to dwell on what was left. Belle could see that as well as he could. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault." Belle snuggled into his embrace, and Rumplestiltskin felt arms wrap around his midsection. They held onto one another in silence for a long moment until he heard his wife suck in a shuddering breath. "It's just…there were so many memories here. Not all of them were good, but…"
"But they were ours," he finished for her. Belle's head moved against his chest in a nod, and Rumplestiltskin bent to kiss her hair.
"Well. I guess we can dwell on that or we can look at this as a sign that we should move on. Maybe a new start really is what we need, a new start for a new life without the darkness." The only semi-forced optimism in her voice made Rumplestiltskin smile.
"You are truly amazing," he said wonderingly.
Belle looked up at him. "Why?"
"Anyone else would weep and wail for what they have lost. You find the silver lining, and I love you for it."
"Only for that?" Belle's smile turned cheeky, and it could almost hide the grief in her eyes.
"For many reasons," Rumplestiltskin assured her, and then pulled her close once more.
It was a good thing that they already had another ready-made house to move into, he reflected. The Sorcerer's House—now theirs, he supposed—was even full of predominately good memories. They'd spent their honeymoon there, sharing a dance neither of them would ever forget. Perhaps now that he wasn't the Dark One they could find a new beginning there like they hadn't quite found in the house that the curse had given him.
After all, the Sorcerer's House had already demonstrated a liking for Belle, which at least meant the place had good taste.
Zelena looked thoroughly disgruntled, and Emma was just fine with that.
Finding the Wicked Witch had been ridiculously easy, again. Even with her new resolve to fight the darkness back, the power that came with being the Dark One was damned useful. Emma just had to be careful how she used it. She was, however, beginning to appreciate the way Rumplestiltskin had felt. The magic was unpredictable and dark, yes. It had a price that needed to be managed. Yet she knew that she was still Emma; she didn't have to be a monster unless she wanted to be one. Convincing the darkness of that would be hard, but Emma knew she was strong enough to do it.
"What do you want?" Zelena demanded as soon as she appeared. Zelena had taken up residence in Gold's cabin this time, and part of Emma toyed with the idea of telling her predecessor where to find the obnoxious redhead. No. He'd tell Regina, at the very least, and we can't have that. Not yet.
Emma might have decided to fight the darkness, but that didn't mean she was any less angry with Regina. Now, however, she gave Regina's sister a cold look. "I have a job for you to do."
"I'm not your minion."
"Do you really want to try that?" Emma raised her eyebrows, having little patience for Zelena's posturing. "Don't tempt me. I'm already contemplating putting you back in the asylum after that stunt you pulled with Roland."
Zelena snorted. "I didn't hear you complaining when Regina was all in a tizzy."
"Kidnap another child and you won't live to hear me complain." Just kill her. Any child born of that woman doesn't deserve to breathe, anyway, the darkness whispered, and Emma felt what was left of her soul recoil in horror. Zelena certainly wasn't worth the oxygen she consumed, but her child was innocent. Shut up, she told the darkness firmly, only to hear it cackle within her mind.
Fight me all you want. You know I'm right. This witch is a useful tool, but once her usefulness has ended, you'll have to get rid of her. She knows too much.
"For the Dark One, you're an awful lot more bark than bite," was the sneering response.
Quick as lightning, Emma teleported across the cabin, appearing with her hand wrapped around Zelena's neck. She slammed her into the wall. Hard. "Tell that to Granny," she said softly, pushing aside the flare of guilt. Fear was useful. Fear was power.
Blue eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"
"I want you to spy on someone for me." Emma glared for another moment, and then released Zelena and stepped back. "Queen Guinevere. She isn't what she appears to be, and I want to know why."
"You want me to spy on some overbred royal? Really?" Watching Zelena be so put out almost made Emma laugh out loud. "No. Do you own dirty work."
"I was hoping you'd say that." The words came out on their own, but they felt so damn good that Emma didn't try to stop them. Nor did she try to stop the magic that lashed out, catching Zelena right in the face. The witch cried out in pain, too hurt to even counterattack, as Emma just smiled. She was careful not to hurt Zelena's child, of course, but Zelena deserved a little punishment.
Leave her until tomorrow, the darkness whispered. That will teach even her. The thought was certainly tempting, but…no. With an effort, Emma pulled the spell off of Zelena after a minute or two, and waited for the witch to pick herself up off the floor. Zelena panted heavily in both pain and fury, but Emma only gave her another small smile. Several moments passed before Zelena seemed coherent enough to respond, but Emma was happy to give her the time. After all, she did have a job that she wanted Zelena to do.
"Do you have any questions?" she asked calmly.
"This wasn't part of our original deal," Zelena complained.
Emma shrugged. "I'm changing our deal."
"Then I want something in return!"
"This is hardly a negotiation." Emma crossed her arms. "But now I'm curious. What is it that you want? If it's revenge on Regina, I'm certainly not going to get in your way, provided you leave children out of it and abide by my other restrictions."
"I want my pet back," Zelena snarled, and that made Emma blink. It took her a moment to realize that Zelena wasn't talking about Walsh or some flying monkey. No, she was talking about Rumplestiltskin, wasn't she?
Kill her! the darkness demanded, making Emma blink. Apparently the Dark One hadn't enjoyed being controlled by Zelena, either—a fact Emma was definitely going to keep in mind. I am not going to lose the dagger, she told herself firmly, ignoring the darkness' increasingly adamant insistence that Zelena needed to die. I saw enough to know how dangerous that is, and when my mother—
Don't think of that. That way lay pain, and Emma pushed the thought aside.
"How nice for you," she said drolly, mostly to distract herself.
"Well?" Zelena snapped.
"Well, what? If you want to poke that particular tiger, go ahead. I won't stop you." Emma snorted. "I might watch and laugh, though."
But she chose not to tell Zelena that Rumplestiltskin was the Sorcerer, even when Zelena asked about his magic. Again, Zelena would prove a useful distraction, keeping eyes off of Emma and letting her get about the business of figuring out exactly what Guinevere was up to. She had no personal grudge against her predecessor. He had proven helpful, more than once, after all. Still, she also knew that he could hold his own if Zelena was dumb enough to go after him a second time. Rumplestiltskin didn't seem to be against Emma at the moment, but she wasn't going to object if Zelena wanted to keep the Sorcerer's attention well away from Emma.
The longer Storybrooke assumed she was simply brooding and grieving, the better.
Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter—I know reading an alternate season of the current one isn't everyone's cup of tea, and I really appreciate that you're all still here with me.
Stay tuned for Chapter Twenty-Seven—"The Stories People Tell", where Killian and Mordred make plans, Morgan realizes where her mystery descendants must come from, Belle and Rumplestiltskin deal with the fallout of losing their home, and Henry conspires to bring his mothers together.