The rest of the night with Henry passes without incident, positive or negative, considering neither of them find anything all that noteworthy in the book that could pass for a clue. If the Author didn't want to be found, why bother with clues in the first place, and, if he or she did want to be found, why make it so bloody difficult? He refuses to buy some "only those who are worthy" scenario. It would just be too clean for the heroes and villains to only be separated by a battle of wits.

His phone rings as midnight approaches, the baby up in his crib for the night, and Henry stifling one too many yawns to stay up much later. He hopes it's Swan with some news. Rubbing his face and blinking his way to a keener alertness, he sees it's Belle.

"Yes?"

"Killian, I, I just wanted to thank you, for being someone I can talk to. It feels good to finally let someone know about me and Will," she tells him. Will. Who's Will? His tongue runs across his teeth as he tries to remember if the name's cropped up in conversation, seeing as how this must be her mystery suitor.

"Well, all the luck in the world to him," he chuckles back. Not many would pursue the former wife of the Dark One, whether he could physically be there or not. "You deserve to be happy, Belle."

"Thank you. I was just about to lock the shop up for the night and started thinking about you. I, I'm glad we're friends."

He needs to try to remember that people can't hear him smiling. For all his phone's abilities, it proves inadequate in that one regard. He nods his head, then catches himself as poor Belle can't see that either.

"The feeling's entirely mutual, lass. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

He ends the conversation and rests his chin on his palm, watching Henry pack up the book and trudge up the stairs, mumbling a tired "goodnight" on his way. Well, Neal, it appears it's just you and me, he thinks, tipping his chair backward to look over at the baby, back in the cradle, sleeping soundly. Henry fed him an hour ago, and, while he's not precisely sure how long they go between feedings, he has a good feeling he'll be relieved of his young charges before either of them require anything else. Exhaling, his eyes sweep over the apartment, usually full of people talking in an endless stream of voices, and now quiet. Bouncing his heel up and down, he wonders if he should tidy the place until the rest of them return, or if he should continue analyzing his copy of the book until the words blur together. He'd get up and pour himself a drink, maybe swipe one of the fruits out of the bowl, but there's no one here to grant him permission. They may all be family to him, but he'll never live it down if they start deeming him a rude guest.

He settles on aligning his stack of papers when the lock clicks and Swan lets herself in, haggard and shaking her head. She casts him a drained look and, judging by the way she's not setting down her keys or removing her gloves, the night's just begun.

"Have they been sleeping long?"

"That one, for about an hour, and Henry's just gone up. He's probably still awake. Why? What's happened?"

"Everything that could have gone wrong did. This lead the Witch Brigade's looking into? It demands August." Realizing the name means nothing to him, she shifts her weight from one hip to the other, picking at the teeth of one of her keys. "He's a friend of mine, or he was, but, well, magic happened and Tamara happened, and he's basically a seven-year-old kid now."

"They kidnapped a child?" He stands and weaves around the table to pick up his jacket.

"Oh yeah, forcing Regina to do all the dirty work and now I'm a fucking accessory!" she growls, maneuvering around him to the bag with all the baby things stored in it. "So we've got to pack Baby Bro up and drop him off with Granny and Ruby and see if they don't care if Henry takes up one of their beds for the night. Henry? Henry, come down!" she calls to him. She knows where everything is—the spare clothes, the bottles, even the cream to apply to the baby's rump should he develop a rash...as he stands there doing nothing.

"I can unlock your car and take the bag. That way you can corral the rest," he offers, pulling the bag's strap off her shoulder and hauling it up over his own.

"Okay. Hey, wait a minute. I've got to strap in the car seat." Muttering to herself, she rubs her bloodshot eyes on her way to the cradle. He hears the sink upstairs running and some footsteps indicating Henry's woken and ready for transport. He lifts his head, expecting to see the lad charging down the stairs, but a flash next to him jerks his face back down to where Swan is holding out her brother to him.

"You get him while I grab the car seat and Henry?"

He's never held a baby, and, to be honest, he's also rather despised the people who turn that into an excuse not to hold them. The worst they'll do is cry. No, he thinks, cocking his head. The worst that will happen is the one-handed man drops him. Down three flights of stairs. Lips cracking at the image of it, he licks them and wishes something witty would come to him.

"If you get him like this, it shouldn't be a problem," she says, repositioning Neal so he's pressed against her side, her arm draped around his back and her hand angled down to support his leg. He hadn't wanted to appear nervous, but she knows him too well. Masking anything's usually futile. Without a word, he turns so his side faces her, letting her hand him over and help secure him.

"Not so bad," he murmurs to himself, and it's a miracle the little lad still sleeps, warm puffed breaths hitting his ribs. Aye, he's got this. He can't help but grin as he shifts the bag and prepares to go out the door. "Never let it be said I can't carry a babe and look incredibly handsome at the same time."

"Most men do when they've got a baby on their arm," she says with a quick roll of her eyes, eyes that are lingering on him.


They don't leave Granny's until early the next morning, a fierce storm threatening to whirl itself into something a little more deadly keeping them all inside, Snow retiring upstairs with the children while Swan and her father took turns pacing the sitting room. He offered his room to her, making sure to pout when he made it clear he would not be joining her with her parents anywhere near the vicinity, but David had looked ready to pin him against the wall and punch him into the next town, so he spent most of the rest of the night on a sofa not talking.

Refusing breakfast, Swan led them out into a muggy fog in search of Regina and the boy. Like all things when it came to Storybrooke, the trail led into the woods, where either Regina or an ambush awaited them.

"But August didn't know anything about the book," Snow argues, accepting his hand to help her over a fallen log.

"Pinocchio didn't know anything about the book. August was a writer. He probably studied every word of it," Swan counters, breathing some profanities at a few muddy leaves she just impaled with the heel of her boot. "He knew all about the curse and portals and things. He just didn't let on until he thought he could get me to believe him. Smug ass," she adds, with some affection in her tone. He raises an eyebrow.

"He never even had a chance to tell his father any of his secrets," Snow sighs, eyes beginning to drift away in a haze, paling.

"No, but if anyone knows something about that book Henry doesn't know, my money's on August," she says, her breath hitching as they ascend another incline. The torrents of rain last night cling to all of them, no one moving too far ahead of anyone else due to the fog. "Now he's in danger."

"It's okay, Emma. As long as he's with Regina, Pinocchio will be all right."

"We don't know that," she snaps. "I just wish I hadn't let her ditch me."

She'd been right, this undercover mission a terrible idea from start to finish, but what choice had any of them had? Had Regina been able to procure some leverage for herself, the plan would have been a master stroke, and perhaps she and the boy are fine. Swan was supposed to be her leverage, he scolds himself. All this talk of undercover work—it would have made more sense for Swan to somehow gain their trust, to turn villain for a time, and keep Regina off in the wings should things take a turn for the worse. At the slightest suggestion she kidnap a child, Swan could have used her magic to send them directly into a jail cell with magic-blocking cuffs or some such.

"Swan, you couldn't have known that she'd drop that tracking device," he reminds her.

"Yeah, but I let her talk me into thinking that kidnapping him was a good idea." A bit quieter, she adds, "If anything happens to that kid, it's my fault."

They can't dwell on what could or should have happened, not at this point, him attempting to rewrite past actions and her blaming herself for something a pack of villains did...none of that will help the poor lad...who at one time was a man...a man she hadn't mentioned before... David hustles up ahead and kneels down with his fingers tracing the mud in front of him.

"The tracks end here. Looks like the rain washed them away."

"Oh, would now be an appropriate time for a locator spell?" he tries. He'll say this for magic—it's certainly convenient when it needs to be. A quick phone call to Belle to describe the potion, Swan conjuring it up in her mind as vividly as she can, and it would be in her hand within seconds.

"We may not need one," Snow murmurs, nodding her head toward the treeline. "Look."

Then again, ominous purple smoke spiraling around them triggers a slew of unpleasant memories. It whooshes right past them and swirls around Snow, cloaking her in a formless dark shape, then, as suddenly as it appeared, it contracts. In a split second, it's as if the smoke had welled itself up inside her, but still she stands among them, not spirited off to some other land or transformed into some creature.

"Mary Margaret?" David starts for her at the same time Swan does.

"What the hell was that? Are you okay?"

"I have to make this quick. We don't have much time." Regina's voice. Well...that's a new one. A voice and a body never seemed more mismatched then now, and it's all too small a comfort that Swan and her father apparently feel the same way, backing up until they're closer to him.

"Regina?" David asks.

"Pinocchio's fine. He's back to his old self, or older self," she says, voice and Snow's head a bit disjointed.

"August," Swan breathes.

"But there's something else ou need to know—Gold is here."

His blood runs cold. His heart remembers. It must, for it seizes, a brief second of all-too-familiar numbness, of observing the world around him instead of being part of it. He barely even sees Swan's astonished, worried face checking back with him. Regina can't see them, and even if she could, she doesn't have time to pause just for him, and yet the way her words continue feels like merciless torture, each one a nail being driven into a coffin.

"We're holed up in his cabin, and he's in town for more than just the Author, but he won't tell me why, which means whatever he's planning? It's bad." Snow convulses and gasps, Killian knowing it means Regina's run out of time before David even grips her arm to keep her from crashing down onto the ground. His eyes scan it, the mud, and if he didn't know he didn't have a drop of magic in him before, he knows it now since no answer is spelling itself out with the sticks or anything of the kind. Rumpelstiltskin. Here. As wrapped up in altering his fate as Regina and the brood. Or more so. He knows him, has had his very thoughts planted in his own brain not too long ago—he wants a different fate more than the rest of them. And all the Dark One desires—power, control, comfort, approval—will bode misery for everyone else.

"So the Dark One's returned," he says out loud.

"Yeah. There's only one person who can help us drive him back out," Swan answers him. For one moment, her face freezes on him, unreadable. She's left everything, checked out of the present so she can still herself for battle. He's seen it before, but knowing what it is doesn't quell the anxiety he feels until she comes back. "We get Belle to use the dagger to forbid him from coming back in."

"But she banished him before and somehow he's back again," Snow says, breaking into a run to bring herself to Swan's side, he and David bringing up the rear.

"Well, maybe she worded it weird. You know Gold, always the one who can find the loophole. It's got to be airtight this time, or we order him to at least put that cuff thing on him." Turning back to him, she clasps her wrist with her opposite hand, gesturing. "You remember it. It blocks magic. He puts that on himself, he won't be able to get it off and then he can leave town for good."

"Gold will see a move like that coming," David argues just as they begin to see yellow through the branches and bushes.

"He will, but maybe he'll underestimate us long enough that we can do it anyway. Wait a minute." She skids to a stop in front of the door to her car, eyes widening. "Cruella and Ursula. They broke into the shop. I bet that's what they took!"

"No, no, they had taken a trinket of Maleficent's. It was how they resurrected her," David corrects her. Swan breathes a visible sigh of relief...and so does he.

"Then Operation...I don't know, Containment, is still Plan A. We'll meet you guys over there."


"I'll do it," he says as they pull up to the pawn shop.

"You know her better than I do. She won't, won't go back to him, will she?" Swan asks, reaching for his arm to keep him in his seat just a moment longer, before they have to leave the car and be in town with that monster. He can feel his eyes darkening, blood rushing to his limbs, every memory of the manipulative killer's deeds playing the familiar loop in his mind.

"She loves him, but she fears him, and she fears herself." He knows it must sound cryptic, but he can't describe it any other way, and he's not sure he has the strength to convey any more. Swan's hand drops down to his hook. Her fingertips stay on his wrist while her index finger curls under and brushes the metal.

"She needs to know either way," she says, more to herself than to him. They nod at each other and step out of the car as David and Snow pull up behind them.

Belle looks up and smiles at them when the door bell jingles, only to tense her shoulders at how none of them look anywhere near at ease.

"What do I need to look for?" she asks, her fingers pressing into the countertop as her body shifts outward, ready to reach for whatever item they need to solve whatever crisis has recently befallen the town. He wishes for an ordinary crisis, he thinks, swallowing and shuffling toward her.

"Belle, last night, well, Regina's learned something after spending some time with the witches." She's waiting for him to elaborate. He inhales. "Rumpelstiltskin's returned, along with an all-new scheme."

"He, he's here? Th-that's, that's impossible!" she tries to laugh, but her features tighten.

"Well, did you really think he'd stay away?" Snow notes. Helpful, he thinks, shooting her a look she doesn't catch. At least Swan's not wasting time, marching straight to the counter.

"The dagger. You need to hand it over so we can stop this fight before it starts."

"The dagger?" Why in the name of the gods does she act like she doesn't know which dagger they need? Of all the reactions he imagined Belle taking on, confusion isn't one of them. "I-I don't have the dagger. Killian does."

Killian has what?

Nothing registers with him excepting all the faces now in his direction. Wait...

"Who me? Well, I haven't seen that cursed blade since you commanded the crocodile to leave the first time."

"But you took it from me last night to hide it where no one could find it." Wait, don't start with a tone that implies I should be remembering any of this, he wants to scream at her. Part of him wants to call the school, put Henry on the phone, and reiterate every frustrating moment that was searching the book for signs of the Author, and part of him...part of him wishes what she was saying was true.

"After the lifetimes I spent searching for a way to destroy the Dark One, I'm pretty certain I'd remember holding that dagger in my hand," he settles on.

"Okay, well, if I didn't give it to you, then who-"

"You gave it to Gold," Swan concludes. "Disguised as you," she adds, to him. "He's back, and so is his power."

Then so is his penchant for using him. His chest tightens, as if his heart is attempting to hide, to bloody cower at the crocodile's name. Using him, using this trust he and...he glances past Swan for a moment to watch Belle, so, so resigned to the fact that this is what that sottering imp does. He plays with the two of them, like dolls, and he fights the urge to run back to his room and scrub himself until he bleeds in the shower at the same time he fights the urge to call the Dark One forth and just be allowed a few minutes to strangle him.

"Even when I didn't think he could deceive me anymore...he found a way," she says with such expectation it nauseates him.

"Banishment was too good for that demon. We should have driven that dagger through his heart when we had the chance," he growls. His knuckles go white at fighting the temptation for his fist to hit the wall or pick up the nearest object and smash it into a milion pieces.

"Then your name would be written across it!" Swan argues.

"It's a small price to pay to ensure the crocodile wouldn't come back again!" he retorts, feeling every single hair on the back of his neck rise, but maybe not for the reason he just said. Blast it, did he really think anyone would fare better as the Dark One? Yes, comes a soft, but resounding voice in his head. The bloody coward had ruined enough lives before he'd let the darkness take him over completely. Someone stronger could resist giving in to, to whatever flooded their veins and corrupted their heart...someone who didn't let villainy creep up on them, which, he almost laughs, is decidedly not himself.

"I know you're angry, but we defeated him before and we'll do it again," she says, snapping him out of this mad ranting, her voice firm enough to anchor him to the present. Bloody crocodile never allowing any of them to live their lives—no sense imagining him ruining their lives further.

"Yeah, but the question is how?" Snow wonders. "We don't even know what he's planning."

"First, we save August," David suggests. Yes, that's good. Stop him from torturing someone else, he and his little harem. The lead Regina had mentioned them having—Rumpelstiltskin. He should have guessed that, and the witches desire happiness just like anyone else. Ursula had been innocent once, innocent and good. Perhaps if she had her voice, she could be again...then she would do the right thing and inform them of his plan.

"Yeah, you do that. I'll find out the Dark One's secret."

"How are you going to do that?" David asks.

"The sea witch. Ursula. Remember when I said I had a past with her?" There's no need to ask it, but he knows Swan. She didn't share any frustrations she might have harbored with him with her parents. "Now's the time to use it."

"How?"

"By taking a page out of your book, Swan. I'm going to return her happy ending." Whatever their past, he doesn't fancy the crocodile to be someone Ursula would confide in, the same going for the others. He would make it a point to know what they wanted, but not by any orthodox way. Hell, he'd wager he had no intention of giving them anything to satisfy them should he get what he wants out of all this. It's how a Dark One operates, no honor, no loyalty, and Ursula was never stupid. She would just have to choose who would be the most likely to help her.

"Can you really do that?" Swan asks him.

"Aye. Because I'm the one who took it from her in the first place."