Chapter 36

Emma could already smell the hot cocoa from the hallway as she unlocked the door to the apartment. Clearly, her mother was waiting up. She gave a mental groan. She was exhausted, she had a tension headache, and her contact lenses had her seeing rainbow rings about every street lamp and headlight, as though she'd opened her eyes too many times underwater in a swimming pool. Tink had assured her that the effect would fade, but she'd driven far more slowly than she otherwise might have.

All she wanted to do was go to sleep. Despite having spent most of the day sitting down, it had been an exhausting day. And even if her mother was trying to be nice, it still didn't excuse…

…It still didn't give Emma the right to act like a spoiled brat. And she could almost taste the cocoa. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Her mother was sitting in the rocking chair, wrapped in a blue housecoat. There was an empty baby bottle on the table beside her and she was holding Neal against a towel-draped shoulder with one hand, while she gently patted his back with the other. She smiled when Emma came in. "I'm glad you're home. I was worried about the roads."

Emma rubbed her eyes. The light over the table seemed brighter than she remembered. And it also had rainbow rings. "I'm just going to take out my contacts," she murmured.

"There's more cocoa in the pot, if you want some," Snow called after her hopefully.

Emma hesitated. She didn't need caffeine this late, but chocolate didn't have nearly as much of it as coffee or tea would. And the smell was already making her mouth water. She realized suddenly that she hadn't eaten a thing since supper, nearly six hours earlier.

"I opened a fresh cinnamon," Snow added.

Emma walked past her to the bathroom without answering. When she emerged a moment later, though, she walked over to her valise, unzipped it, and pulled out a cardboard box. "I'm still mad," she warned, setting the box down on the table and opening it. "But I'm also hungry. Have some," she added. "The rugelach might be a little stale, but the cookies are probably okay."

Neal chose that moment to burp and Snow smiled and rocked him gently for a few moments, before getting up to put him back in his crib with a kiss on his forehead. She headed into the kitchen area to snag two plates and a second mug before resuming her place. She the mug and one plate down before her daughter, kept the other plate for herself, and got up again.

"I can get the pot," Emma said.

"No, you're exhausted," Snow said. "Besides," she waved toward her own mug, "I could use a refill."

Emma reached for a cookie and bit into it. "Hey," she sighed, as her mother returned with the cocoa pot, "thanks."

Snow smiled and started to pour. "I am sor—"

Emma shook her head. "I know, but it doesn't change anything and I don't feel like talking about it tonight."

"O-okay," Snow said, the smile that had already been forming on her lips dropping away. She took a chocolate chip cookie from the box and took a larger bite than usual.

Emma felt a pang of remorse. "You called it," she said, when she swallowed the last bite of cookie and reached for a second. "I'm exhausted."

"You-you don't owe me an explanation."

"Yeah, well, I've spent the last couple of weeks trying to get away from thinking about who owes what to who and maybe I ought to keep going."

Snow was about to remind her daughter that she shouldn't take it personally and that the Dark One had always been like that. Then she read the tension in her daughter's face, remembered her daughter's pained question about the second storybook earlier, and raised her mug. When she set it down again, she asked softly, "Would you like to? Keep going, I mean? I mean… talking?"

Emma sighed. "I'd better get some sleep. I've got a feeling someone's going to call the sheriff's station tomorrow to report fireworks going off on Main Street."

"Sorry?"

Emma sighed again. "According to Dad, Killian's going to be at Gold's shop tomorrow to try to repair the damage he caused. And much as I'd like that to go down peacefully… At least, back when Regina was trying to hurt you, the feeling wasn't mutual."

"You think…?"

"I think that leaving those two alone is a seriously bad idea. I also think that Dad happens to be right: Killian wrecked the shop. It's only right that he fix what he can. But given the history between them…"

Snow nodded. "Are you and Killian still… seeing each other?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "That date we had back when Elsa was here had a few… tense moments. I know he told me afterwards that Gold did a number on his head, and I was ready to give him another chance. But after this…" She sighed. "I… guess I know what it must have been like for Belle when she first fell for Gold. Because I do have feelings for Killian and I don't want to call things off. Only…"

"Only?" Snow prompted.

"Only Gold is Henry's grandfather and, if things had worked out even slightly differently, he could have been my father-in-law. And," she added a trifle defiantly, "we're friends." Her eyes were locked with her mother's as she made the pronouncement, half-daring her to say something. But while Snow's eyes widened slightly in surprise, she only nodded. "I guess," Emma said, "I have feelings for both of them. Different feelings," she added hastily and she couldn't quite hide a smile at her mother's near-palpable relief. "No, I am not interested in-in dating Gold. But he matters to me and so does Killian and… I should probably just stay out this and let them handle things, like I'm—" She stopped abruptly. Her mother would know soon enough about the falling out between Belle and Gold, but she didn't need to hear about it from Emma. Earlier today, I told them that they were both my friends. Friends shouldn't spread gossip about each other. Especially not to people who usually can't keep secrets.

"But if I do that…" Emma continued slowly, "Look, whatever you think of him, the truth is that he's had to deal with a whole lot of crap by himself. And yeah, part of that's by choice. But part of it? Is because he never had any reason to expect anyone else to give a damn about him. I know what that's like," she added.

"So, you don't want to mix in, but if you don't, you're worried that Rumpelstiltskin is going to think that you're… abandoning him?"

Emma nodded after a moment's hesitation. "Like he'll think that now that we're back in town, I'm just going to let things revert to the way they've always been and-and leave him alone until I need some favor from him. And if I'm going to go back to the way things were, then why shouldn't he?"

"Emma," Snow ventured, "are you…?" Are you sure he hasn't already, was what she was about to say. But before she could complete her sentence, two scenes from earlier that day flashed into her mind; the expression on the Dark One's face as he returned his—their—grandson's embrace, and the way Emma had defended him that afternoon. It was the latter instance that made her rethink what she'd been about to say. She and Emma were having a civil conversation right now. And given its content, Snow had a feeling that saying anything critical of Rumpelstiltskin at this juncture would shut that conversation down immediately. "Have you discussed this with either of them?" she asked finally.

Emma shook her head. "I only started thinking about it on the drive home. I sent Killian a text asking, him to be on his best behavior." She gave her mother a pained smile. "Okay, I used the term 'good form'. With those two, though? Any little thing could set them off and we both know it."

"Maybe," Snow said slowly, "you should be at the shop in the morning, before Killian gets there. Just… to make sure things don't get out of hand."

"I don't want to take sides," Emma admitted. "It's been going on for so long, I can't help thinking that anything I try to do to smooth things over between them is just going to be stepping into the crossfire." She closed her eyes. "And I know emotional blackmail isn't going to work on either of them, not permanently anyway."

"Emotional blackmail?"

"Telling them that if they want me or my son in their lives, then they need to stop feuding and shake hands or something. It's just going to end with their doing what they want to behind everyone else's back."

Snow thought for a moment. Then she considered what advice she'd give, if Rumpelstiltskin wasn't one of the involved parties. She took a deep breath. "Why don't you… tell them what you're telling me?"

"That should do it for now," August said, as he finished smoothing the rope caulk. "Once the weather turns warmer, we can do a more permanent fix."

"Well," Gold said, "I'm obliged. I… suppose your father is expecting you?"

"He is," August nodded. "On the other hand, I don't think he'd like me walking in this if I had any other options." He tilted his head quizzically. "I-I mean, I hate to impose, but it's going to take me awhile to walk home from here and Father doesn't drive at night anymore if he can help it."

"Expecting me to drive you home at this hour would be a greater imposition," Gold returned crisply. "If you'd prefer to brave the elements, I'm not about to keep you here against your will. But I should point out that there are no fewer than four spare bedrooms, three of which haven't been used in… approximately thirty years."

August's eyebrow shot up. "So, you're saying that you don't actually know if they're comfortable and you'd like me to test at least one of them by spending the night."

"Well, if you're reluctant to venture out into the storm, then I may as well get some further use out of you," Gold retorted with a thin smile.

For a moment, he worried that the joke had fallen flat. But then, Booth grinned back and said, "No problem. I'll just need to call my father and let him know about the change in plans. Uh… you open the shop at nine, right? If you've got an alarm clock, I'll set it for seven and get out of your hair early."

"There should be one in the room," Gold nodded. He debated with himself for a moment before he continued, "I believe I'll stay awake to read for a bit. Should you find yourself unable to sleep, I… find I've grown slightly accustomed to your company."

August nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. And… thanks. For everything."

How long had it been since he'd accepted a simple expression of gratitude as payment for a favor? And yet, as he gestured to Booth to follow him upstairs, Rumple rather thought that he was getting the better end of this deal.

Rumple was glad he hadn't been sitting idle while Booth had been fixing the window. He hadn't been certain whether the young man would take him up on the offer to stay the night, but he'd recognized that the possibility of his doing so was considerably greater than it might have been on any previous occasion.

But after an absence of roughly two months, the house had accumulated quite the layer of dust and while Booth had been busy repairing the bay window, Rumple had been getting one of the spare rooms in order. He supposed he'd need to hire some sort of service to deal with the rest of the house; at present, the cost of a magical cleaning was higher than he'd like and his ankle would start to throb if he spent too long on his feet. And that was even assuming that he'd have enough time.

Time…

Once again, he pulled out his dagger and shook his head. If the inscription was faring no better, at least it was faring no worse. He didn't doubt that Henry believed what he'd seen, but he would have liked to observe the evidence for himself. He held the dagger closer to the lamp and confirmed that the faint outline of the second 't' was still there. The very faint outline. The outline that was so faint, in fact, that it might have been there all along and Henry had missed seeing it. Or, it might have been absent until today, when he'd taken a second look at the inscription. He wished he could be sure.

And, sitting in his kitchen, downing a cup of lemon grass and ginger tea, he half-wished that Booth hadn't already turned in for the night. Another conversation would be a willing distraction from dwelling upon the ordeal that awaited him in the morning.

He was trying to fight his Darkness, he was trying to do what he could in the days remaining to him to maintain the friendly and familial ties so recently forged. Maybe it was too little, too late, but he was trying to be the person he'd managed to become for Bae and Belle before he'd died, however briefly. And tomorrow, he would be spending an extended period of time with the person most likely to scuttle that ambition.

The worst of it was that he couldn't just order the pirate out of his shop. To do so would be tantamount to waiving his right to restitution. He could almost do so, but he knew it wouldn't help matters. By now, the contents of that tearful voice message he'd left over a fortnight ago had to have trickled out. The town might not know the full details, but the rumor mill was sure to have picked up on the fact that he was dying. If he were to send Hook away without exacting some sort of vengeance, the pirate was certain to take it as proof that first, Rumple dared not use magic, and second, that he was just putting on a show because he was desperately hoping that people would think kindly on him once he was gone. All of which was mostly true, but he didn't need the whole town talking about it.

Rumple gripped the armrests of his upholstered chair until his knuckles whitened. He was going to be on his best behavior if it killed him…

…Because doing anything less might kill him all the more quickly.

By eight the next morning, Emma was sitting at a table in Granny's and downing her third cup of coffee. She'd been up most of the rest of the night trying to come up with the best way to say what she wanted to and she still wasn't satisfied. No matter how she tried to phrase it, it was going to smack of deals and ultimatums. She wouldn't be surprised if she was going to end up alienating both Gold and Killian. But if she didn't say anything…

…If she didn't say anything, then she hadn't learned anything either. Not saying anything was exactly why, after Zelena, Gold hadn't thought that anybody in town gave a rat's behind about him, except for Belle. It wasn't just what Gold thought either. Emma wondered whether Killian would have even tried blackmailing Gold—even for help in locating Anna—had he believed for one moment that the rest of the town would condemn him for it.

Callous… clueless… If she did nothing now, maybe she'd have to add cowardly to her list of possible excuses. She looked at the time again. It was only ten past eight, but the shop might be open. If she were Gold, she'd want some time to settle in before Killian arrived. And if she were Killian, she'd want to show up as early as possible and get an unpleasant task over with.

…Which meant that if she waited until nine when the shop was supposed to open, both it and the block on which it was situated might be nothing but smoking ruins.

She signaled the waitress. "Could I get the bill, please?" she asked. "And another coffee for the road?"

Emma parked on the side street between Gold's shop and the harbor and waited until she saw Killian walk past. When he did, she got out of her car and slowly walked the quarter-block to Main Street, just in time to see Killian open the door to the shop. She was close enough to hear the bell jangle as he entered and she waited for it to close once more. She took another minute to collect her thoughts. Then she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. She winced when she saw for the first time that the Venetian blind that normally covered one of the shop's windows was missing and that there was a large piece of cardboard covering the pane. Not large enough to completely obscure the network of spider-web cracks in the glass, though. She shook her head and walked forward.

"Here goes nothing," she muttered, as she pushed down on Gold's door handle and followed Killian inside.

She couldn't help but notice the relief on both men's faces when she walked in. The store was a shambles with shattered glass and scattered knickknacks everywhere. The globe light fixture overhead had been smashed and with only the sunlight filtering through the blinds over the intact window, the shop was dimmer than usual. Emma took it all in, but fought to keep her focus. As much as she dreaded what was probably about to happen as soon as she started talking, she couldn't let herself get sidetracked either.

"I…" she hesitated for a moment and studied her boots, and the way the shards of broken glass sparkled on the floor. "I came in to say something. I know this is probably a bad time, but it's also probably about the only time I'll find you both together, so," she raised her head and looked from one man to the other, "I figured I'd try anyway."

Both men blinked. Each shot a quick glance at the other as though trying to divine whether one of them had asked her to come by, then looked back to her once more. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then, Gold's hands locked tightly around the wooden frame of what had been a glass display counter. "Very well, Ms Swan," he said, his shoulders taut and his face studiously blank. "Say what you must."

Emma still hesitated, her glance flicking toward Killian. It was only when the pirate nodded as well that she took another breath, jammed her hands into her jacket pocket and began. "I-I'm sorry. I've been… uh… practicing or rehearsing what I was going to say and I still don't know if it's going to come out right, but…" She wanted to look down again, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact, shifting her stance so that she could watch both men without having to turn her head. "I want both of you in my life." The words were out before she could call them back and she couldn't believe she'd released them with no preamble or build-up of any kind. "Obviously," she added with a faint smile, "for different reasons. But the way things are now… It feels like I'm going to have to… to flip a coin or set up a rotation or something, every time there's some sort of gathering or get-together or whatever."

She locked eyes nervously with Gold. "You're Henry's grandfather. Even if the last two weeks hadn't happened, you're family and it's past time the rest of us started acting like it. At least, it's past time I did."

An almost imperceptible crack appeared in Rumpelstiltskin's heretofore unruffled façade and he ducked his head quickly in acknowledgment.

Emma nodded back and turned her attention to Hook. "I-I don't know what the future holds for us, Killian. I do know that after years of keeping my walls up, you make me feel like it's okay to risk taking them down a little. Sometimes," she added with a smile.

Her face grew serious once more. "Don't get me wrong, Killian. I can't believe you did," she gestured to the mess surrounding them, "all of this and it's going to take me a while before I can put it all in the past. But," she sighed, "I respect that you're here now, taking responsibility, trying to make good. And, as I just said… I do have feelings for you." She hesitated.

"But here's the thing. If the two of you are going to be at each other's throats every time you're in the same room, I don't know if the town's even going to be standing in the next six months."

"Come on, Swan," Hook said. "Eight weeks ago, he was about to crush my heart. And that was after he'd forced me to trap the fairies—"

"—After you tried to destroy the only light I had in my life—"

"Right," Hook shot back. "I wouldn't have bothered, had I known you'd manage to do that all by yourself!"

"How dare—"

Emma sucked in her breath. Then, before either man realized what she was about to do, she lunged forward and slammed her shoulder into about the only thing she was reasonably sure was strong and heavy enough both to make a loud enough noise on impact and survive a drop to the floor—Gold's antique metal cash register. It hit the floor with a satisfying crash, startling both men and—Emma was sure—bruising her upper arm. "Will you two cut it out?" she demanded, massaging her right shoulder with her left hand. "Seriously, you're both, what? A couple of hundred years old? Quit acting like a pair of third-graders. I'm not asking which of you started it. I'm telling you it's time to finish it. And just to be clear, I mean without killing, maiming, keelhauling or turning anyone into a toad."

She glowered at Gold. "And before you get all excited, those are examples, not… not terms!" She stopped. "Parameters," she amended. "I meant to say parameters."

She took another breath, kept massaging her shoulder, and reminded herself not to look at either man for too long or they'd assume she was singling that one out as more responsible. "Really, you guys? I'm not making threats or deals. I'm begging you. Find some non-lethal, preferably non-painful way of dealing with this… conflict. Draw straws. Play checkers. Back opposite teams in the playoffs." There was no hint of a smile on her face. "Move past it."

"Or you'll shut us both out of your life?" Hook demanded.

Emma shook her head. "No. I just told you I wasn't making threats. I guess I'm asking for a favor. From each of you. I'm asking you not to put me in a position where I have to decide who comes to the next potluck and who comes to the next school play or-or soccer game or math Olympiad or whatever. Either you two figure out how to be civil enough to each other that you can stay in the same room without planning or-or worse trying to kill each other, or you work out some kind of fair rotation. Not me."

Her gaze flicked from one man to the next once more. Neither looked happy, but each nodded slowly. Emma smiled to herself, remembering something Neal had told her about how he'd once told Hook that the pirate and the Dark One were much alike. I mean, they aren't really, but sometimes…

She realized that they were both looking back at her and that first, she'd run out of things to say and second, she'd stalled too long to make a dramatic exit. She shook her head. "I'd better head over to the sheriff's station," she murmured, "and see what's doing. I mean… if it's safe to leave you two alone."

Gold sighed. "If I were to kill him now, the task of repairing this devastation would devolve upon my own shoulders."

"I gave your father my word that I'd set things right," Hook said, as calmly as though he'd been discussing the weather. "It'd be bad form to break it."

"Okay," Emma said. "I'll stop in later and check how things are. Uh… sorry about the cash register." She stooped down to try to lift it and stifled a cry as her shoulder throbbed.

"Swan!" Hook exclaimed. "Here. Allow me."

"Thanks." Emma looked at Gold. "You wouldn't have any ice, would you?"

Gold regarded her thoughtfully, as Hook set the register back on the counter. "I believe I should," he replied. "Wait here."

He returned a moment later holding a medium-sized clear plastic bag filled with ice cubes. "If you were planning to join us for lunch," he said, "you might return at twelve-thirty sharp."

"Do you want me to bring anything?" Emma asked.

Gold shrugged. "I placed an order with Mrs. Lucas before I arrived. If you're able to collect it, I'll call the restaurant to advise them."

"You got it." She glanced at Killian, who held up a small canvas satchel.

"Thank you, I brought my own provisions."

"Okay." Emma noticed that Gold had a small sack tucked under one arm. "What's that?"

"Not your concern at the moment," Gold said, with the barest hint of a smile. "Twelve-thirty, then?" He frowned. "Are you certain the ice is sufficient, dearie?"

Emma forced herself to smile through the pain. "Yeah, once it's numb enough, I should be able to focus enough to heal it. Barring some unforeseen emergency, I'll see you at lunch then." She turned to include Hook. "Both of you."

As the door closed behind her, Rumple turned to the pirate. "Well. I suppose you'd best fetch the broom and start sweeping up the glass," he said mildly.

Hook raised an eyebrow and tensed, waiting for the Crocodile's snap. After a moment, Rumple turned his head meaningfully toward the corner, where a broom and dustpan awaited. Hook pursed his lips together. Then he stalked toward the broom, keeping his guard up, even while he ruminated on what Emma had said.

Emma spent the morning filling out paperwork and filing reports. A lot had piled up since the new Dark Curse had resurrected the town and it didn't look as though her father had made much headway in her absence.

Emma shook her head. There were still many reasons to be angry with her father, but the mountain of untouched paperwork was nearly as much her fault as his. The town had been through more than one crisis since its return. Plus, there was a new baby in the house and her father was trying to be there as much as possible, both for her mother's sake and because her parents had both missed watching one child grow up already. Emma understood that. It still hurt a little to know that her parents were going to be there for her younger brother in ways that they hadn't been for her, but now that she knew the whole story, she didn't blame them for sending her through the wardrobe.

What they'd done to Maleficent, though…

Emma shook her head. She just couldn't get past that right now. She wanted to, well, part of her did anyway, but while her anger had subsided somewhat, it was still simmering. It was one thing to tell herself that forgiving didn't mean condoning, but in her heart, she had her doubts.

She looked at the time and realized that it was past ten-thirty. The phone hadn't rung since she'd been here, there'd been no explosions, and Leroy hadn't burst in bellowing about terrible news. She hoped that meant that everything was all right and not that Killian and Gold had managed to take each other out somehow. She'd know in nearly two hours, regardless. She sighed. Probably a good idea to head for Granny's early. Not too early, but before the lunch rush really started.

She reached for another report. This one was on the burglary at the Miata dealership. She glowered at the culprit, who smirked at her from his cell. Then she started reading the report and her eyebrows climbed. The dealership had a sophisticated electronic alarm system. Will had bypassed it with ease. Clearly, he was adjusting to twenty-first century technology with few difficulties. Maybe that skill could come in handy. After all, it wasn't as though Storybrooke was set up for long-term incarceration—unless one counted the lower level of the hospital. Somehow, it seemed wrong to keep a petty thief down there. If he could put his technological savvy to good use... maybe along the lines of what Neal had been doing in New York...

Emma rubbed her forehead. She was getting too far ahead of herself. And Will's disposition wasn't up to her anyway. Better to deal with the present. She'd get Gold's order and pick something up for herself. And she'd also make sure that there was something for Killian, just in case he'd worked up more of an appetite than he'd thought. Something she or Henry wouldn't mind eating later, if it turned out that he hadn't.

While polishing the knickknacks and observing the pirate at work, Rumpelstiltskin had ample time for thought. And his thoughts were both on the speech that the savior had made that morning and on what Henry had said about his dagger.

He knew he was dying. Unless someone changed the ending to his story, he had scant time left to him. And yet, if the boy was to be believed, that time might be increasing.

He stepped into the back room for a moment and pulled the dagger out of his inner pocket. He sighed. If he could only be certain that five letters had been gone entirely the first time that Henry had checked, he'd have a better idea of what he was dealing with. He looked at it again: Rumpelstil… But the next letter, the second 't' hadn't completely vanished. The letter's outline was faint, as though it had been etched in preparation for an engraver. In dimmer lighting, it would be even harder to detect. It might have been that way from the outset.

But according to the savior, more letters had fallen away and then reappeared only a short while later.

He didn't dare allow himself to hope too much. Some conditions were characterized by attacks and remissions, after all. Eventually, the attacks grew more frequent and the remissions more fleeting. It was possible that his name would wax and then wane on the dagger as his condition bettered and ultimately worsened.

But if that wasn't the case…

If that wasn't the case, then there was another possibility. He couldn't be certain of exactly when the letters had begun to reappear. Henry hadn't spent all of his time sitting and staring at the dagger, logging the time of each change. But there was room to believe that the improvement had commenced just around the point when he'd told Emma to take Belle back to Storybrooke and leave him behind.

The point when he'd taken a step away from his Darkness with no expectation that anything positive could come of it. When, as the savior had put it, he'd taken a leap of faith.

He wondered. Was the dagger the only thing that was changing? Or…? He put his hand to his chest and stopped. Magic or not, he had to do this. He had to see what it looked like now, if only so that he'd have something to compare it to in a day or so. He had to.

He couldn't.

He pulled his hand away. He wasn't ready to see the state of his heart now. He didn't want to know how little red remained. He'd trust the dagger for now.

He went back to the shop floor to see what the pirate was up to.

After over an hour, Rumple grudgingly admitted to himself that Hook was no shirker. He imagined that the pirate had, quite sensibly, reasoned that the sooner the job was done, the sooner he could vacate the premises. Rumple could support that. He had no reason to desire prolonging the pirate's company.

Of course, he kept a careful eye on the other man. One needed to be certain that no object that Will Scarlet might have missed would find its way into anyone else's pocket. And that was how he became aware of the pirate's dilemma.

As instructed, Hook had swept the broken glass into several large piles, before turning to carpentry to repair a broken corner on the wooden framework of one of the display counters. Rumple wondered as to the reason why the pirate had left those piles, instead of sweeping them into the dustpan and disposing of them. Then he realized what the answer had to be.

He battled with himself for the next ten minutes, as the pirate moved to a display counter with a damaged corner and read the instructions on a can of wood filler that Rumple had set out (along with various other tools and equipment) prior to the pirate's arrival. He watched as the pirate silently, without checking to see if he had an audience, added wood hardener, blended it and applied it to the edge of the framework with a ready putty knife.

Rumple shook his head and picked up an undamaged knickknack to polish. As he worked, he found his thoughts straying to Emma's visit. He couldn't deny that he'd been expecting it. Expecting her to use the relationship she'd claimed to have with him as leverage to get him to call off his designs on the pirate's life. Expecting her to advise him, however apologetically, that now that they were back home, it was probably best for matters to revert to the usual status quo and that their friendship would remain, but at a suitable distance. Expecting her to finally request the concessions that, perhaps, decency had kept her from asking of a man when he was weak and destitute, but now that his circumstances had changed, she had every reason to believe he'd do as she bade him out of gratitude.

He likely would have, too. Perhaps with a modicum of disappointment and some measure of resentment, but he would have.

He would have understood how to act in any of those scenarios. He would have understood threats or deals or temporary friendships forged from convenience or pity.

But this? The savior had made it clear that she considered the camaraderie they'd forged in the outside world to be a beginning, not a fleeting aberration. More to the point, she wasn't wielding it as a weapon to attempt to manipulate him into doing as she wanted without paying his price. And as difficult a thing as she was asking, he couldn't fault her logic. If he and the pirate didn't agree to some sort of truce—one that would stick—Emma was quite right. Their animosity was likely to engulf the town.

There weren't many people for whom he genuinely cared at this point. But there were several, all of whom might become collateral damage, should this blood feud persist.

Blood feud. The term stirred a memory within him. In the aftermath of Cora's death, he'd been explaining the nature of the thing to Emma, telling her that the only way to settle one was with the spilling of more blood. At the time, he'd genuinely believed it. But less than two years later, the only new death resulting from that feud appeared to be the feud itself. Snow White and Regina had put aside their differences without pomp or fanfare and were now close friends.

Rumple pressed his lips together thinly. He didn't want the pirate for a friend, close or otherwise. Not at all. And he was reasonably certain that the feeling was mutual. But, he realized, he did want Emma for one. And he couldn't deny the rush of warmth that had flooded him when she'd stated baldly—in front of the pirate—that she wanted him in her life. And in her son's. Well, yes, she'd said both him and the pirate, but she'd included him. Without prompting, without coercion, without feeling sorry for him.

He didn't know much about having—or keeping—friends. But he had a strong suspicion that killing the man Emma Swan seemed to be falling in love with (and really, that only supported the clichés that love was blind and that there was no accounting for taste) would probably be a step in the wrong direction.

Besides, if he only had a short time remaining to him, perhaps he could admit to himself that he'd rather spend it connecting with people who cared for him.

And if Regina could resolve a blood feud without further murders, then he damned well could too. Or, at the very least, he could avoid escalating the existing one. This was his shop. The pirate was here, willingly or not, to make restitution. Currently, Rumple realized, he had the advantage. Perhaps some small magnanimity could be justified. It would likely annoy Hook to no end. Rumple smiled to himself. In fact, it almost definitely would. And yet, where would the pirate find a sympathetic ear for his complaints? What exactly would he be able to complain about? Rumple's smile broadened and he looked up from the figurine he was polishing to see what Hook was doing now.

The pirate was almost finished smoothing down the wood filler. Rumple waited for him to lay down the sandpaper-wrapped dowel he was using on the curve of the frame before he spoke.

"I must say I'm impressed by your industriousness, Captain." He stood patiently while the pirate turned his statement over, looking for any hint of sarcasm.

Finally, Hook gave him a tight-lipped, "Thank you."

"Though one can't help noticing that the first task I set you was left half-done."

Hook eyed the piles of dust and shards with resignation. "It'll be finished before I leave."

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Rumple smiled. He walked over to the corner, stooped down, picked up the dustpan and held it out to Hook. "Here."

The pirate's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I didn't ask for your help, Dark One," he said.

Rumple sighed. "You can't manage the broom and dustpan at the same time with only one good hand. As amusing as it might be to watch you attempt it, you'll be done and on your way a bit more quickly if I sweep," he thrust the dustpan at the pirate once more, "and you hold this steady for me."

"What's your game, Crocodile?" Hook demanded, but Rumple couldn't help noticing that there was considerably less venom in his tone than there might have been.

Rumple shrugged. "No game. If you'd prefer to finish the job yourself, then by all means. Take longer."

Hook snatched the dustpan from him. "Fine. But just for this one task."

"Of course."

As the pirate stooped down, the dustpan poised to catch what Rumple would sweep, he mumbled another thank you.

Rumple willed himself not to look at the cane he'd carefully leaned against the wall behind him. He'd spent too many days under the first Dark Curse trying to keep the store tidy with an ankle that throbbed when he spent too much time on his feet, or when the weather was about to change, or when he tried to crouch down to sweep debris into a dustpan or rise afterwards. He could handle the pirate's animosity, but he didn't want to risk his pity. Or worse, that the pirate might actually consider Rumple's actions to be some sort of attempt to curry favor. Instead, he kept his polite smile and, as though Hook's gratitude hadn't come as a surprise, replied only, "You're quite welcome."

"Nice to see this place is still standing," Emma grinned, almost before the bell over the shop door had ceased its jangling.

Both men looked up. "Come now, Emma," Rumple remarked. "Did you truly think otherwise?"

Emma set the carryout bags down on the counter. "It crossed my mind."

A faint smile graced Rumple's face. "Well. I suppose there's ample reason why it would have. But I meant what I said earlier; I've no intention of being forced to clean up a mess he created."

"Yeah, bad enough you get stuck pitching in with most of ours," Emma ventured and caught a surprised nod from Rumple.

She glanced at Killian, who said mildly, "And so long as the Dark One isn't currently trying to end my life, I suppose our former truce is back in effect. For now."

Gold's expression hardened and Emma unconsciously shifted into a defensive stance. Then he turned aside and said, "While ending your life would be a pleasure, I must point out that we are in a place of business. Wiser heads than mine have commented on the pitfalls of combining business and pleasure, so I believe I'll forbear." He smirked. "For now," he added, consciously mimicking the pirate's tone as well as his phrasing.

Emma rolled her eyes. "Seeing as the sheriff's station's been pretty quiet, maybe I could lend a hand here?"

As both men looked at each other, she wondered whether she should have made the offer. The tension in the shop's atmosphere was still present, but it had abated considerably since the morning. On the other hand, she knew that the two of them were quite adept at pushing each other's buttons. Just because they seemed to be on their best behaviors now didn't mean that things were going to stay that way. And they'd already spent nearly four hours in each other's close proximity without trying to kill each other. While that was probably some sort of record, Emma wasn't sure if expecting matters to continue in that vein wouldn't be pushing her luck.

Finally, Killian smiled. "Well, after lunch, I was planning to replace the light fixture. If you wouldn't mind to hold the ladder…?"

"Sure," Emma grinned back. "No problem. Oh. Gold, before I forget, I ran into August at Granny's. He said to tell you that if you notice any other odd jobs that need doing he's free tonight."

Rumple nodded his acknowledgment, his face betraying nothing but his usual slight smile as he murmured his thanks. August had left shortly after breakfast, in considerably better spirits than he'd arrived. Rumple wasn't sure now whether the puppet's offer was one born out of concern or of need. He found himself wondering whether the reason truly mattered. If August needed someone to listen to his problems, Rumple had to admit to himself that after everything the puppet had done for him, providing a sympathetic ear was probably the least he could do in return. And although Rumple wasn't accustomed to opening up to people and certainly didn't intend to do so for the foreseeable future (which wasn't half as foreseeable as it used to be), if he were to change his mind, then based on some of the experiences that the puppet had already shared with him, Rumple suspected that Booth would be one of the people best qualified to understand what he'd been through and what he was still dealing with. If he were to change his mind.

The rest of the meal passed in relative quiet. Emma tried to engage the other two in small talk, but finding small success, she gave up and devoted herself utterly to her grilled cheese. Afterwards, she held the ladder for Killian and, armed with a bottle of Windex, set about wiping down the new glass panes that had been set into the display cases without a care for fingerprints. The repairs had released a new layer of dust on the floor, so she got the broom next. Seeing Killian kneeling to replace a baseboard provided the only explanation needed as to why he'd bothered to sweep first instead of leaving it to the end: kneeling on a dusty surface might be messy, but kneeling on one covered in broken glass was downright painful.

It was past three o'clock when the bell over the door jangled once more and her mother hurried in.

"Mom?" Emma asked, seeing the expression on Snow's face.

"Emma. I-I'm glad I found you. I looked at the Sheriff's station first. I would have called but… I didn't know if you'd pick up—"

Emma felt a pang of guilt. "What's going on?"

Snow took a deep breath. "Your father called from the road. He said that they were nearly home. And then, I heard Regina yell and there was a crash and… and the call disconnected."

She lifted a trembling hand and looked at her watch. "That was almost an hour ago."