Chapter 36

A/N: As promised, a chapter update in a more timely manner ;)

Thank you to nacy3451, Michebellaxo, MayP, evilregal-lana, Guest, Slovenian, Outlawqueenxlife and Slickangel97 for your reviews!

There was something about these woods, Owen decided as he picked his way over a rotted log, that didn't feel right. The sky above was a turning charcoal, threatening rain with low grumbles of thunder, and the wan light that filtered in between the tree tops did nothing to deter the gloomy shadows that seemed to surround him. He was nervous, stretched taut as a bowstring, flinching at every noise that pierced the silence.

"Sounds like rain," the man walking just behind him commented.

Owen glared, pressing his lips together in a thin line. Don't snap, he told himself. Hemming had all but dragged him into his office before he'd left that morning to warn him to mind himself while he was out on the field.

"This is your last chance Mendal," the boss had told him sternly. "Another stunt like the last time and you're out."

He hadn't needed clarification on what Hemming had meant by 'last time'. Though he and Tamara had managed to put a positive spin on all of it, kidnapping Regina Mills had absolutely not been part of the plan. The SDA was about control – not vengeance.

Owen adjusted his grip upon the gun resting in the crook of his arm. After this, it wouldn't matter. He wouldn't care if they fired him, or worse. All that mattered was finishing what he had started. Regina was never meant to have left that cannery alive and he would be damned before he let her slip past him like that again.

Behind him, Fern was still talking.

"…I'm just saying, if it's going to rain for certain, I'd prefer it to rain itself out. You know. One big shower is better than an endless drizzle…"

"Right," Owen muttered, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. Stop talking, he silently hissed. Voices sounded too loud in this forest. Sounds seemed to carry endlessly, in a way that left him convinced that everyone in Storybrooke would be able to hear them coming from miles away. It was getting late in the evening, and darkness was building between the trees. He stared at each of them carefully, expecting something to jump out at him at any given moment. Unconsciously, his free hand drifted to his pocket, tracing out the contours of the glass vials tucked away there. Each of them carried three, filled with the Mermaid's Ink that was to break through the barrier.

This little vial is my ticket back into the town, he thought, stroking a finger against one of them.

"This wind," Fern shuddered, huddling a little deeper into his coat. Owen paused, glancing around at the trees as he did. They had started to sway into one another, the sound of swishing leaves filling the silence that he had been dreading since they entered these woods. A small smile curled at his lips. Talk about good luck.

"I think you're right," he said. "A storm's coming."

"Damn it," Fern fumbled inside his pocket for a moment, withdrawing a map. Owen walked over to his side, peering over his shoulder. "I still wanted to search these areas before nightfall," the man said grimly. "Now I don't know if we'll have the time. I don't want to be out here in a storm."

"I thought you wanted it to 'rain itself out'," Owen couldn't resist reminding him.

"I wanted a rain shower not a storm," Fern said grimly. "Can't you see this wind?" he shook his head, then pulled out a radio from his pocket. "It's Fern," he said, speaking into the device. "Finish your current search quadrant then return to base."

"There isn't much left for us to search," Owen said, taking the flapping map from the other man's hands and examining it. "We could split up and search."

"That's not an option," Fern said sternly.

"Oh come on," Owen rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot. If I found the town, do you really think I would try and go in there on my own? I would be dead or imprisoned, depending on who recognized me first. I have my radio," he pulled his own one out of his pocket and waved it at Fern. "We can stay in contact."

"Hemming said…"
"Do you really want to trek all the way back here tomorrow?" Owen pointed out reasonably. "We finish these areas, and we can search somewhere new tomorrow. Come on. We'll be an hour longer at the most."
Fern frowned, glancing down at the radio in his hand. Around them, the wind continued to pick up.

Come on, Owen thought. "We're wasting time," he added aloud. Feigning nonchalance, he took a step back in the direction they'd come from. "If you think we should go back…"

"No," Fern sighed. "You're right. We should finish up this area. But I want you to radio in every twenty minutes, understand?"

"I got it," Owen said, fighting back his smile.

"I'll see you in an hour Mendal. Right back here."

"An hour," Owen promised. "I'll be here."

…

She parked her car at the top of the road and pulled out her cell-phone, sighing as she leaned back in her seat. For a moment she simply held the device in her hand, listening to the rhythmic sound of her windscreen wipers fighting back the onslaught of rain, and trying to ease some of the tension out of her body. It was no use. She was wound tighter than a coiled spring and no amount of steady breathing was going to fix it. Opening her eyes, she unlocked her phone and frowned at the screen.

David Nolan – 14 missed calls

Emma Swan – 8 missed calls

"Wonderful," she sighed, rolling her eyes. Still, there was a secret part of her that was flattered. There had once been a time when she could disappear for days without a single soul caring. Now she had people panicking over her whereabouts after having been missing for little more than an hour.

She tapped a finger against David's name and held the phone to her ear. He answered on the first ring.

"Where are you?"

"Hello to you too," she teased lightly. In the background, she could hear Emma's voice asking if she was okay. "Where are you guys?" she asked curiously.

"I asked you first," David growled, obviously frustrated.

"David…"

"I'm at your house. After Emma got your message she phoned me. We're all here, waiting for you. Do you need me to pick you up? Just tell me where you are…"

"I'm on my way home." Cradling her cell-phone between her ear and her shoulder, she shifted her car back into gear and turned onto the main road.

"You're driving?"

"Uh-huh."

"In this weather? Damn it, Regina. You shouldn't be on your phone."

"All right," she said. "I'll hang up."

"Hey wait a second..."

"We'll talk when I get home," Regina promised, ending the call. She dropped it on the passenger seat beside her, sighing again.

This was not a conversation she was looking forward to.

…

"That's her car," Henry said, from his spot at the window. David glanced over his head, catching sight of a pair of headlights cutting through the gloom before Regina turned her car into the driveway and out of sight.

"I'll walk her in," he said, to no one in particular, walking swiftly to the front door.

"Try waiting until she's inside before you tell her what an idiot she was," Emma advised, lifting her head from the heavy book in her lap as he walked past. "She'll probably end up catching hypothermia out there before you're done lecturing her."

David shook his head a little, his brow furrowing. He'd spent the entire time since Emma had phoned him, to tell him that Regina had mysteriously disappeared without explanation, either pacing up and down in silence or furiously ranting about how irresponsible she was being. Rain or not, he was going to give her a piece of his mind the moment she got out of that car. He slipped out the front door, nudging Chase back when the German Shepherd tried to slip out behind him. Rain splattered down on him relentlessly as he walked around the front of the house to the driveway and the wind howled around him like a wild thing. He reached the car just as Regina stepped out of it, her hair and clothes soaked through and clinging to her pale skin. Her dark eyes lifted to his uneasily as he approached and suddenly he didn't have it in him to yell at her. Without a word he took off his jacket and pulled it around her. She shivered, moving closer to him and the warmth he provided. A moment later her arms had wrapped around him from beneath the jacket and he realised that she wasn't merely shivering… she was shaking.

"We should get you inside," he murmured, pulling her closer against him. He felt her nod, leaning heavily into his side as he led her back toward the house. She pulled away from him as he moved to open the door, trying to shrug off his jacket.

"Keep it on," he told her firmly. The now familiar knot in his stomach twisted yet again as he remembered that soon enough, Snow would tell Emma – and God knew who else – about his and Regina's affair. Little details such as Regina wearing his jacket wouldn't matter once everyone knew the truth. He glanced over at her, taking in the stress and exhaustion written across her features, and pushed the thought to the back of his mind once more. He was going to have to tell her what had happened at some point. But not now.

"Mom!" the door opened in front of them, revealing an impatient Henry, holding Chase back by his collar. "Come inside, it's freezing out there."

"Hi sweetheart," Regina forced a smile for her son, moving past him and the dog and into the house. David followed behind her, glancing down at the trail of water both of them were traipsing back into her entrance hall.

"Your clothes are all wet," Henry fretted, taking in her appearance. "Were you outside in the rain?"

"Good grief," Emma appeared at the doorway to the living room. "I should take a picture… I never thought I would see Regina Mills look like a drowned rat."

"Hilarious," Regina rolled her eyes, glaring a little at the blonde.

"You should get changed," Emma nodded toward the stairs. "Want some coffee?"

"Yes," Regina sighed, nodding wearily. "And spike it please."

"That bad huh?" she winced. "Got it."

Turning, Regina slipped his heavy jacket off her shoulders, holding it out to David. This time, he took it.

"Take a shower," he advised. "We'll wait for you."

They all watched as she turned and walked up the stairs, followed closely by Chase, who was sniffing at her with interest.

"Well she looks…" Emma shook her head. "Just how screwed do you think we are?"

"Do you think George is going to do something?" Henry glanced between the two of them worriedly.

"If he is," David reached out, squeezing Henry's shoulder, "we'll stop him."

He caught Emma's eye briefly, his own unease and fear reflected back in those familiar green eyes. Again he thought of Snow. Again, he found himself wondering where she had gone after she had fled the inn… why she hadn't tried to contact Emma yet. As soon as everyone knew the truth, things were going to become impossibly difficult. By the end of the night, he and Regina could very well be facing the town's wrath in addition to whatever George and his followers had cooked up.

He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. He could feel the beginnings of a headache forming across his temples.

"So… Four coffees and one hot chocolate?" Emma's voice filled the silence. Henry glanced up at her, nodding.

"One spiked coffee," he amended.

"Two," David said.

"Three," Emma muttered. "Four?"

"Belle shouldn't drink," Henry shook his head.

"Three spiked. One ordinary. One hot chocolate."

"I'll help," Henry offered, and she smiled at him.

"Thanks kiddo. C'mon," putting a hand on his shoulder, she steered him toward the kitchen.

For a few moments David stood alone in the entrance hall, his eyes fixed upon the staircase. He hesitated briefly, the desire to follow Regina upstairs warring against the consequences of doing so.

Everyone will know soon enough anyway. He took a step closer to the stairs, then stopped. Not tonight. Regina was obviously under enough strain as it was. He wasn't about to add to it. Turning on his heel, he walked back into the living room.

The usually pristinely clean space was cluttered with books and scrolls and cardboard boxes, things that Emma and Belle had dragged back from Gold's shop. Belle herself was seated cross-legged upon an armchair, a pile of yellowed papers resting in her lap. She glanced up as David walked in.

"Where's Regina?"

"Upstairs," David said, walking over to one of the sofas and throwing himself down. "Taking a shower."

"Is she okay?"

"I'm not sure," he answered quietly. Belle frowned a little, nodding. David wasn't sure how much Emma had filled her in on regarding George, but it had obviously been enough. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he listened to the sounds around him; the rustle of Belle sorting through the pages in her lap, Emma and Henry's quiet voices filtering through from the kitchen, the faint sound of the shower being turned on upstairs… He focused on the last one, silently wishing that he had just headed upstairs and waited for her there. He was so sick of pretending that nothing was going on between them.

Henry and Emma returned with the coffee cups a few moments before the shower switched off upstairs. Each of them sat down on the sofa opposite his, silently sipping at their mugs. David took a sip of his coffee and grimaced a little – his daughter had a heavy hand with the whiskey, he noted, setting it down on the side table. A minute or so later, Regina walked into the room.

To his surprise, she was dressed in pyjamas, a simple but well fitted dark blue long sleeved shirt over a pair of white and light blue pin-striped pyjama pants. Her hair was towel dried, her face make-up free, neither of which seemed to bother her in the slightest. She took the spot directly next to David on the couch, curling her feet up beside her. Chase leapt up onto the corner spot beside her, settling his head on her bare feet and staring up at her with soulful dark eyes.

"Coffee," she said softly, and David reached for her mug, passing it over to her. She gulped down a sip, sighing a little. "Thank you."

"Are you okay, mom?" Henry asked worriedly.

She closed her eyes, squeezing her lids a little. David watched as her knuckles went white around the coffee mug.

"Regina?" Emma called her name gently. "Talk to us."

"I don't…" she gave a shaky laugh. "I don't even know where to begin. In two weeks' time, George is going to let his band of misfits attack Storybrooke… and we have no way of defending ourselves."

"He's attacking?" Emma echoed.

"Two weeks?" Henry yelped, at the same moment.

"What happened to waiting for you to get your magic under control?" David demanded.

Regina laughed again, opening her eyes. "That's the kicker. He thinks my magic is under control. Armand told him so."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Emma asked, glancing rapidly between David and Regina.

"If he hadn't, I'd be dead," Regina said softly. "George apparently gave me a deadline to get my shit together. I failed." She shook her head faintly, her dark eyes staring into nothing. David reached out, taking her hand in his.

"Don't say that. You haven't failed anything."

"David," she finally turned to face him, her eyes fixing on his. "They're going to go door to door, killing anyone – everyone – who doesn't submit to them. And they're going to kill your family regardless." The fear in her eyes was a palpable thing. His hand unconsciously tightened around hers.

"We have to do something," Belle spoke up for the first time. "I mean… King George only has a handful of followers… we have the rest of the town on our side. We're not helpless."

"She's right," Henry nodded, hope flaring to life in his features. "We need to tell people what's going to happen. We need to get everyone prepared and…"
"If the entire town starts preparing for an attack, George is going to know exactly who leaked the information," Emma interrupted him.

"And he'll come after you," David said, looking back to Regina. "We can't let that happen."

"No…" Regina's expression turned thoughtful. "Henry is right. We don't tell the whole town… but we should start telling some people. Like the dwarves… they can fight, right?"

"And Red and Granny," Henry nodded. "Werewolves should be good in a fight."

"What about Snow?" Emma glanced between them all. "She should know too. After all, she's one of the people they're going to be going after directly."

At the sound of her name, David felt his stomach twist.

"You're right," Regina said quietly. "She should know." She lifted her head to Emma. "But she can't get involved. You've got to make sure she doesn't try to use her magic for this fight."

"I know, I know," Emma nodded along. "Dark magic and all that."

"There's someone I need to speak to as well," Regina murmured, almost to herself.

"Who?" David asked.

"A former Captain of my Black Guard. I think I can convince him to get some of his men to help us."

"You think?" Henry gave her a quizzical look. "Don't your soldiers have to listen to you?"

"They were only my soldiers when I was paying them to be," Regina answered, giving him a wry smile. "Or when I could use my magic to scare them into obeying. Neither of which is happening right now." Gently she tugged her hand back from David's grasp, reminding him that he had been holding onto her for far longer than should have been acceptable. Luckily no one else seemed to have noticed.

"We have time at least," Emma pointed out. "Not a lot, but… if it hadn't been for you, we'd have had no warning at all."

"She's right," Henry's head bobbed in agreement. "We're not going down easily."

Regina's lips curled into a small smile. "No," she said quietly. "Not without a fight."

…

Fern dug around in the pocket of his rain-coat, searching for his flashlight. In the short space of an hour, the sky had turned to night and the woods had grown as dark as ink.

He should turn back. It had been long enough. But he only had a little further to search… Mendal had been right about that much, it wasn't worth it to come this far only to turn back right before the end. He pressed the rubber button on the flashlight, the bright yellow beam cutting through the darkness surrounding him. He angled it toward the ground, squinting through the haze of rain at the uneven, muddy ground ahead. He'd already twisted his ankle tripping over a root, and with the way it was throbbing, he didn't want to misstep again. He lifted the light a little higher, shining it around nervously. Traipsing through these woods in the darkness was starting to set him on edge. It was only as he was lowering his torch to the ground once more that he noticed something amiss. When he shone the light ahead, the hazy beam of light seemed to cut off, stopping abruptly without shining on anything. He swung the torch to the side, aiming the beam at one of the trees nearby. A yellow circle of light appeared on the trunk. Again he turned the light forward. Nothing. The light simply disappeared, leaving only darkness ahead of him.

Instinctively he reached for his radio, then hesitated.

"Better make sure," he muttered to himself, his words inaudible above the storm. He didn't want to radio this in without proof. Moving cautiously forward, he instead slid a vial of ink from his pocket. After several steps, he stopped, waving his hand around curiously. The barrier wasn't a physical wall, he knew, rather the magic tended to redirect people around it, so that they would end up avoiding Storybrooke entirely. Uncapping the vial, he tossed the ink out in front of him.

The effect was immediate and dramatic.

A hole seemed to appear in the air in front of him, edged in vivid green light, which only grew and expanded as the ink ate away at the magical barrier like acid. After several moments the reaction ceased, and the green light faded away, leaving only an image of the green ringed hole, burned against his lids when he closed his eyes. Cautiously, he stepped forward, walking directly through that hole. He had expected some sort of change in the atmosphere – as though Storybrooke would be immune to the weather going on around them, but the forest was just as dark, the rain just as incessant and the wind just as violent on the other side of the barrier. He glanced behind him, pulling out his radio.

"Fern here," he reported. "Penetration successful, upper north east corner of quadrant N024, over."

A haze of static burst through the radio in response and he cursed. Shoving it back into his pocket, he crouched down at the space he had just walked through. He retrieved a small red flag from his coat and stuck it into the soggy ground, hoping that the rain wouldn't dislodge it during the night. They would return here tomorrow, he decided, in force. With any luck, this Storybrooke situation would be resolved by the end of the month, and he would be looking forward to a promotion. He stood up, grinning with the thrill of his success. Out of the corner of his eye a movement between the trees caught his attention. He spun around, heart racing, one hand reaching wildly for the gun strapped to his back. A moment later, a burning band of green light surrounded his wrist, and he yelped in surprise and pain as his arm was dragged down again.

"You," a soft, feminine voice called out from the dark. "You broke my wall."

"Let me go!" Fern yelled, writhing frantically as yet more bands of light surrounded him, holding him in place. Magic, he realised, a moment later. She was holding him with magic. Fear and disgust rose hotly within him, and he struggled even harder, gasping for air. Magic was a vile and evil thing. It was unnatural. To be caught in its grasp like this was horrifying… "Let me go!" he screamed again, as the witch approached him. She was soaking wet, her clothes clinging to her frame, her short dark hair sticking to her face. Her eyes were a bright, feverish green, and a curious smile was painted across her face.

"Where did you come from?" she asked sweetly, tilting her head as she regarded him. "How did you get in here?"

"I'm not telling you anything, bitch!" Fern yelled back, still fighting against her magic. She lifted her hand and suddenly the bands of light around him tightened. Pain ripped through him, the most intense pain he'd ever felt, sending his every nerve ending on fire. He screamed until he couldn't breathe, his throat ripped raw, his body thrashing and convulsing, and still the pain didn't end… it felt as though it would never end…

"Answer me," she said quietly.

Her words broke penetrated through the torment, reminding him that there was a way out. He only needed two little words and this endless pain would cease.

"Mermaid's… ink…" he spluttered out, blood flecking his lips.

The witch dropped her hand and he sagged, relief flooding through him. His knees buckled, until the only thing holding him upright were those cursed bands of magic. Interest flickered in the witch's eyes as she moved closer to him.

"Where?"

"P-pocket," he stammered out quickly, before the pain could start again. "Top left…"

She reached for it, her fingers deftly sliding out the two glass vials. "Interesting," she murmured, transferring them to her own pocket. "These will be useful. You though…" her eyes moved over him coldly. "You no longer are."

"Wait," Fern gasped. "Please…"

Her hand shot out, deft and sure, pale fingers wrapping around his throat. Her fingers were cold, he noted inanely, and then those cold fingers dug into his skin like claws. A moment later she ripped, pulling his throat out with those cold fingers, leaving a bleeding hole behind in his neck.

It should be painful, he thought, as he finally crumpled to his knees. There was a strange, gurgling, wheezing noise as he futilely tried to breathe. He could feel hot rivulets of blood streaming down his neck, crawling beneath the collar of his shirt. Suddenly unable to hold himself upright, he tipped forward, face first into the waterlogged ground.

He felt cold.

And then, he felt nothing at all.

Standing above him, Snow turned her hand upward, allowing the raindrops to wash away the dead man's blood from her fingers. Then she turned around and walked away, leaving his corpse behind.