Chapter Fifty-Four—"Children Born of Thee are Sword and Fire"


Rumplestiltskin felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, just waiting for someone to give him a push. His mother had outed Guinevere as the Black Fairy two days earlier, and that changed everything. Rumplestiltskin had slowly been growing into his own as the Sorcerer, but how was he supposed to defeat the enemy who had tricked Merlin into becoming the Dark One? He'd spent most of that time trying to reassure Belle that no one was born evil and that her blood did not make her into some monster, but every moment he hadn't been doing that, he'd been planning. Aside from giving Hook—err, Killian—his hand back, anyway. He still felt rather decent about that, much to his own surprise. Perhaps his long-subdued conscience really was back.

He'd decided to take a walk around town to collect the rents that morning, eschewing Henry's offer to do it for him. Henry liked seeing people, and the boy was even pretty reliable (he didn't try to give anyone a break, even when they told sob stories, anyway), but today Rumplestiltskin needed to get a feel for the town in ways he couldn't manage from the shop. Besides, he'd promised Belle that he'd look in on Ruby. The owner of the diner had been predictably cheeky, insisting on calling him 'Mr. G' and offering him pie. He'd turned that down, but hadn't been able to resist her second offer of hot chocolate, despite the suspicious looks Ruby's friend Mulan threw his way. He didn't think he'd ever encountered Mulan in their old world, and Rumplestiltskin was certain that he hadn't ever done a deal with her, but he was used to looks like that, anyway. Some things didn't change.

He headed down to the marina last of all, wishing that he could foist the sure-to-come headache off on someone else. Gold had outright owned the marina, and although Mr. Fischer had been a halfway decent manager under the curse, once the former Fisher King had woken up, he'd proved downright terrible. Rumplestiltskin made a mental note to ask Belle again if she knew of anyone who would be good for the job; she'd suggested Ariel, once, but then her friend had returned to another realm with her prince. Still, there had to be someone who was less likely to lose revenue, botch maintenance, and—

"What are you doing here?"

The hostile voice made him stop cold, and for a moment, he actually thought it was Killian Jones. But the accent was slightly wrong, even if the anger was accurate, which only left him with one person. My half-brother. They'd tried to kill one another not too long ago, and although Rumplestiltskin didn't want to threaten anyone he was related to, any man who went after a child was utterly unworthy of compassion or respect. And anyone who tried to kill his son or grandson was just expressing a death wish.

"I happen to own the marina you're standing in." Rumplestiltskin half-wished he still had his cane. It would have given him something to wrap his hands around that wasn't Mordred's neck.

"How did you manage that?" Mordred spat, looking like Rumplestiltskin was something terrible smelling beneath his nose.

"The curse. You missed a lot by staying in that little time-warped disaster of yours."

Mordred scowled. "Mother wishes us to make peace, but you truly are unworthy of being our blood, aren't you?"

That statement took him aback momentarily; was Mordred really making this about blood? Rumplestiltskin hadn't expected that. He'd expected ideological differences, hatred for his status as a previous Dark One, or even Mordred calling him an abomination because he had been a Dark One who rose from the Vault to live again. But this? Was Mordred really such a narrow-minded snob? Morgan hadn't seemed the type, and Mordred seemed to hate Arthur, so where in the world had he gotten that attitude from? And why doesn't he dislike our mutual nephew, the pirate? Is it because his father was of better blood than mine? It had been centuries since Rumplestiltskin had been looked down upon for being lowborn, and he almost didn't know what to say. In the end, he ended up snorting out a cold laugh.

"I'm not the one who manipulated my own nephew and then tried to kill my great-nephew. Followed by my other nephew, of course. Just to keep the entire family involved." Rumplestiltskin's smile turned thin, but he actually found it kind of nice not to be the lowest and darkest member of a family. For once, someone had managed to outdo his misdeeds. And in spades.

"Unlike you, I believe in doing what must be done."

"Do you think I don't?" He kept his voice civil; Rumplestiltskin was actually curious about Mordred's opinion.

"I don't think you have the stomach for it. If you did, you would have helped me seal the Dark One in the Vault, not saved her. But I think you can too easily see yourself in her place."

"Of course I can." He shrugged, unafraid to admit that. "Unlike you, I understand how very hard she's fighting—and I know what kind of woman Emma Swan is. Very few people actually win my admiration, but she's done that several times over. If anyone's going to contain the darkness long enough to find a way to actually destroy it, that would be her."

Mordred's eyes narrowed, and Rumplestiltskin truly hated how much they reminded him of the eyes he saw in the mirror every morning. Or his son's. "Do you truly mean that? Do you really want to destroy it, or are you simply saying what you think people want to hear?"

"Anything man can make, man can unmake. Merlin was desperate when he created the Dark One, but the answer has never been to trap the darkness. It can't be held, not in its present form—not in a human, and not in the Vault. History tells us that." Rumplestiltskin paused, noticing that his half-brother was actually listening. "But it can be unmade. Unwoven, if you will. Then the elemental parts of it can be trapped, and the rest will flitter off into the world as it was meant to be."

"You can't possibly manage that. You haven't the knowledge or the age." Mordred, however, seemed to step forward despite himself, and Rumplestiltskin half-wondered if they'd actually found something they agreed upon.

"I'm not sure you're actually much older than I, if at all, what with the way you stopped time in Camelot. Linearly speaking, I may be older than you."

"Dark Ones never last long—"

"I'm over three hundred."

That finally seemed to make Mordred pause, and the blatant unease in his expression was a little nice to see. After a moment, however, the scowl came back. "You still don't have the knowledge."

"I have Merlin's books, the ones you must have known were in his workshop. And I have allies. I've also spent the last three centuries studying magic—and, given that I was a rather anti-social Dark One, as opposed to the conquest and burning type, that was quite a lot of studying." He shrugged. "Besides, you know as well as I do that we will find no written solution to this problem. One must be created."

"You still can't do it. You're not fated to do it."

Rumplestiltskin snorted again. "Do I look like a man who gives a damn about destiny?"

"Perhaps that's your problem," Mordred shot back. "You lack an appreciation of the bigger picture."

"You don't know me at all if you're saying that." Rumplestiltskin actually found that assumption rather amusing. "Let me give you a bit of advice. I have been a Seer nearly as long as I was the Dark One. Prophecies and visions are rarely what they seem at first glance. Do not—"

"I shouldn't have bothered trying to talk to you. You clearly don't understand anything at all, even if Mother does want us to ally."

"I've not known her as long as you, but she's clearly an intelligent woman."

"You don't know her at all," Mordred spat, his eyes narrowing. "You are nothing, and she'll see that soon enough. I am the King of Camelot, and I will succeed where Merlin failed."

A long moment passed while Rumplestiltskin could only stare, but at least that gave him the time to rein his temper in. Mordred certainly wasn't good at making friends, was he? Yet the other man was his brother, and that connection meant something to Rumplestiltskin. Perhaps he was a fool, or perhaps he'd simply been starved for family his entire live, always yearning for something he'd never really had. Either way, he found himself giving advice that he hoped Mordred would heed:

"Not if you keep on like this. Do you have any idea how many enemies you've made here? Storybrooke is not Camelot, nor is it the Enchanted Forest. If you continue in this fashion, you'll be destroyed."

"Is that a threat?"

"No." He shook his head. "It's a warning. I am no threat to you unless you endanger my family, because we—despite the ironic way in which this has happened—are related. That means something to me, even if it doesn't to you."

"How could it?" Mordred suddenly stepped close to Rumplestiltskin, radiating power. The slightly metallic taste of that power was different from Mordred's own magic, however, and Rumplestiltskin suddenly understood what his half-brother had done. He's taken it back, Rumplestiltskin realized in shock. Morgan had been convinced that Mordred would not seek the Greater Sapphire again, but he could feel the sharp edges of the sapphire enhancing Mordred's magic. "You are nothing. If I ally with you, it will be on my terms." A hand raised, fingers pointing close to Rumplestiltskin's face. "I will rule, and you will be my servant. If I permit it."

Rumplestiltskin slapped the hand away. He didn't like being touched, and although he had a much longer fuse these days, enough was enough.

"Oh, and for the record, dearie, I don't care what kind of blood you have. You're royal on two sides, and I was born a peasant in the Frontlands. It doesn't matter. No one has given me a damn thing in my life that I didn't take. I am the Sorcerer, and if you think I'll become your happy little toady, you're sorely mistaken."

Mordred's face twisted into a sarcastic look of sadness. "Pity. Mother will be terribly disappointed if we can't get along."

"If you define 'getting along' as me serving you, no, we won't. If you want to be equals, then we'll talk." I've been enslaved once. It is not happening again.

"We could never be equals."

Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a slight sneer as he looked Mordred up and then down. "No. I don't think we could."

He walked away before his half-brother could say another word, feeling a strange pang in the vicinity of his heart. He didn't want or need a brother, but it would have been nice to have another family member actually accept him. Rumplestiltskin wasn't blind to his own faults, but he'd tried to make peace with Mordred. Hadn't he? Could he have done more, or were they simply destined to hate one another? All he knew was that Mordred saw him as a threat, and that didn't seem to have been caused by anything specific Rumplestiltskin had done. Does he think I'm a danger to the destiny he believes is his? he wondered. One would think someone as practiced in magic as Mordred knew how tricky prophecies could be, but…

Thankfully, Mordred didn't follow. He was willing to bet that Mordred would go straight to the mother they shared and complain. She probably won't want anything to do with me after this, Rumplestiltskin thought sadly. But it made sense. Mordred was Morgan's first born, the son she was going to believe and trust. It was one thing for her to stop him from killing Baelfire, but expecting her to side with him against Mordred was simply ludicrous. I suppose it was a nice feeling while it lasted, being wanted by a parent.

On second thought, someone else could straighten out the Fisher King and his chaotic marina. Rumplestiltskin just wanted to be left alone.


Baelfire was pretty damn sure that the former Author had been a used car salesman before being tapped to write down the stories of every magical realm's famous and/or troublesome. Either that, or Isaac had been one hell of a hustler. Because he's definitely selling Henry something, and there's no oceanfront property in Arizona.

"Do you know what the fae are?" Isaac asked on their third visit, lounging against the wall with his feet propped up on the bed. Henry had taken the chair while Bae leaned against the wall, letting his son do the talking while he made sure that Henry didn't get bamboozled. There wasn't much danger of that, of course, but it paid to be careful. They'd delivered Regina's promise—in writing—that Isaac would go free if he helped the good guys and remained loyal to them on their last visit, and now it was time for the old Author to fess up.

"My book doesn't really mention them." Henry shot Isaac a suspicious look. "Just a few things here and there about them being gone."

"That's because they were before my time, or before my predecessor's time." Isaac shrugged. "But they might be really relevant now, given that you asked about Camelot's history."

Henry's eyes narrowed further. "What do they have to do with Camelot?"

"Well, you did know that Guinevere was the Black Fairy, right?"

"How the hell did you know that?" Bae cut in before he could stop himself. The fact that this little rat bastard had known all along that Belle's grandmother was the chief of all evil fairies really burned, and he wanted to shake Isaac. Or worse. It took all of his self-control to keep leaning against the wall and looking relatively calm.

Another innocent shrug. "It's in one of the old books, of course. That story was far before my time."

"There are other books?" Henry sat up straight. "Where are they?"

"How should I know? But I might be able to help you find them if you let me out of here."

Henry looked ready to consider that, so Bae shook his head. "Not a chance."

"Your loss." Isaac glanced up at the ceiling like a cat considering which delectable morsel to pounce on next. "But I can tell you where the Fae are locked away, which not even the Black Fairy herself knows. It's a secret passed from Author to Author."

"Great! So, where—"

Isaac cut Henry off with a wave of his hand. "I can tell you for a price."

"I'm the new Author. If it's a secret that was meant to be passed down, you have to tell me." Henry looked a little hopeful, but Bae knew the mercenary look on Isaac's face.

"Well, I've never been great at following the rules, so you're just going to have to pay up," was the unrepentant answer. "Luckily for you, I demand little and deliver much."

"Like what?" Now Henry was starting to sound as wary as he was annoyed, and Bae was damned proud of his son for being so smart. Henry might have been trusting by nature, but Isaac had pushed him way too far.

"Well, freedom isn't really enough. For information like this—world changing information—I want to be rich. I'm not sharing more until I'm promised a good income and a nice house. That mansion by the lake will do. It's not like the Sorcerer is here to use it, anyway."

Bae snorted out a laugh before Henry could answer. "You've missed a few memos, haven't you? There's a new Sorcerer, and he's a little possessive about the place."

"How did—?" Isaac's eyes went wide for a moment before he cut himself off. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. Somewhere else will do, but I want guarantees. Property deeds and income. Otherwise my mouth stays shut, and you can figure out how to stop the Black Fairy from regaining the army she used to terrorize the Enchanted Forest without my help."


She hadn't expected her grandmother to pay her a visit the day after Arthur had been so maddeningly unhelpful in their search for Lancelot. Belle was beyond frustrated, halfway certain—and completely dreading—that her grandparents were behind Lancelot's appearance. She wasn't an actress, and wasn't good at hiding her feelings, which made it doubly hard to be nice to her grandfather when she was certain that he was lying to her. It had been one thing when he'd just seemed to be overprotective, overbearing, and slightly patriarchal. Now, however, it was obvious that he was nothing near honest, and Belle was really starting to get pissed off.

Unfortunately, that meant she wasn't sure she could act pleasant and continue pretending when her grandmother showed up. She understood the reasons why they needed to keep Arthur and the Black Fairy from realizing that they knew the truth, but that didn't make it any easier. Belle wasn't by nature a schemer, and she was terribly afraid she'd let something slip.

"Grandmother." She smiled as pleasantly as she could. "What brings you here?"

"Curiosity, mainly." How could a woman who could look so kind be so evil inside? Part of Belle wanted to believe that anyone could be redeemed, but she had read about the Black Fairy's atrocities during the Third Foundation War. Most of that conflict had come after the fall of Camelot, giving her grandmother every chance to make the right choice. Instead, the Black Fairy had unleashed the fae on the Enchanted Forest, letting them enslave humans and worse. She chose to hurt people when she could have stopped herself, and she led others to do so as well.

"About what?" Belle put the book she was holding down on the circulation desk, resisting the temptation to keep sorting through the recently returned pile. If she did that, she'd surely give her nervousness away.

"You seem very determined to find Lancelot. I understand that you have questions, but surely your grandfather or I could answer them, instead." The eyes that met her own were guileless, and Belle wanted so badly to simply demand the truth.

"I met him as a child, and I remember Mother loving him. I was hoping he might tell me some stories of her that Papa doesn't know," she answered as carefully as she could. That wasn't a lie, after all. Not quite. She just also wanted to confirm that Morgan's horrible truth was, well…true.

Not that she doubted it. Not now. I suppose I could ask the Blue Fairy, but would she tell grandmother? There was no evidence that the sisters had spoken, and legends told of the battle between them. Blue had offered Rumple an alliance, even if it hadn't been a very good offer. Perhaps it would be smart to talk to her, at least.

Guinevere—the Black Fairy—cocked her head curiously. "Is that all?"

"Why should there be anything else?" Belle put on the most innocent look she could manage, but she wasn't sure that her grandmother was fooled.

She could see the calculations happening in those green eyes, and knowing what kind of woman she was descended from was utterly terrifying. She'd never quite understood what a frightening burden it was to be related to such a monster, to someone who showed no remorse for abusing people and thought themselves justified. Rumple had lived with that feeling, having Pan as his father, but Belle had never quite understood. In order to be redeemed, you have to admit you're wrong, she thought to herself as her grandmother changed the subject, chatting easily about this book and that, and then asking Belle if she'd ever considered having children.

Belle avoided that last subject as best she could, a shiver tearing down her spine that she knew she couldn't hide.


"Hey, David, we've got a problem." Grumpy's voice preceded the dwarf and Archie into the station, making David and Robin look up.

Another one? David thought, trying not to grimace. "What's up?"

"Me." Archie looked devastated, as if he hadn't slept for a week and had rolled around in a pile of dirt in the clothes he was wearing.

"What happened?" Robin was on his feet in an instant, and David knew that he was spoiling for a fight. After so much intrigue and so many reversals, it was hard not to be. He really just wanted an enemy he could shoot, stab, or at least hit, instead of battling unseen players who seemed to be moving pieces on a board he didn't understand.

"I almost lit fire to the camp." Archie's voice was so quiet that they could barely hear the, and David couldn't believe it, anyway. "Grumpy and Happy had to stop me."

Happy had followed the pair in, and for once, he wasn't smiling. His grimace told the tale far more than Grumpy's resigned nod, and David felt his heart sink.

"I know someone has my heart," Archie continued softly. "And I can't stop myself. I don't know if you can, either. I attacked Grumpy when he tried to stop me."

"Not like it did you much good." Grumpy's voice was surprisingly gentle. "You don't pack a hell of a punch, Doc. I'm okay, and nobody else got hurt. That's what matters."

"But someone could have. If you hadn't stopped me—"

"But we did," Happy interjected.

Archie just shook his head sadly. "You might not be there next time." He looked over at David. "I think I need to be locked away. For everyone's protection."

"This isn't your fault," Robin said quickly, and David nodded his agreement. "We can't lock you up for something you haven't done."

"If it'll stop me from hurting anyone else, you certainly can." Tired and shaken though he looked, Archie stood up straight and was clearly in command of his own mind. For now. "And you need to."

David exchanged a horrified glance with Robin, and he could see the truth on Robin's face, too. Archie was right. If he'd managed to set fire to the camp where Camelot's poorest residents still lived, public opinion would have lynched him. Even worse, it would have destabilized Storybrooke's already precarious situation. But he didn't want to arrest Archie, not when someone else was clearly responsible for his actions.

"Maybe…maybe we can put you under house arrest," he suggested thoughtfully. "We can get Emma, Regina, or Rumplestiltskin to work up some magic so that you can't leave, and that we know everyone who enters. That would keep everyone safe."

Archie looked like he didn't dare hope. The damn man was so honest that he asked: "But what if whoever has my heart comes to get me?"

"If he or she wanted to be that overt, they wouldn't be using you." Robin shook his head ruefully. "And if they do, well, we won't be any worse off than we are now. Are you okay with that?"

"I can do that, yes." Archie nodded. "Just so long as you make sure I can't get out. And someone walks Pongo for me."

"We'll help with that," Grumpy promised. "And I bet Henry will, too."

"Worst case, Neal and I can use some company when we go around town," David added, trying a strained smile on for size. "We'll take care of you, Archie. Both of you. I promise."

Archie swallowed hard, but at least they had a plan. That had to count for something, David figured. Didn't it? Following Archie to figure out who had his heart obviously wasn't an option any longer, but this way they could at least keep him safe.


A month ago, Emma might have killed Sidney Glass. Now she was mostly wishing that she'd let herself. He's trouble. If you want to help this town, you'll get rid of him, the darkness whispered, but Emma could mostly ignore it. Nimue and her damned cronies were just trying to get Emma to embrace the darkness via her desire to protect Storybrooke, and she was having none of it.

Sidney, however, was still a nuisance. And a problem.

"You know you can't trust the fact that Regina has supposedly 'changed'," he was saying now, in front of a sizeable crowd outside Granny's. Unfortunately, most of the seemed to be listening to him, too, and no one really noticed as Emma crept closer. "She claimed to be better while she kept me locked in the asylum for years. She only 'changes' when it suits her."

Several people murmured in agreement, and Emma wanted to strangle all of them. Or turn them into sheep, because that was what they were. Why was Regina suddenly the enemy? Did they suddenly mistrust her because someone—probably her bitch of a sister—was running around impersonating her and killing people? Emma had thought the people of Storybrooke were a little more steadfast than that, but apparently they weren't. Just like they want to hate me because I saved them from the darkness, she thought darkly. I'd like to see Sidney live with this hell. He would have burned the town down already.

Or someone would have killed him and they'd have another new Dark One to deal with, and wouldn't that have just been a picnic?

"And now she's killing anyone who might remotely challenge her power in 'her' town," Sidney continued. "Doesn't that sound like the Evil Queen we all know and love? She might have some people fooled, but not me. I've learned my lesson. The last time I offered her help, she locked me in a mirror again."

"Careful, she might just do it again," a laughing voice put in, and Emma whirled to see Lily standing next to August. How had Lily gotten involved in this? Emma knew she was angry, but—

"No way." Sidney shook his head. "I'd rather die than go back into that kind of prison, and I'm going to fight for my freedom. And for this town's."

"She's probably taken Archie's heart, too." That was August's contribution, and Emma could only stare in shock as darkness coiled up within her.

They're traitors, both of them.

"I hear he's under arrest," August added. "All because someone tried to make him light the Camelot camp on fire. If that's—"

"Archie isn't under arrest." Robin pushed through the crowd just as Emma felt herself take a step forward, power gathering unconsciously in her hands. Desperately, she snuffed out the darkness, shoving it down and pushing it back. I am in control, she told the darkness firmly. Not you. Stay in your place!

"Yeah, he's just locked up for his own protection, right?" Prince Thomas spoke up, jeering at Robin from only a few feet away from Emma. It would be so easy to—

No!

"No, he's at home." Robin turned calmly to face the prince. "By his request, because Archie is a good man who doesn't want to hurt anyone. You're welcome to visit him if you want—though he might ask you to walk Pongo if you do." A few people chuckled, and Robin turned back to face Sidney. "You've had your fun. Now, will you please stop trying to incite mobs to violence and civil unrest? That's never worked well in this town."

"Is that a threat?" August demanded, and Emma saw Robin roll his eyes.

"Of course not."

"Technically speaking, having a meeting of concerned citizens isn't illegal," Sidney put in with a pat smile. "This isn't the Enchanted Forest, after all. I know it's a bit confusing to you, since you missed the first curse—"

"I know the law, thank you very much," Robin cut him off. "And I'm not ordering you to disperse. I'm just suggesting that people think before you get too worked up. There's two sides to every story, after all, and you people asked Regina to come back as mayor. You've trusted her this far. Why are you going to believe a few rumors when you know she wouldn't do this?"

The arguments went on, but their tone lessened, and Emma no longer felt the darkness drawing her to the unrest like a magnet. Instead, she was able to look around, finally noticing a familiar woman walking towards her with a dark-skinned man in tow. With a start, Emma realized that was Morgan le Fae—the woman who was apparently her son's great-grandmother. Yeah, just when I thought Henry's tree couldn't get worse, it turns out Rumplestiltskin's related to every other villain ever. What a freaking surprise that is. Emma almost snorted out loud, but the next thought took the dark humor right out of her mind. Then again, maybe I deserve those relations, too, given what I am, now.

She could feel the darkness coiling up inside her again. It didn't like Morgan, and if anything recommended the older woman to Emma, it was that.

"You must be Emma Swan." Morgan held a hand out, her expression far more pleasant than Emma had expected. Was this woman really the mother of the jerk who had called Neal an abomination and who had tried to lock Emma away for eternity? "I've been hoping to meet you."

"I, um, yeah. I am." She took the offered hand, though, even if she sounded like an idiot.

Morgan met her eyes levelly. "I watched you before you took the darkness on. Unlike my eldest son, I think you're doing remarkably well."

"I wish you'd tell him that," Emma couldn't stop herself from grumbling.

"I have. Mordred is, unfortunately, very stubborn. And very driven to destroy the darkness that lives inside you."

"Believe me, he can't want it gone more than I do." You need this, the darkness whispered even as she said that, and pushing it away was hard. You've never faced threats like Mordred and the Black Fairy before. Without the extra power, they will kill your son.

Shut up! But her mental demand was half-hearted at best. The worst part was that she wasn't sure the darkness was wrong.

"I believe that." Morgan smiled slightly. "We won't take up any of your time, but I did want to introduce myself. If Mordred bothers you again, please do let me know."

"I can take care of myself." We don't need help from someone like you. Emma tried not to scowl as she ignored the voice, again. "I'm more worried about Henry."

"Mordred will not try to harm him again. I will not allow it."

Emma almost snorted at that simple statement, but she could see the steel in Morgan's eyes. This woman was dangerous, and not only because of the power she'd once possessed. But she would protect Henry, Emma realized. Man, Henry really has a weird family, she thought, nodding at Mordred and her companion as they walked away. Sometimes she wondered how things might have worked out if there'd never been a curse, if she had grown up in the Enchanted Forest and met Neal back when he was Baelfire. It wasn't likely, of course—they'd been born three centuries apart—but she always imagined that he was there when her imagination wandered away with her.

Maybe that was just because she couldn't imagine a world where Henry wasn't a part of her life. That was it, of course. It had to be. Granted, she couldn't really fathom a world where Neal hadn't been Henry's father, either. Or one where we—

"Everything okay?"

Neal's voice came from behind her and made Emma jump. Darkness leapt to her fingers, and she almost lashed out, but she managed to throttle back the effort as she whirled around to face him. Neal held his hands up, the picture of laughing innocence.

"Try not to turn me into a toad, will you?"

"Toads aren't really my style," Emma replied dryly. "I'm more into small furry creatures."

"Great, so I can wind up as a possum." He snorted. "Not much of an improvement, to be honest."

Emma startled herself by laughing. "No, probably not. And everything's fine. I just, uh, met your grandmother."

"Yeah, she's an interesting cat." Neal—or Baelfire, Emma supposed—glanced at Morgan's retreating back. Morgan and her companion were out of earshot, now, but they hadn't yet gone around the corner. "But I think she means well."

"I think you might be right." Emma studied the pair for a moment, too. "The darkness hates her, anyway, so that's probably a good sign."

"Usually is, yeah."

Neal (or Baelfire. Maybe Nealfire?) didn't even look surprised, but Emma was shocked she'd actually admitted that. She shouldn't tell him—or anyone!—things like that. Yet she had, and somehow, Neal didn't think less of her. She'd wanted a friend, a true friend, more than anything, but she never imagined she'd find that in her ex-boyfriend and co-parent. He seemed to understand her, though, and he even changed the subject graciously, turning the conversation to Henry's talks with Isaac and what a prat the old Author was.

Emma couldn't quite make herself thank him, but she thought he knew, anyway.


"Can I ask a favor?" Killian said by way of greeting, wandering into the sheriff's station while the irritably irrational crowd dispersed outside. Robin was still out there, arguing with a few people and reminding others that the dwarves had vouched for Regina—for all the good that did—which meant he was able to catch David alone.

The last few days had been one hell of a storm to get caught in, and Killian still felt like he was a stuck without a rudder to steer with. Learning Bae was his cousin hadn't been much of a hardship, but openly acknowledging Rumpelstiltskin as his uncle was something else entirely. He felt like the world had gone bloody mad, like he'd drunk too much and was having the worst fever dream humanly possible. Killian prided himself on his ability to roll with the punches, but this entire mess was utterly insane. The only good—if most unsettling—part was that he'd gotten his hand back out of the deal. But I was a different man, then, the Crocodile had said. Except he wasn't the Crocodile any longer, was he.

I am the Crocodile, now, Killian, Emma had told him, and the thought burned like acid in his mind. He loved her so damned much—he loved her laugh, her smile, the way the goodness and determination just shined out of her like no one could ever get her down. Emma had been everything a young lieutenant had dreamt of when he envisioned the ideal woman, the person whom he could be good again for. She made him want to be the man he'd been before he'd become a pirate: honorable, honest, and one who always did what was right. Yet if Emma was to believed, she was no longer that woman at all, and she never would be—

"Sure." David spun around in his chair with a smile, unknowingly interrupting Killian's inner thoughts. "What do you—do you have two hands again?"

Somehow, the smile that question brought up felt rather natural, and part of Killian—the young lieutenant whom this hand had belonged to before it had been attached to the pirate—felt oddly hopeful. He'd had the hand back for less than a day, but so far, he hadn't even had any major problems with it. Oh, the annoying appendage sometimes seemed to have a mind of its own, reaching out to grab things (usually alcohol, his favorite coping mechanism back in his pirate and his navy days) without warning, but overall, the hand was rather better behaved than he'd expected.

Is that because I'm working on being better for myself instead of for Emma?

"Aye," he answered David's question with a hesitant smile, feeling a little self-conscious as he flexed his fingers reflexively. "My, uh, newfound uncle saw fit to restore it to me."

"Well, it seems that redemption really is going around these days." David smiled easily. "Everything going all right with it? I remember the last time wasn't so smooth."

"So far." Killian shrugged, glancing down at the new/old hand before he could stop himself. "Anyway, I, uh, did want to ask you something." Why is this so bloody hard?

"Right. The favor. What's up?"

Killian grimaced. "I was hoping you might teach me to drive, actually. An automo—car, I mean. Now that I know how to use the infernally complicated talking phone, I thought it might be a useful skill to acquire."

"Sure. I can help you come into the 21st century. I should have thought of it earlier." David chuckled. "Though, after my failure at teaching Henry back when he didn't have his memories, I'm not sure I'm the best person to ask."

"Well, in a competition between you and Baelfire, I suspect you're the safer option."

David clearly couldn't argue with that one. "How about tomorrow? I'm tied down with the mob outside and Arthur coming by later to ask about Grif's murder, but I can dump stuff on Robin tomorrow afternoon."

"I, uh, all right." Why did he feel so damned awkward? Killian wanted to bash his head into the nearest wall, but he knew why everything was weird. He wasn't used to asking for favors, or help. He had spent three centuries being a ruggedly independent pirate, and needing someone else for something that he couldn't command wasn't an experience he was used to. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Killian."


He had expected his mother to walk into the shop that afternoon. Not after his conversation with Mordred, who had implied that Morgan, too, would despise him for his peasant roots—or, more appropriately, for the roots of the man who had probably forced her into his bed when she was drunk and incapable of informed consent. Morgan hadn't seemed to blame him for that, but Rumplestiltskin didn't find that beyond the realm of possibility. After all, he knew what it meant to have such decisions taken away from you, and he was certainly never going to forgive Zelena. And he knew how damned lucky he was that the child she was carrying wasn't his.

"Hello." Morgan sounded awkward, and she stopped uneasily on the other side of the counter, her brown eyes every bit as wide as Rumplestiltskin felt his to be.

"Hi." He swallowed hard. "Why…why are you here?"

"I thought we might talk."

Ah. This was where she said something along the lines of what Mordred already had, that he was 'nothing', that he didn't matter, that Rumplestiltskin wasn't worth her time. He supposed that he shouldn't have hoped at all when she'd been kind to him. Rumplestiltskin had grown to expect cruelty from a parent (except from the spinsters who he had called his aunts, who had never been anything less than kind, and whom he had loved deeply until they'd died in his sixteenth year), and he should be used to that. He'd been a fool, hadn't he?

"Let me save you some time." He spoke as levelly as he could, trying not to let the words come out too harshly. They needed Morgan's knowledge and she was a useful ally; even if she wished she'd never told him who she was. "I am an adult, and you have no responsibility for me. You don't have to pretend to care."

Morgan jerked back as if he'd slapped her. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Mordred said—"

"Mordred is a sheltered fool." She scowled. "I love him dearly, but he is hardly prone to understanding any position save his own. Nor is he good at building relationships unless it suits him to do so. And he does not speak for me."

"Oh." Rumplestiltskin wasn't sure what else to say to that. He could only stare.

I know I cannot make up for what I have done to you. And I cannot replace the years lost. But I would hope for a new beginning…if you are willing, she had told him. Could Morgan have actually meant that? She'd been kind to him the last time they'd talked, yet Rumplestiltskin had a much easier time expecting cruelty than kindness. I wish Belle were here, he thought as he stared dumbly at his mother. Belle would have known what to say or how to deal with this, or at least she would have laid a hand on his arm and helped him find his voice. He hated feeling this lost, this vulnerable. Had he still been the Dark One, he would have sent Morgan away with some sarcastic quip, shielding his shredded soul with anger and sharp-edged humor. He almost opened his mouth to do so, anyway, but Morgan got in first.

"You are my son," she said quietly. "I know I have wronged you, and I cannot make up for that, but I will not abandon you again. Mordred will simply have to learn to live with this."

He swallowed hard. "All…right."

"I am sorry." Morgan looked like she wasn't accustomed to apologizing for much of anything, but she was clearly making an effort. "If I hadn't left you there, if I had found a way to bring you with me, you would never have become the Dark One and suffered so much."

Rumplestiltskin could only stare. Since when did anyone save Belle—and Bae, and perhaps Henry—care if he had suffered? He was used to being the town pariah, and even now that some of his allies had a decent idea what had happened to him in the past, none of them really seemed to care. Truth be told, Rumplestiltskin preferred it that way. He didn't want anyone to know the depths of what had happened to him. He still had a hard time opening up to Belle about it, and even she didn't know the messier details.

After a very awkward moment, he managed a shrug. "I am what I am." After a moment, he tried a crooked smile on for size, echoing the words she'd said to him the last time they talked. "I am who I choose to be. And I chose to be the Dark One."

"Because you had no other choice." Morgan looked like she might reach out for him before she stopped herself, clearly unsure of the response she would get. Hell, I'm not sure of the response she'd get. "Because I never made sure you would have one. That should have been my responsibility."

Hearing his mother talk like that made Rumplestiltskin shift uncomfortably. "Why bring this up now?" he asked hoarsely.

"Because Zelena bragged about what she did to you."

"She…she what?" On one hand, Rumplestiltskin was very glad that Morgan simply came out and said it, because he didn't need to be handled with kid gloves and preferred the bluntness. On the other, he hadn't wanted anyone to know how damaged he was, let alone the mother he had so recently learned he had.

She will despise me for that, he realized. She has to. I was so weak and so afraid and I couldn't fight her even though I should have—

Hands landed on his arms and made him jump; only then did Rumplestiltskin realize that his mother had come around to behind the counter and was now standing right in front of him. "I am sorry," Morgan whispered, her voice surprisingly gentle. "I was here in Storybrooke for that, and I never even thought to stop her."

"No one did." He tried to take refuge in coldness when he found his voice, but the traitorous thing cracked anyway. "I was the Dark One." Rumplestiltskin snorted. "They were right not to trust me."

Belle tried to save me, he knew. And that had been the only thing that had kept him sane, knowing that she still loved him, that Belle still wanted to help him. The others had meant nothing to him then, just as he'd meant nothing to them. Even when he'd been their ally, he'd still been a much more convenient monster when leashed, and Rumplestiltskin had never particularly blamed the others for that. They hadn't known how badly being controlled could hurt him because he hadn't wanted them to know. Once Emma became the Dark One, it all came out in the open, of course, but at least most of them hadn't made any of the logical leap back to him.

"No matter what you were, you didn't deserve what she did to you." Morgan squeezed his arms again, and that made Rumplestiltskin's head jerk up to stare at her, his eyes wide and confused.

"I…"

He didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to deal with this.

"If I can help in any way, let me know." Another squeeze. "Although I think you have a good family around you now, and I hope they help."

"They do." At least he could manage to say that much. Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat noisily, blinking until his brain started to work properly. "And they are."

"Good." Morgan stepped back, releasing him and giving Rumplestiltskin a crooked smile that was all too familiar. "I did exact one small revenge on your behalf, though."

That made him come back on balance in a hurry. "Dare I ask?"

"It may have been simply because Zelena is a reprehensible excuse for a human being, who doesn't care about anyone other than herself, including the child she is carrying." Morgan withdrew a vial from her pocket. "She disgusts me, and I am enough of a mother to despise what she has done to get pregnant. This will relieve her of that problem."

"It will what?" Rumplestiltskin drew back, staring at his mother in horror.

"No, it's a surrogacy potion," Morgan said quickly. "Zelena has already—quite unknowingly—drank her half. Whomever drinks this portion will carry the child instead of her. I thought that the outlaw might prefer someone else to have his child."

I should have thought of that, Rumplestiltskin realized. Yet the only methods he knew of to transfer a child from one mother to another required consent of both parties, and quite a lot of work. "How have I never heard of such a potion?"

Morgan shrugged. "It's old magic, rather uncomfortable on both ends. But in this case, I think—"

The door slammed open, cutting Morgan off in mid-sentence. Regina was ranting before she even made it through the door. "If I have to deal with one more lynch mob or that former puppet going on about how I'll never change, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

"It's nice to know that you're back to your sweet-natured self, Regina, but I fail to see how this is my problem." After the emotion-fraught conversation he'd just had, dealing with a furious Regina was something of a relief. He knew what to do with her, at least.

"You turned him into an adult again!" She pointed an angry finger at him, and then seemed to notice Morgan. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"It's quite a pleasure to meet you, as well." Morgan's face betrayed nothing, but Rumplestiltskin thought he saw humor lurking in her dark eyes. Did I get my crooked sense of humor from her, too? "Should I call you 'Your Majesty', or do you prefer 'Madam Mayor' these days? It's so hard to keep straight."

Rumplestiltskin barely managed to hold back his laughter, but a snort still escaped. "That's a peril of missing the first curse, I'm afraid," he told his mother. "You would have seen her in fine form, then."

Regina glared. "I don't have time to deal with this."

She turned to leave, but Rumplestiltskin spoke more seriously before she could get more than a step.

"No, stay." He put the vial on the counter when Regina twisted around to throw him a suspicious look. "The conversation we were just having concerns you."

"Now I'm worried." She turned to face him, crossing her arms.

"My mother"—the decision not to call her Morgan came at the last second, but he saw a slight smile flicker on Morgan's face—"brewed a potion that will allow another to carry Zelena's child. I thought you and Robin might want to discuss that."

"A potion?" Lifting the vial, Regina studied it skeptically. Like Rumplestiltskin, she knew the 'modern' way to transfer a child, which was not nearly so simple.

"Zelena's already taken the second half," Morgan's smile was sly, now. "Not that she knows it. Have the outlaw choose another. All it takes is six drops."

"Nothing is that simple. Not this kind of magic."

"I never said it would be comfortable. The transfer will be instantaneous, though Zelena will feel as if she's given birth all at once. The new mother will experience months' worth of sickness within twenty-four hours, but it is perfectly safe for the child. And the child will be carried to term naturally after that."

Regina's eyes went to Morgan as the older woman finished speaking, wide and surprisingly unguarded. Rumplestiltskin didn't need to ask, of course, who Robin would want to carry his child for him—that was ridiculously obvious. But he'd never realized how much Regina wanted that until he saw the naked need in her eyes.

"What if…what if the woman is infertile?" Regina's voice was very small. "From a curse. Not naturally."

That took Rumplestiltskin by surprise; Regina had never said, and he had never asked, but he knew without even a look being passed between them that she had done that to herself, deep in her fury and heartbreak. He hadn't driven her to that, at least, but he didn't need to ask who had. There was a suspicious ache in his heart that made him swallow. And then she poured all of her devastated and broken love into Henry. No wonder why she was able to come back in the end, even after all the darkness I led her to.

"Infertility only affects conception." Morgan's voice was surprisingly gentle again. "The child would be fine."

Regina's eyes sought him again, desperate for reassurance, for confirmation. Rumplestiltskin merely nodded.

"Talk to Robin," he said softly, and Regina bobbed her head up and down before fleeing.

He and Morgan watched her leave in silence; there was nothing else that needed to be said on that front.


A/N: Stay tuned for Chapter Fifty-Five—"And All This Trouble Did Not Pass", in which Sidney conspires, Emma and Killian clear the air once and for all, Rumplestiltskin tags along on the next visit to Isaac, and David tries to teach Killian to drive.

Also, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! This week has been crazy busy, and I'm sorry that I haven't had a chance to respond, but thank you so much to Grace5231973, VinterNatt, ograndebatata, thealluretodarkness, erintherese86, detectivejigsaw, Twyla Mercedes, Equal-Oppurtunity-Reader, NejiHina100, Jokermask18, and ! You guys are awesome.