Chapter Fifty-Three—"Love Unconditional"


Knowing that his mother was a sorceress was not exactly the same thing as seeing her do magic. Seeing it was so much cooler, and Henry had had to pinch himself a couple of times to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. After all, he'd spent months and months reading about magic and fairytales. Henry knew that they were real, but seeing actual magic wasn't exactly what he'd expected to be doing this morning. Regina had made him breakfast at the normal time for a Saturday, but she'd shooed David out the door with unusual haste, saying something about how Mary Margaret was expecting him. Under normal circumstances, that would have excited Henry—he was so glad to see his grandparents getting together, curse or no curse!—but today, something seemed a little bit off.

And then Regina told him to brace himself right before her hands started glowing with a strange white light.

"Is that magic?" Henry asked, his eyes going wide.

His adopted mother nodded. "Yes, it is. And I'm going to use it to protect you from my mother. If that's all right with you?"

"Um, yeah, sure, but…I thought that there was no magic here?" Confusion made him frown; not lack of trust in Regina. She'd never let him down, and Henry knew that she'd protect him against anyone and everyone. But Henry had grown up in this world, knew everything that a ten year old could know about it, and he knew that his Book called it the Land Without Magic for a reason.

"That changed a few days ago," Regina admitted with a shrug. "Don't ask me how, because I don't know. But there is magic here now." His mother's hands stopped glowing, and she flicked the fingers on her right hand, conjuring up a fireball that glowed and burned brightly within her palm. Instinct made Henry jump back, but then he turned to study the fireball when his mother grinned.

"That's so cool!"

His mother laughed. "Isn't it?"

"How do you do that?" Henry asked, still watching the fireball in fascination.

"Magic is emotion," Regina explained. "Once you know how to summon the right emotions, you channel them to do the magic you want."

"Is it really that simple?"

"Not quite," she admitted, closing her hand and extinguishing the fireball. "Maybe I'll show you more when you're older."

"Mom, I'm ten," he retorted. "Not two. I'm old enough to know lots of things."

"Not this," Regina replied, shaking her head. "Magic is…well, it's the kind of thing that you'll have to wait to learn about until you're a bit older. But we're getting a bit off-topic here, aren't we?"

Henry sighed. "I guess so," he said. "You said something about protective spells? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make sure that if anyone attacks you with magic—anyone at all—it will teleport you to where I am. Along with giving you some basic shields. They won't last long, but they will hold long enough to get you to me," she explained. "Understand?"

"I think so," Henry nodded. "Pretty much, your magic will keep me safe, and then teleport me to you. Like Star Trek?"

"Yeah, like Star Trek," the mother whom Henry had conned into sitting through that show with him laughed. "You ready?"

"Sure."

Henry didn't know what he had been expecting, but the subtle white glow between his mother's palms was not it. Regina ran her hands over his heart, holding them just a few inches away from his chest. A chill ran down Henry's spine, and he thought that he felt some sort of power racing through his body. Maybe it was his imagination, or maybe there really was something to feel. Either way, Henry could hardly contain his excitement. This was magic, actual magic, here in Storybrooke. And his mother was a sorceress! Wide eyed, he watched her, felt the spells sinking in and—

"What are you doing?" Emma's voice suddenly intruded, and Regina jerked back, the magic in her hands fizzling and dying.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Henry's adopted mother demanded, wheeling to face the other woman.

"Hiya, Emma," Henry piped up, trying to break the sudden tension between his two moms. He loved them both, albeit in very different ways, but he wasn't blind to the way that they sometimes mixed like…well, oil and fireballs. His birth mother gave him a strained smile.

"Hi, kid." Emma swung back to face Regina. "Tell me your hands weren't glowing."

"Do you want me to lie to you?" Regina countered, giving her a droll look.

"No. Of course not."

Regina shrugged, and Henry could read the why not? in her expression. "All right, then. It was magic."

"Give me a break," the sheriff retorted, rolling her eyes. "I know you talk like you believe this fairytale stuff, but—"

"It's real, Emma," Henry interjected before Regina could say something nasty. He could see his mom losing patience, and knew that if someone didn't convince Emma soon, Regina might just strange her. "You have to believe now that there's magic in Storybrooke."

"Look, there's no such thing as magic in this world," was her immediate response. "Even if the curse was real—and I'm not saying it is—this is supposed to be the Land Without Magic, right? To me that sounds like there's no magic here."

"That was true right up until someone brought magic here," Regina said.

"Who?" Henry asked, hoping that his mother would answer that question now that Emma was around.

"That's not really important," Regina replied, but Emma was obviously interested now, too.

"How could you do that, anyway?" Emma asked. "If there's not supposed to be magic here, and suddenly there is…?"

Ringing interrupted their conversation before anyone could respond, and Regina yanked her phone out of her pocket. She looked at the number calling, and then glanced up at Emma speculatively. "I'm putting this on speaker," she said, putting the phone down on the coffee table where they could all hear what was said. "It's Gold. Don't say a word."

Surprised, Henry exchanged a look with Emma, but his birth mother shrugged. Meanwhile, Regina answered rather normally, leaning over the phone to say:

"What do you want, Gold? Aren't you still in the hospital?"

"It took you long enough to pick up the phone, dearie," the caustic voice said from the speakerphone. "I was starting to think that your dear mother had managed to frighten you yet again."

"That's not nearly as amusing as you seem to think it is," Regina snapped.

"No, it isn't amusing at all," Gold replied coolly, and Henry thought that he was sounding awfully healthy for someone who everyone had said was in horrible shape. Didn't Tony and Mr. French beat him so badly that the kids at school are saying Mr. Gold will never walk again? "Nor is the fact that our beloved mayor was just in to see me."

Regina snorted, and Henry had never heard his mother sounding quite so viciously satisfied. "I take it that you're in better shape than she hoped?"

"Entirely," Mr. Gold said dryly. "But that's not the interesting bit. What is terribly interesting is that your mother admitted to me that she's having problems accessing her magic."

"She did?" Henry was glad that his mother was gaping, too, because he certainly was. "She admitted that?"

"In the midst of demanding I tell her how to fix it, yes."

"Did you?" Regina demanded.

The chuckle from the other end of the phone was so cold blooded that it made Henry shiver. "Do you take me for a fool? Of course not. I take it that your magic is working just fine?"

"Shouldn't it be?"

"Magic here is based on love. True Love, in fact. That tends to give your beloved mother…problems," Gold replied, sounding satisfied. "You, however, have no such problems."

"Nor you, from what she tells me," Henry's mother shot back, but she actually sounded a bit pleased.

"We are what we are, m'dear," Gold replied, an odd pitch to his voice. Then his tone grew hard with what was obviously a warning. "You have a head start. Don't waste it."

"I won't," Regina promised, but before she had a chance to say more, the call ended with a click. Henry's mother shot the phone a glare, but she didn't look surprised at all. "Damn you," she whispered, seeming to forget her audience for a moment.

"What was that about?" Emma asked curiously, but Henry felt like she was several steps behind. As usual. So, he cut in before Regina could answer.

"Mr. Gold can use magic? He knows?"

"Of course he does. That's not the point," Regina shrugged impatiently. "Didn't you hear? Both of you? My mother's not able to use magic right now. That gives us an advantage."

"Wait a minute," Emma said forcefully, holding up a hand. "I'm still stuck on the whole magic thing."

Henry groaned. "Emma…"

"Here, can you believe this?" his mother snapped, and suddenly there was a fireball in her right hand, which was waving rather close to Emma's face. Henry grinned, but Emma's eyes went wide as she leaned away. She stared in silence for several long moments, and then cleared her throat noisily.

"Tell me that's some kind of magic trick."

"Well, it's magic, anyway," Regina replied, rolling her eyes. She tossed the fireball from her right hand to her left, and Emma only stared harder. Henry frowned at his own thought. Was that even possible?

"I'm not...I'm not sure what to say to that," Emma finally said slowly, still gaping at the fireball. "Are you really in control of that thing?"

"I'm not going to burn down my house, if that's what you mean."

"I, uh, need to go. I'll come back later, okay?"the sheriff said after a moment, never taking her eyes off of the fireball until Regina extinguished it. Her voice was small as she turned to Henry. "Is that okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah, sure." He'd been supposed to spend the afternoon with Emma, but, well, he could get that she obviously needed a little time to figure things out. He already believed, but Emma was having a tough time embracing the curse, which must have made Regina using magic really hard to throw her for a loop.

Emma fled, and Henry exchanged a look with his adopted mother. Yeah, this was going to take a little while.


More than 200 Years Before the Curse

He knew that he shouldn't have snuck out to play with his old friends, but his papa was being paranoid. Wasn't he? Ever since his father had become the Dark One, Baelfire had felt increasingly trapped. He wanted to find his papa in the demon that seemed to have taken over Rumplestiltskin, but doing so got harder every day. There were moments when his father was normal, sounding almost like himself—even without that terrible high-pitched voice he adopted sometimes—and then there were moments when he was utterly terrifying. Bae knew that his papa would never hurt him, but he'd started hurting others all the time. And that was really starting to scare the boy who had once loved his father more than anyone in the world.

Maybe that was why he'd started disobeying his papa. He'd never really done that before, had always done what his father asked, but now Baelfire could no longer obey without question. Now he wanted a better life than being stuck in that hovel, luxurious though it had become. He wanted his friends back, wanted his old life back…even if he knew that was never going to happen.

So, Bae took his ball out and went to play with the other children, most of whom had recently returned from the war. Some of them, like Morraine, were grateful to his father for ending the horrible war with the ogres, but the others were just terrified of him. Most of them didn't hold that against Bae, fortunately, but some of the other boys were starting to look at him strangely. He tried to ignore that, really, he did, even when he was pretty sure that Hugh and Ralf were talking about him when their heads bent together where they stood off to the side, pretending they were too good for the game the others were playing.

"Don't mind them," Morraine told him with a smile as the teens paused between games. "They're just jealous."

Bae turned to stare at her incredulously. "Of what? Their fathers didn't suddenly go mad with power."

"I don't think he's mad," Morraine shrugged. "And that's not what they're envious of, anyway. They want the new clothes you've gotten, and the money you two have now. That's all."

"Sure, he's not mad all the time. Sometimes he's okay." Bae sighed, and then admitted: "That's what makes it even worse."

Morraine gave him a sad smile. "I know. But it's going to get better, I'm sure. Things'll even out."

"Over there!" Ralph's voice carried, and when Bae turned, the butcher's son was pointing right at them. "That's him."

Four knights—real knights, with horses and everything—started walking towards Bae and Morraine after Hugh confirmed whatever it was Ralph had told them, and Bae felt himself tense. What did they want? Didn't the knights know that they were no match for Baelfire's papa these days? Rumplestiltskin had killed Hordor and a bunch of men at arms without so much as using any magic, and now that he was starting to summon more and more magic, he was even more dangerous. Bae knew that better than anyone. But the knights were still striding in his direction like they wanted something, and before he knew it, the first two had stopped in front of Bae and Morraine while the second pair walked around them.

Too late, Bae realized that the second pair were now behind them and now there was no way to escape. Squaring his shoulders, he looked at the two knights who had stopped just an arm's reach away and asked: "Can I help you?"

"You are the new Dark One's boy," the one on the right said. He was the taller of the two, with dark hair and eyes, and a look that reminded Bae of someone he'd seen long ago.

"I'm not hearing a question," he said, shifting uneasily and crossing his arms. Bae knew that he shouldn't mouth off to knights, but what could they do to him? If they tried to lay a hand on him, his papa would rip them apart.

I guess there are some good things about having him gone all crazy dangerous sorcerer, the teen thought, trying not to frown. He didn't want his father to have to protect him like that, but he supposed that it was good that he could. Wasn't it?

"Are you?" the shorter knight demanded, his red beard screwing up into odd shapes as he scowled.

"Yeah. So?"

"Then we're taking you to the Duke," the first knight replied, and Bae snorted.

"My father will—"

Morraine's sudden cry cut him off, and then something hard hit him in the back of the skull and everything went black.


New York, New York

The Duke's men had locked him up in a small cell and yes, eventually, his father had come. The resulting bloodbath was enough to give him nightmares for years, even in Neverland. Screams echoed through the castle's hallways, and no matter how tightly Baelfire pressed his hands over his ears—

Neal Cassidy jerked awake, the screeching of his alarm merging with the screams in his dreams and making him flail helplessly. His third swipe finally made contact with the clock, and although it took two tries to find the right switch, he finally managed to turn the alarm off. Breathing hard, he sat up in bed, his legs tangled up in the covers and trapping him there. He found senselessly for a moment before he managed to remember where he was. And who he was. He wasn't that boy any longer. Wasn't a helpless peasant whose father had been consumed by an evil demon. He was Neal Cassidy now, not Baelfire of the Frontlands. Baelfire was long dead.

And Neal Cassidy had no family. Neal Cassidy was a loner, and had left behind anyone and everyone he had ever cared about. Even the woman he loved. Squeezing his eyes shut, Neal tried to shove that thought out of his mind, but it wouldn't go away. He'd walked away from Emma out of fear and cowardice, becoming just like the father who he had despised so much for so long. But he was too wigged out by emotion and lack of sleep to lie to himself. I did exactly the same thing Papa did when he let me go, didn't I? August told me he knew who I was and about the curse, and I ran away from Emma just like the coward I always swore I'd never be.

He'd hated his father so much for letting him go for so long that those emotions had become part of the foundation that created Neal Cassidy. Baelfire had loved his father too much to hate him with such passion, but Neal Cassidy could hate. And did. He'd tried so hard to forget about the good times, to forget about the home and the father he had once loved. He'd even managed to create a new personality for himself, a new life in which he could put the past behind himself and never, ever think of it. And then he'd turned out to be a coward. Just like his father.

Did he feel this terrible for letting me go? Neal wondered, swallowing back pain that he hadn't let himself feel since he'd escaped Neverland. Back then, he'd dreamt of his papa—demon and all—coming to rescue him. Now…now he knew better. Neal hadn't even thought of his father in years. Why was he dreaming about him now?

"It's just a damn nightmare," he whispered, hauling himself out of bed and out of the mess of sheets and blankets. Neal stared blankly at the destruction he'd wrought for several moments before shrugging and walking into his studio's small kitchenette. Opening the fridge, he pulled out the first bottle his hand landed on, realizing too late that it was a half-drunk bottle of beer. And flat.

"Ick!" Spitting the beer out in the sink—and then dumping the rest of it out—Neal headed back to the fridge and finally found a carton of orange juice that was miraculously unexpired. Taking a swig from the carton to kill the stale taste in his mouth, he let himself lean tiredly against the counter.

After a few moments, he realized that he was staring blankly at the carton in his hand and remembering far too much. He'd been wrong, he knew, when he'd thought that his father didn't exist underneath the demon. His papa had been under there, just very hard to find. And maybe he hadn't meant to let him go, either…just like Neal hadn't really meant to let Emma go. He'd just been afraid.

"Awake already?" a voice said as his apartment door opened, and Neal stumbled around to face Tamara's smile. "After how much you drank last night, I was sure you'd be out until noon."

"Oh. Um, hi," he said awkwardly, looking at his girlfriend of two months and wondering why he kept thinking of Emma when he looked at the woman he was supposed to be falling in love with. Tamara was a great girl; beautiful, smart, and she really seemed to dig him. What was not to love?

But she wasn't Emma, and apparently that meant a lot this morning.

"Cat got your tongue?" Tamara teased him, stepping forward to punch him playfully in the arm.

"No, I, uh, just woke up," Neal admitted, trying a sheepish smile on for size. "I must have set my alarm by accident."

Tamara laughed. "Then how about I take you out for breakfast instead?" She sniffed him briefly. "After a shower."

"Right." A shower was a good idea, so he stumbled in that direction. Oddly enough, he didn't feel very hungover. He felt more like he used to back in Neverland, when Felix had managed to slip one of those odd hallucinogenic plants into everyone's food. Then he and Pan had—

Don't think of that now! Shaking his head, Neal fled from the memories and into the bathroom. A shower would give him a chance to wipe away the memories of everything he had lost, from Emma to his father to a life that he didn't miss one bit. He didn't need to think of what had happened when his father had rescued him from the Duke of the Frontlands, didn't need to think about the way things had been when they'd been good. He didn't need to think about Emma, either, because August had said that she was off in that cursed town, whatever it was called (Storybrooke, his memory supplied not-so-helpfully). Neal was sure that she was off doing whatever it was that had to be done, and he was sure she'd found someone. Someone better than me, I'm sure.

She had to be happy by now, didn't she? Emma deserved happiness, even if he didn't.


More than 200 Years Before the Curse

The grinning knight who brought him the Duke's summons was already dead. Rumplestiltskin had ripped his still-beating heart out of his chest (a feat he hadn't known he could accomplish until the curse told him so) and crushed it into dust while the fool watched. The knight had been gloating, had gleefully told Rumplestiltskin exactly what the Duke planned, and there was no reason to let him live. In fact, his curse rather demanded the knight's death in exchange for its assistance, so the new Dark One fed it willingly. He had already learned from Zoso's last words that all magic did indeed come with a price, particularly that which his curse provided instruction in. He didn't know magic, couldn't properly use his power without the curse's guidance, and Rumplestiltskin was already beginning to realize that he had to appease the curse in order to keep it cooperating.

Besides, the laughing knight had deserved death. He'd told Rumplestiltskin that the Duke wanted to hurt Baelfire, that the Duke would harm Bae unless Rumplestiltskin turned the kris dagger over to him. The red bearded knight had even looked happy about that, which meant Rumplestiltskin had felt nothing but vicious anger when he crushed his heart, even if he hadn't quite meant to do that. Or at least not so soon.

Staring at his fingers, Rumplestiltskin slowly wiggled them to let the remnants of the dust fall away. Killing like that was easy. There are other ways as well, the curse promised him. Just as easy, just as fast. Or slower ones, methods where you can make your enemies suffer. I will show you. Blinking, Rumplestiltskin nodded, and then realized what a fool he must look like, standing on his doorstep with a body and nodding to himself. Neighbors were staring, but what would they do to him? What could they do?

None of them could touch him, even the Duke. He was more powerful than any of them, and he would make sure they knew that. Rumplestiltskin might have only been the Dark One for less than two months, but he had already ended the war with the ogres and he had brought the children home. He had eliminated Hordor and his bully boys, and he had done countless other things. No one could stop him, and it was easy to disintegrate the laughing knight's body with a wave of his hand. Who cared if they were staring? Let them stare and shake. Rumplestiltskin was powerless no longer. Now he had the power, and he would use it to do whatever he wanted to do.

Bae, the soft memory of the spinner reminded him, and worry made his heart clench. The Duke had Bae. He had to go there.

But how?

Let him keep the boy, his curse whispered seductively. The boy is a danger to you, and—

"No!" The objection came out verbally, and Rumplestiltskin shoved the voice inside his mind aside with all the force he could muster. He had to rescue his son. He had to get there quickly, and there had to be a way. How else could Zoso have always appeared when others were talking about him? Rumplestiltskin did not know how to ride a horse, but there had to be a magical way.

Teleportation, the demon provided. The price was left unspoken, but Rumplestiltskin could already feel his rage rising. He couldn't differentiate between his own anger and the constant fury of the curse, not yet, but right now that didn't matter. The Duke—and his men, undoubtedly—had taken Baelfire. He would make them pay. He would make them suffer.

He'd barely finished that thought when he found himself standing in the great hall of the largest castle in the Frontlands. The Duke was no minor lord; he was the independent ruler of the largest duchy in the entire Enchanted Forest. He had lords who owed allegiance to him, like the old and harmless knight who supposedly ran Rumplestiltskin's own home town. No, the Duke of the Frontlands was all but a king inside and outside his own domain, and he had made himself even more powerful by controlling Zoso. But not me, Rumplestiltskin thought with a nasty smile. The curse sped up his physical reflexes, but he'd always been sharp mentally, which meant he recovered quickly and spun to face the fat little man sitting in a chair on the dais. He was dressed gaudily, expensively, all in golds and greens, the colors of the Frontlands.

We'll make that gold and blood, dearie, either he or his curse thought, gleefully bloodthirsty.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Rumplestiltskin inquired, his voice high-pitched and nasty as he prowled forward. The duke sat up straight very suddenly, obviously not having expected the Dark One to invade his private audience chamber without warning.

"You—you cannot be in here!" some herald or another yelped. Rumplestiltskin silenced him with a wave of one hand, not knowing what magic would jet out of his fingers but certain that it would be something helpful.

Blood spurted out of the herald's throat as if his jugular had been cut with a knife, and Rumplestiltskin found himself giggling a little madly. His curse loved open ended things like that. He must remember not to give it such opportunities. He'd not been at this long, but Rumplestiltskin was already realizing that his curse would control him if he let it. The herald collapsed into a heap before Rumplestiltskin even had a chance to complete that thought, however, so he would have to chalk it up as a lesson learned.

"Where. Is. My. Son?" he asked, speaking very slowly and giving the fat duke a chance to recover. It worked, too; even as Rumplestiltskin stopped in front of the high-backed chair that the duke sat in, his noble overlord seemed to get a hold of himself.

"Very safe," the duke replied with a sneer. "I'm glad you received my invitation, Dark One."

"Ooooh, I received it. I hope you weren't counting on the return of your messenger," he said, just to watch the duke's reaction.

Rumplestiltskin found himself more than a little disappointed by the slight shrug the duke offered. "Not particularly," was the easy response, although the duke was watching him with wary eyes. "It is time we spoke. Would you like to sit down?"

"I would like to see my son," Rumplestiltskin snarled, waving away the terrified servant who started to approach with a chair. Kill that one as an example, his curse whispered, but Rumplestiltskin managed to push that aside with an effort. The servant was obviously a peasant, born and bred, who probably worked in the castle for a pittance. Rumplestiltskin would not harm someone like that. He still remembered being a peasant.

"In good time."

His hand snaked out, almost on its own, to wrap around the fat noble's neck. A dull thud sounded as the Duke of the Frontlands' head slammed against the back of his decorative chair. "Now!"

"There's no need to get worked up," the duke managed to say despite the way Rumplestiltskin was squeezing his neck. His next words came out in a squeak. "If you kill me, the boy dies."

Then kill him slowly, the curse argued persuasively. Rumplestiltskin considered that for a moment before he came to his senses. He could not risk Bae. Not for anything. With an effort, he forced his fingers to loosen, but did not step back from the duke. Not one inch. Nor did he let go.

"Tell your little puppets to bring my son here, now, or I will show you exactly how much pain the human body can suffer," he hissed, the threat coming courtesy of his curse, but it wasn't exactly something Rumplestiltskin minded. Even if he hadn't planned to say it.

"Very well," the duke replied. Although his voice was calm, the frantic gesture he made to one of the guards was not, and two men at arms scurried out of the room to obey his command. Rumplestiltskin smiled, shoving already rotting teeth in the little noble's face and watching the duke cringe. But he did finally let go of the duke's throat, which made the noble continue: "Now we must speak of the terms upon which you will get your son back."

"The only terms I'm offering you, dearie, are your life," Rumplestiltskin retorted immediately, but the duke laughed.

"You have something that belongs to me," he pointed out coolly, reaching down to straighten his doublet. "You may have stolen it, but like your predecessor, you owe me allegiance as your lord. I will have the dagger back, and then you may have your son."

Give him the dagger and you will be his slave, the curse warned him needlessly. Rumplestiltskin already knew that, and he could feel rage whipping through his bones at the very thought. He'd been beaten down enough as the poor spinner, as the town coward. He would not become the slave of this rich little turd, not when he had power. The boy is unimportant. Protect the dagger!

No! Rumplestiltskin could protect both. He knew he could. Channeling his rage against his own curse's demands to kill the duke now and sacrifice his beloved son, he flicked the fingers of his right hand out, acting as much on his own desires as on the curse's suggestions. Bones in the duke's right leg began to shatter, starting at the ankle and working upwards, making the arrogant noble scream in pain. With an effort, Rumplestiltskin jerked the magic to a stop after it broke the first four bones; he would let it finish later.

"I don't think I'll play that game," he said airily. "Instead, you'll play mine. If my son is harmed in any way, I'll inflict that harm upon you. Bit by painful bit. Do you understand me, dearie?"

Panting breathlessly, the duke nodded, his eyes wide as he suddenly seemed to realize that Rumplestiltskin was utterly uncontrollable. Kill him now, the curse whispered, and Rumplestiltskin almost obeyed its quiet power without thought. Barely stopping himself in time—his fingers were inches from the duke's lace and jewel-clad chest—he jumped away from the arrogant little noble with a snarl. He needed to watch the door, anyway. Needed to make sure that the idiot knights brought Baelfire, that Bae was safe. He had to keep Bae safe. That was why he'd done everything he'd done, wasn't it? For his son. For Bae. Thinking of his son let Rumplestiltskin push a little of the rage back, let him regain a little of his senses. I'm here to save Bae. Not to enjoy hurting people.

But you do, the curse told him, digging hooks even deeper into his soul. You do like hurting them. You like this power. They can't control you, and that is exactly what you always wanted. Freedom. Power. You can do whatever you like.

"Dark One, I—" the duke started to say.

"I have a name," Rumplestiltskin cut him off, ice suddenly stabbing into his veins. Was that all they saw him as? Was that all he was now?

"I—I—" Helplessly, the duke looked at his advisors, but they were too busy cowering to assist. Suddenly, Rumplestiltskin realized that the duke had no idea what his name was, who he had been, or what his history was. The noble little pimple just knew that Rumplestiltskin was the new Dark One, and he didn't care about the rest.

"Do you even know the name of the boy you're threatening?" Rumplestiltskin asked, wheeling back to face his supposed overlord, his voice going low and dangerous. The imp was gone, now, or at least banished to the back of his mind. Now he was a father, plain and simple, and his fury was suddenly his own.

Still pale and gasping in pain, the duke tried what he probably thought of as reason. "You have responsibilities. You obviously do not understand the power you have, or what it can do. I can guide you, can give you purpose, and—"

"You're right," Rumplestiltskin cut him off again, a cold shiver of realization rolling through his body. "I don't understand this power. But I will."

"Please, Dark One…"

"My name is Rumplestiltskin!" he thundered, magic leaping from his hands to whip around the room in a sudden whirlwind, tearing tapestries off of the walls and making the rafters shake. Edges of ornate carpets began to burn, and the shelves on the wall started to smolder. The floor was beginning to vibrate, ever so slightly, shaking underneath his feet as Rumplestiltskin's fury built and built, growing to a point where it started to feed itself. And he didn't care. He didn't care about any of them, not the noble advisors cowering in the corner, the knights over by the suddenly shattered window, and particularly not the duke himself, who was panting in pain and looking so pathetically frightened. Because they certainly didn't care about him, and they could burn for all he cared. His hands were shaking from the effort of keeping the murderous power inside, and why? Why not let it out and let them all burn?

A small voice came from the doorway, dousing some of his rage. "Papa?"

"Bae!" Rumplestiltskin whirled to face his son, and then suddenly his magic pulled and he was there, right by Bae's side.

He hadn't meant to teleport, but it was a good thing that he had. The knight to Baelfire's left had drawn a dagger, and it was barely an inch away from the boy's throat when Rumplestiltskin appeared in a cloud of black smoke. Kill him! the curse demanded joyfully, and Rumplestiltskin did not pause to think; his right hand shot into the knight's chest, going straight through chain mail and yanking his heart out as the taller man screamed. He crushed the heart before his hand was even fully free, wheeling to look at the other knight, who also had a weapon in hand and sought to threaten his son.

Later, Rumplestiltskin realized that the second knight was already backing away, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away from the infuriated Dark One. At the time, he did not care. Either the demon within him or his own rage demanded blood; the two were impossible to tell apart and he did not care. His left hand came up, his palm full of fire, and Rumplestiltskin flung the small fireball straight into the face of the dark haired knight. Guided by his own sense of irony—because he remembered this man, remembered him from several beatings the poor spinner had received at the hands of his so-called betters—the fireball shot straight down the knight's throat, burning his tongue away and then igniting inside him. The room filled with the knight's screams, until Rumplestiltskin snapped his left fist shut, silencing the man's now-garbled attempts to scream without a tongue.

"Papa, stop!" Baelfire shouted, tugging on his right arm. Instinct brought magic back to Rumplestiltskin's left hand; there were several ways to silence the boy, not all of them temporary, and wouldn't that be nice? Or he could just kill him—No! Turning to look into terrified brown eyes helped Rumplestiltskin throttle his rage back a little. "Let's go home," Bae pleaded.

"Home," Rumplestiltskin whispered, his head suddenly whirling like he was caught in the middle of a tornado. Why was he dizzy?

Kill them all. Kill them all and you will feel better, his curse whispered, and without thinking, he sneered at the duke again, who was weeping over his shattered right leg.

I could leave him a cripple, he thought, and that idea was all Rumplestiltskin. It would serve the arrogant nobleman right—but no, he'd just find some healer to fix his problems, unlike a poor spinner who the generals had refused to even let the medics set his leg. That isn't enough. Was that last bit him, or the curse? He could not tell.

"Papa?" Bae whispered again, pulling gently on his arm, anchoring him to reality. Needing his boy, loving him so much that the curse made it hurt, Rumplestiltskin wrapped a protective arm around his son, pulling him close.

But there was something else he had to do first.

"Close your eyes, son. You don't want to see this," Rumplestiltskin told Bae, and the brown eyes that had been watching him worriedly turned angry.

"You don't have to hurt anyone else! Haven't you done enough?"

"No," he whispered, his voice a hard hiss. "They would have killed you. This arrogant little duke would have killed you, all to control me." The sing-song-y high pitch came back with the last phrase, and the duke squeaked in fear. Rumplestiltskin giggled.

"But they can't. Can they?" Now Bae looked worried. Bless his heart.

"Oh, no. No, they can't, and they never will." His left hand came up again, and the duke screamed as his other leg began to shatter. A snap of Rumplestiltskin's fingers bound him down to the throne, and when two of the other knights finally started forward, a flick of his wrists sent them crashing back into the wall, one with a broken neck and one completely decapitated. It was easy. Killing was so easy. He had so much power.

"Papa, no—"

"Hush, Bae," he cut his boy off, pulling Bae close so that he didn't have to watch as the Dark One's magic continued breaking every bone in the duke's body. After a few moments, he silenced him, too, but kept watching the noble jerk and twitch on his ornate throne. Bae didn't need to see that, but Rumplestiltskin wanted to. And he wanted the shivering group of well-born advisors to see it, too, so that they could tell the others where the real power was.

None of them can stop me, he thought, drunk on the power and unable to care. Of course, when they went home, his son wanted to know why he'd killed so many, but Bae really was too young to understand that, wasn't he? Rumplestiltskin just wanted the power to protect him. He had to protect his son. Without Baelfire, he was nothing, and even his curse could not erase that. It tried many times over the years to erase his love for his son, but never quite managed.

Of course, it was the shock of losing Baelfire that finally taught him to control the rage and power tearing through him; by then, it was too late, but he learned to control his curse to a limited degree, learned to make it serve him instead of the other way around. No longer did Rumplestiltskin kill without meaning to, and he learned that he really didn't enjoy making people suffer—much though his curse did. But as centuries passed, his grip became stronger, the power more his than the demon's, and Rumplestiltskin slowly returned to a man almost like the one his son had once loved.


Something strange stirred in Chloe Zephyr as she watched Lacey French step into Mr. Gold's hospital room again, something deep and angry. The shelf to her right rattled ever so slightly, the boxes on it shifting left and right, but when she turned to look at it, no one had touched it. She certainly hadn't, which made no sense at all. Things didn't move without someone touching them. Or did they? An odd part of Nurse Zephyr thought that if she could just harness her powers correctly, she could make things move with only the power of her mind, but that was an utterly insane thought. Telekinesis was a lie made up by people who wanted to look better than everyone around them, a product of science fiction and nothing more.

Yet there was something there. Something just out of her grasp and so close she could taste it.


Emma was only a little surprised to see that Lacey was visiting Gold again. She never had quite figured out what was between those two, but as she watched them through the half-open door, she could see that there was something. Moe French had tried to send Emma after Gold before he'd attacked him, complete with tales of how Gold had to be abusing his daughter, but Lacey sure as hell didn't look like the abused one, now. In fact, she looked rather like the woman who had come to Emma and Mary Margaret saying that she'd convinced the fearsome Mr. Gold to buy out Mary Margaret's debt. The confidence in her face was the same from what Emma remembered that day, but there was something else, there, too.

And the smile Gold was wearing while Lacey held his hand was downright disturbing. Not because he was frightening or in any way creepy, but because it was a real smile, a genuine one that reached his eyes and everything. It wasn't something that Emma had ever seen on him, or expected to see, and it kind of weirded her out. It made her think, yet again, about Renee's mysterious parentage, and wonder exactly how long those two had been together, right underneath everyone's noses.

"Renee will be happy to see you," Lacey said, brushing hair out of Gold's bruised face. "And I'll be glad to have you home. It's too quiet without you."

"Oh, it's too quiet without me?" Gold replied, laughing softly. "And here I was thinking that my final night here will be the last peace and quiet I'll have for a while."

Lacey giggled. "You know you love it."

"I know I—" Abruptly, Gold's expression changed, closing off as his eyes zeroed in on Emma where she stood by the half-open door. "Sheriff Swan. What can I do for you?"

The coldness in his eyes presented a remarkable contrast to the open warmth that had been there mere moments earlier, but Emma squared her shoulders and strode in. "Hey," she said as openly as she could, trying to pretend she hadn't been watching the pair. "Can I talk to you for a sec, Gold?"

"I appear to be a captive audience, dearie, so have at it," he replied, back to his smooth and dangerous ways without missing a beat.

"Actually, I was wondering if we might talk alone," Emma replied, glancing at Lacey and trying not to be subtle. The other woman met her eyes levelly, however, and after a moment, she rose with a nod.

"I'll go grab some lunch from Granny's," Lacey said to Gold, and Emma thought that he saw a slight softening in his eyes. "And then I'll sneak it past Whale, too. Particularly since that clingy nurse Zephyr seems to have gone home for the day."

"I'll see you soon," Gold said emotionlessly, and Lacey gave him a smile before leaving the sheriff alone with her…well, whatever he was.

Emma closed the door after Lacey stepped out, watching through the window until Lacey disappeared around a corner. Then she turned back to face Gold and leaned against the wall. He was looking awfully good for a man who had been beaten half to death a few days earlier. In fact, he was looking amazing for a patient who Whale had been so worried about, particularly in comparison to the last time Emma had talked to him. Then, he'd been loopy and drugged up, and probably more honest than he wanted to be. Now, he looked collected and controlled, not to mention a hell of a lot more coherent. Gold looks way better than he should, actually, Emma realized, frowning at the pawnbroker.

"You're looking mighty good for a guy who Whale thought might die five days ago," she pointed out, thinking of the phone conversation that Regina had put on speaker the day before. Magic isn't real, Emma told herself for the hundredth time. Whatever Regina did with that fireball was just some trick. Wasn't it?

But there was Gold, looking worlds better than he had, and way healthier than he had any right to look, and if there wasn't a logical explanation, maybe…?

"I'm fortunate enough to be a quick healer," Gold replied flippantly, meeting her eyes without demonstrating any evidence that he might be lying. "And it appears that my injuries were less severe than originally reported."

"I bet they were," Emma said slowly, pushing those thoughts from her mind. "Anyway. I'm here to talk to you about Moe French and Tony Rose. You gave me enough of a statement to arrest them, but I need to make sure that you're ready to testify. The D.A. is preparing his case, but if you're not willing to press charges…"

Immediately, Gold's eyes flicked to the door Lacey had just walked out of, and wasn't that more considerate than she'd ever given him credit for being? "I'm going to have to get back to you on that one, sheriff. I...may simply opt for a civil suit instead."

"Why the hell would you do that?" Emma frowned.

"I have my reasons," he snapped, and at least that was vintage Gold. Brown eyes met hers, narrowing coldly. "I'll answer your question when I'm good and ready."

"Okay, then," she retorted, pissed off by the sudden about face and goaded into saying more. "Then tell me how the hell you're so suddenly healed, huh? Could it have something to do with magic?"

Emma hadn't meant to bring that up, and she'd expected Gold to react with surprise. Instead, he arched one eyebrow and glanced at her speculatively. "Are we beginning to believe, Miss Swan?"

"Believe what exactly?"

"Well, that depends on what Regina told you, doesn't it?" he drawled.

That made Emma bristle, and she wished that she hadn't brought the subject of magic up at all. She didn't believe, after all. Did she? Could she? Regina wasn't crazy, and Gold was a jerk, but not crazy, either. If they believed…

No. It was madness.

"She put your last call on speaker," Emma replied after a moment, not sure what to believe but certain that there had to be a punch line somewhere. She'd been in this town for four months, now, and nothing except Henry's explanation—backed up Regina—made sense. Even August was singing this song, but he was an outsider, so maybe he didn't count. Still, it had been fairly easy to push that aside, though, until the least imaginative man in town turned out to be in on the joke.

"Did she now?" Anger flickered across his face, but Gold kept his outward calm rather admirably.

"Yeah. So, I got to listen to the two of you talking about magic," she pointed out, not bothering to mention that Henry had, too. There was no reason to bring the kid into this. Not with Gold.

"Well, then the secret is out. Shall I toss a fireball at you, or did Regina already demonstrate that particular talent?" he asked, his lips quirking into a cold smile.

"Got the fireball already, thanks." Snorting, Emma gestured at his bruised face and immobilized leg. "What, magic can't fix the rest of you up? Or are you just not that good?"

Gold chuckled. "Cora's curse only fogs the mind so much, dear. If I heal too fast, Whale and the others will begin asking very inconvenient questions."

"Great, so you believe in this curse, too?" she asked before she could stop herself. Way to not actually answer my questions, jackass. She needed to ask Regina how powerful Gold was. Or, no, actually she didn't. She didn't believe in magic. This wasn't some fairytale!

Speaking of fairytales, who the hell was Gold supposed to be, anyway? Henry thought he was the beast, but Emma was starting to think it wasn't that simple.

"I did ask you for belief once."

"You gonna cash in on that now?"

"Oh, no. We've a ways yet before that's necessary," Gold replied. "Now, if you don't need anything else, Sheriff, I do believe that my favorite doctor is about to pay me a visit. It wouldn't do to arouse his suspicions, even if time is moving now."

"I thought that the more people know, the weaker the curse gets," Emma replied, genuinely curious about what this all-too-smart man would say in response to that. It was one thing listening to Henry talk about a curse, and another to listen to Regina. But Gold? Gold talking about it nearly broke her brain.

"Ah, would that be Regina's philosophy, or your boy's?" he smiled again. "I'm afraid that your dear step-aunt is a fan of the direct approach. She believes in hammering away until something gives. Not much subtlety in Regina."

"Whereas you're nothing but." She couldn't believe she was having this conversation.

"The Dark Curse is a complicated creature, Miss Swan. You've seen its affects, and although the curse is weakening, it is also still plenty strong. And as long as the curse remains intact, Cora holds all the power. You cannot allow yourself to forget that, even if more people are acting against her as the curse deteriorates."

"Even if I believe you—and I'm not saying I do—how the hell does it get broken, then? What frees everyone from the curse?" Emma demanded. She might be skeptical, and she was, but hell, there was no harm in asking, was there?

"Now that's the question we're all hoping you'll answer for us, dear."

Emma couldn't help herself; a full-fledged snarl tore out of her. "Oh, that's freakin' helpful. Thanks a lot, Gold."

He shrugged, but there was something in the way those brown eyes were watching her that set her teeth on edge. And reminded her of someone, but now was not the time to examine that insane thought. Emma glared.

"Whose side are you on here, anyway?" she asked.

Gold smiled gain. "My own, of course."

"Again with the helpful." Emma felt like shaking him, and if she'd been a little more angry, she might have, just to watch him squirm. Instead, she asked a question she was sure to annoy him. "So, where does Lacey fall while you're on your own side, then?"

"Lacey," Gold growled, and there was the anger she'd expected, "is in no danger from me. Nor will she ever be."

"Sure. I'm really believing you on that one," she shot back, but before Emma could say more, Whale walked in, looking between the two of them uneasily.

"Everything all right in here?" the doctor asked warily.

"Of course it is, Doctor," Gold replied, his voice cool again and his eyes guarded. The next sentence was directed straight at Emma. "The Sheriff was just leaving, weren't you?"

Part of her wanted to stay just to piss him off, but Emma had better things to do than talk to the town jackass. "You bet I was," she replied, and stalked out before Gold could annoy her further.

She didn't believe in magic. She didn't.


A/N: So, do you think Emma's finally coming around? Also, what do you think of Rumplestiltskin towards the beginning of his curse? I hope the contrast between him then and him now is fairly startling.

Next: Chapter 54: "Choosing Sides", in which Belle and Rumplestiltskin discuss Moe and Tony's fate, Cora makes a threat, and Belle visits her father in jail. Back in the past, Belle returns home to visit her father with surprising results.