Tonight.

The curse would be broken tonight. Either that, or early tomorrow. Sometime within the next twenty-four hours.

He may not possess the foresight via mind-consuming visions in this world, but he was still able to sense changes in their little bubble called Storybrooke. It had been happening with increased frequency lately. A fleeting notion would pop into his mind—pure instinct, perhaps—and he never doubted its validity. Opening his mind, as Jefferson called it. Getting in touch with his inner self, Archie dubbed it.

It hit him out of nowhere.

Maybe it was the sleeping curse-spiked apple turnover or the fresh rage scorching Emma's glistening green eyes that suggested she was inches from picking up a pitchfork and going out on the warpath…but he felt it deep in his bones. Tonight was the night everything changed. This was the beginning of the final act of a play that had carried on for 28 years.

He wondered morosely if this was also the night he would have to say goodbye to Emma. Not because there was a chance the final battle with Maleficent would take her life, but because of his true identity. If she were to become a believer, it meant she would also realize who he was and what he was capable of. Over the past few months of their relationship, she had embraced the role of being Gold's dear, darling wife. There was no questioning her attraction.

But would she consent to be the wife of Rumpelstiltskin? He didn't know for certain, but he prepared his heart for the worst, anyway. He'd suffered through too many empty relationships and broken hearts to hope for anything remotely promising. Emma was capable of love, there was no doubt about it, but did he deserve it? Or would she still stand by him as his wife with tender kisses and crumbled walls?

He didn't know. And that uncertainty scared him worse than if Death knocked on his front door.

He miserably watched as medics rushed through his door with a stretcher and placed Henry on it. A sterile blanket was tucked around his limp body, his hands snow white atop the already too-white fabric. An oxygen mask was strapped over his nose and mouth, the oxygen assisting him to breathe where his natural instincts failed.

Emma barked questions at the medics, waving the apple turnover in their faces, her hand never leaving the rail of Henry's stretcher. The medics zipped the turnover away in a plastic bag for consideration, but Gold could tell they weren't putting much stock in the Madame Mayor poisoned my son theory. Emma had to insist three times that Henry didn't have a food allergy.

He wondered if Regina had generously lined the medic's pockets recently.

"Are you coming?"

Gold removed his eyes from the back of the medic's head that was currently loading Henry in the back of the ambulance. Could he possibly jostle that stretcher any more than he currently was? He might as well do it himself.

He reluctantly met his wife's stony gaze. Emma's tone had been sharp as a razor's edge, demanding, implying that there was no time to be wasted. The voice of a savior, he thought wryly.

"You go on ahead with Henry," he insisted, flicking his wrist toward the ambulance. Emma narrowed her eyes accusingly. He would have liked to accompany her and comfort her…maybe hold her back from Regina so he could lash at her himself…but time was precious. There were many preparations he needed to undertake for Emma's sake. "My bedside manners leave something to be desired. You need to be there for Henry. I'll grieve in my own way."

Emma latched onto the crook of his elbow, her gaze burrowing into his own. He wished he could tell her that Henry would be alright, but he never liked to lie to Emma. At this moment, Henry's fate hung in the balance. On the outside, he was calm and calculating as always, never breaking Emma's stare. On the inside, he was fearful and ready to curl into a ball in woe for his stepson.

He had a powerful urge to inform her of the sleeping curse, but figured it would do more harm than good. Emma was stuck in the state between believing and denying—the truth had to be discovered and accepted on her own terms. If he reinforced it, shoved it in her face, the spell would break and Emma would surely slip into denial once more.

And then he would lose her for good. Henry would die by Regina's hand and there would be little hope of retaliating against her wrath.

Emma must have realized he wasn't budging since her hand fell away from his arm. She sucked in a harsh breath through her teeth and started for the ambulance.

"I'll call you when I know more about what's going on with Henry," she tossed over her shoulder. If his instincts were correct, he would bet every cent of his name on it. He murmured a solemn thank you to show his gratitude; he could tell she heard it by the small shift of her head.

"Emma," he called her attention back. She half-turned, one foot on the inside of the ambulance as she prepared to jump into the back with Henry. There was a moment of tense silence as he chose his words carefully. This time, it was his stare that remained unbroken. "Would you still prefer I not kill Regina?"

Emma held her tongue, but he read the answer easily in her eyes—a dark vow of vengeance for her child. A deadly strength writhed through her muscles that Regina had no idea how to anticipate. He remained standing on the street until the ambulance's lights faded around the corner, confident of the newly awakened fire he had glimpsed.

Asking whether he was liable to kill Regina was the wrong question, regardless of the thirst for revenge he nurtured. If Regina was smart—doubtful—then she would steer clear of the hospital tonight. If Emma crossed paths with her, there was a chance his wife would do the town a favor and kill her first.

Now, he just had to remember the last place he used Charming's sword…

…..

"Magic…"

The word slipped through Emma's lips before she could stop it.

It was ridiculous, insane, impossible. Yet, Emma was somehow unable to quit burning holes into Henry's leather-bound storybook with her eyes. Part of her insisted that there must be a logical explanation for Henry's crisis, maybe Regina poisoning him, but she knew deep in her heart that Henry was only collateral damage. That apple turnover was meant for her.

Something extraordinary took root in Emma's mind, a kind of openness that she had been hesitant to possess before. Henry had been trying to tell her….

She took the heavy storybook into her arms, her nails tracing the elegant gold script on the cover. Once upon a time…Something flashed inside her head, consuming every lobe of her brain until she no longer existed in that stuffy hospital room.

It was an image of a woman with delicate features cradling her newborn baby to her chest, small crystalline tears sliding over her flushed cheeks, willowy black hair spilling over her shaking shoulders. A woman whose face strongly resembled Mary Margaret's. The baby was wrapped in a knitted blanket, purple thread spelling out the baby's name: Emma. Long-lost words whispered in her ear. You have to take her. Take the baby to the wardrobe. We have to give her her best chance. We have to believe that she'll come back for us!

The flashes increased in speed and frequency, speeding by before Emma could concentrate on them. Her legs were numb—no pins and needles sensation or wobbling Jell-O weakness. They just weren't there. Her heart hammered in her chest, pounding against her skin. She had no idea which way was up or if that falling sensation that descended upon her was simply her stomach plummeting.

All she could do was witness the memories unfolding before her eyes.

A prince—no, her father—defending himself against several guards with funny-looking helmets. Swords clanged together, her father swinging his impressively while holding her as a baby in his arms. Another flash: this one of an elaborate wooden wardrobe and her father placing her inside. A kiss on the forehead, a trail of tears staining his cheek. Find us…

The departure of the flashes was like a mental shove, causing Emma to stumble back a few paces. She blinked a couple times, fighting through the foggy disorientation that had temporarily plagued her senses. The storybook still pressed to her chest and she studied it with renewed awe.

It was real. Everything Henry had told her was real. The curse, her parents, the wardrobe…She was the savior. Her son had been poisoned because of the threat she posed to the curse. Poisoned by—

"Where is my son?" An irritating clacking of heels, matched with a brutal iciness that no winter could hope to bring about. Her. This was all because of her. Emma knew it now, without a shadow of a doubt.

And Regina was going to pay for it dearly.

"You did this," Emma grumbled. The book was thunderous as it slammed down on the table. Whirling on her heel, the color black flooded every corner of her vision. It was the only thing she could recognize: black, black and more black. Regina was the epitome of darkness.

Emma didn't even bother to give her a warning—she was done playing Regina's mind games. She harshly latched onto a limb and dragged Her Majesty off to a supply closet. Regina struggled in her grasp, but Emma's strength might as well have been inherited from the Hulk. The door burst inward under Emma's touch and Regina followed suit, her body slamming into a shelf of medical supplies. Syringes, bandages, and tongue depressors scattered the floor among Regina's black stilettos.

Then the tables officially turned. Emma became Regina's worst nightmare.

It was devastating enough that Henry lay unconscious in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask required to help him breathe, but her newfound belief only fueled her fury. Before Regina could even turn around, Emma's hands clamped onto her shoulders and launched her into a metal cabinet. Regina wriggled aimlessly in hopes of balancing on her feet, but Emma generously supported her by gripping her shoulders, pinning her to the cabinet. Regina scowled.

"This is the second time today!" Emma ignored the red marks and darkening bruises on Regina's neck. Her fist connected with the space directly next to Regina's ebony head, making her jump. "What the hell are you doing? My son—"

"—is sick because of you," Emma shouted furiously. Her nails dug into Regina's shoulders and her muscles quivered with rage. Everything that went wrong in this town was because of her. "That apple turnover you gave me? He ate it!"

The breath was released from Regina's lungs in one powerful whoosh, her body deflating under Emma's hold. Raw fear darkened her eyes as it never had when Emma was throwing her around this closet. For a moment, she did not seem like a benevolent Evil Queen, but a shell of the tyrant she was.

"What?" Regina blankly stared at the linoleum tiled floor, unable to compute what Emma was shouting at her. Though Emma might appreciate the emergence of emotion for Henry, she had no time or patience for it.

"Fix it! Wake him up!" Emma shook Regina's shoulders violently, that dark head lolling against the cabinet. Regina blinked at her dazedly, cheeks flushed with shame. If Emma had her way, Regina would never live this failure down.

"I can't," she admitted, reclining her head with a dull thunk on the cabinet. Emma's fingers tightened on Regina's shoulders until the mayor squirmed. "I used the last bit of magic I had in order to obtain that sleeping curse. Besides, he wouldn't wake up even if you dumped ice water on him. Magic is different here; it's unpredictable. It doesn't belong in a world that is built to survive without it. It was meant for you, not him."

There it was—the plain, hard truth. Everything was real. Henry had been right.

As quickly as it had come, the fight rushed out of Emma. Her grip on Regina's blouse loosened until her hands dropped limply to her sides. She began a restless pace within the tight perimeter of the storage closet, mentally translating everything Regina hadn't had the courage to say aloud. Her hand shook worse than a caffeine addict who missed their morning cup of coffee.

Henry…no…

"You mean…Henry could actually…" Die?

The last word peppered her tongue, but she clamped her lips shut to prevent its escape. It would be the equivalence of opening Pandora's box. Maybe it was superstitious at best, but she was genuinely afraid that voicing that heart-wrenching possibility would solidify it and seal Henry's fate. Water pricked her eyelids and her throat constricted.

And Regina nodded.

No, she refused to let Henry slip through her fingers without a decent fight. Not after everything they'd been through since he first knocked on her door in Boston. She hadn't known it then, but that night turned out to be one of the best nights of her life.

"We need help," Regina decided, pushing away from the cabinet. Her hand was pale and folded in front of her as though she were clutching an invisible string of rosary beads. "There's only one other person in this town who is aware of the truth."

Emma froze in the midst of her stride, the answer hitting her with the force of a wrecking ball. There was no question of the identity of the person swimming in Regina's mind. Her husband. She hadn't even stopped to consider his true nature. There were never any pictures or concrete details about his character in Henry's book, either.

"Gold," she heard herself whisper. Regina pursed her blood-red lips.

"Actually, he goes by Rumpelstiltskin."

Of course. That was exactly what Henry always insisted every time he visited their house or snuck out of his room late at night to visit or watch a movie with them with Regina unsuspecting. Then Emma's brain did somersaults as she began to understand the implications of this curse.

"I'm married to Rumpelstiltskin. I am the wife of Rumpelstiltskin," she exclaimed in disbelief. For the first time since Emma had dragged her off, there was an old hint of menace in the depths of Regina's eyes.

"You have my condolences."

Emma never remembered the walk to Gold's shop being so dreadfully long. It wasn't simply the fact that Regina was forced to accompany her, either, though it seemed Regina had a lot of pent-up issues about how this world worked. It was expensive transportation this and total lack of fashion sense that. Nauseating air this and ridiculous holiday traditions that. Apparently, she had a thing against ironing boards, too.

She didn't know which she preferred: Regina's jabbering or the discomforting thought of confronting her husband. Henry had once told her a theory that she was married to Rumpelstiltskin—his codename the Limping Imp—but she had scoffed at it along with everything else.

But now…it was tough to wrap her mind around, yet there was no use denying it. As much as it shocked her, it hardly altered her feelings for him. Even as she pictured his familiar face, she felt the corners of her lips lifting. All those months and precious moments had been real for her. There was no forgetting them just because the truth came out. He was still her husband, the man she fell in love with. She would have to get used to the change of events.

After she saved her son.

Regina reached the entrance first. She pulled the door open and glided through as if she owned the place, her dark eyes scanning the shop for its mysterious owner. Surprisingly, Regina's palm lingered on the glass of the door, propping it open as Emma approached it. The alarms rang in Emma's head. There was no way Regina was suddenly experiencing a change of heart.

"Thank y—" Emma didn't have time to finish before Regina abruptly released her hold on the door. It connected with the side of Emma's head, shoving her forward into the shop. She groaned in discomfort and glared daggers into the center of Regina's back.

"My mistake," the mayor snidely shot over her shoulder. Emma slammed the door closed, the disgruntled sound of the bell screeching through the shop.

"I thought you and I were going to start acting nicer to each other. Oh, right, I forgot. That was before you plotted to get rid of me and before you put my son under a sleeping curse," she retorted, grinding her teeth in irritation.

She despised Regina's everlasting collectiveness while she had a demanding urge to punch the wall until her knuckles bled. But for all her deadly self-control, Regina was bothered enough by Emma's accusations to pause and rotate in her direction. Those vile lips were twisted in a frown and a vein threatened to pop from her forehead. In the blink of an eye, she was in Emma's face, violating the contours of Emma's personal bubble. She was so close that Emma noticed a faint groove above Regina's upper lip when she sneered.

"I must have hit you with that door harder than I assumed, Sheriff. He's my son, remember? Not yours." Still holding onto that security blanket, I see, Emma thought cynically. She barely flinched under the imposing danger of Regina's tone. For so long, she held her tongue and stifled her remarks for Henry's sake. No more.

"You forfeited your claim to Henry the minute you offered me that apple turnover, Madame Mayor," she hissed. Regina did flinch. Maybe she sensed the awakened power churning through Emma's veins as richly as her own blood. In any case, she took a careful step back.

"Did you ever consider that this is your fault, not mine? If you had accepted that apple turnover as I thought you did, if you had eaten it as intended, Henry wouldn't be in that hospital bed. It should have been you."

Emma came supremely close to introducing Regina to her little friend, Right Hook. How did this nonsense even amount to logic to Regina? If it weren't for Regina's insecurity and sociopathic nature, Henry wouldn't be in that hospital bed. It wasn't her fault, it couldn't be.

"Don't make me drag you back to that supply closet," Emma muttered.

Regina opened her mouth wide to protest, but her words were immediately silenced by the terrible scream of the metal rings as the black curtain slid aside to reveal Gold in all his elegant glory. It was about time. Was he standing behind the curtain and eavesdropping?

"Ladies, ladies. No need to argue over little ole me," he purred. Regina pretended to stick a finger down her throat, but he ignored her dramatic air.

There was a noticeable spring in his step and he was leaning a little less on his cane. Even so, Emma sensed there was an internal struggle waging just beneath the surface, a blunt pang of ache ricocheting through his brown eyes for Henry. This was an act, a mask to shield his emotions.

His fingers danced over an unfamiliar, slender black box that rested on the counter. The placement of it—front and center—warned her of its importance; there was a reason it was presented here before them so directly. Everything Gold did had a reason. His eyes sharply locked with hers and it was incredibly similar to the early days of their relationship. He was doing that soul-peering thing, the chill of his stare seeping into her bones. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, though his eyes reflected a deeper message: finally.

"Well, well, well. Do my eyes deceive me or is that the look of a believer?"

He spread his palms on the counter and loomed toward her with the swiftness of a snake. There was no way to break his powerful gaze as he studied her smoldering eyes. She had a feeling he was searching for the spark of life that only belonged to the Enchanted Forest and his fingers gently grasped her hand when he found it. Only for a moment and then his touch had disappeared, almost as if he were afraid she would recoil first.

"So, it's true. You're Rumpelstiltskin," she breathed in childlike wonder. The corners of his mouth rose an inch, though he was anything but happy.

"The one and only, my dear," he whispered. Regina brusquely cleared her throat to draw his attention, interrupting before he could touch Emma again or exchange another mournful look. Unforgiving coldness swept into his brown eyes as he sharply switched his focus to the Queen.

"Shall we get on with it? Or would you rather reacquaint yourself with your husband on top of the counter?"

Deliberately, Gold veered most of his body toward Emma and his fingers deftly caught the zipper on her leather jacket. He tugged it down an inch or two to expose Emma's milky flesh underneath, much to Regina's horror. Emma's cheeks heated as he licked his lips hungrily.

"Don't tempt me, dearie," he warned the Queen, complete with a suggestive wink. The zipper descended another inch.

Regina grimaced, her lips curling back from her teeth in pure disgust. As much as Emma would enjoy fantasizing about her intimate activities with her husband—stretching out atop the counter with Gold straddling her hips and his mouth on her throat—she swatted his hand away from her jacket. It was time to get down to business.

That was before she spotted the disfigured Mickey Mouse doll on the counter. She gestured to it wordlessly, her mouth falling open in astonishment.

"This is your way of grieving? Ripping Mickey's head off?" He was obviously spending too much of his time with Goldie. She gaped openly at her husband while Regina snickered.

"Correction: it was the Evil Queen in the pawnshop with the stiletto," he quipped, thrusting a finger at Regina. Emma gawked at Mickey's headless body, then Regina's shiny black stilettos, then the shattered display case she had ignored previously. She couldn't blame him for smashing his cane through a glass case, but Mickey? Regina whipped her hair and snorted in disagreement.

"In my defense, the wench tripped me," she spat.

"Oh, look at that. Your mother decided to join us," he announced mockingly. Regina's eyes widened to the size of tea saucers and she spun toward the door. There was nothing there. However, when she angrily whirled around again, she found Gold's finger directed at her chest. Regina growled. "Ooh, now I see the resemblance!"

"How dare you! I am nothing like my mother!" Gold remained unconvinced. Emma personally never wanted to meet Regina's mother. If Regina was this bad, what was her mother like?

"Have you glanced in a mirror lately? Specifically sometime in the decade before the curse?" Regina leaned over the counter, scowling. She made a grab for his suit, but he easily flitted from her touch.

"Are you insinuating that I'm no better than my mother?" Gold looked offended. Emma rubbed her fingers over her temples.

"No, of course not. I'm not insinuating anything. I'm saying it."

"Enough!"

Even Emma appeared surprised by the command that bellowed from her lips. It was spoken in a way that demanded to be heard, issuing forth in the tone of a mighty ruler. Regina eyed Emma up and down, as if just realizing the extent of the threat she posed. But Gold looked upon her with something like pride.

"Ah, yes. Where are my manners? I forgot we were standing in the presence of a princess," he drawled, capturing her hand and sensually bringing it to his lips. A tingling sensation fluttered through her stomach, but she took her hand back from his mouth.

No more distractions. The longer they stood here arguing, the more they gambled with his life. Besides, there was no way in hell she was wearing a corset.

"Gold…uh, Rumpelstiltskin…or whatever your name is—" Emma found it difficult to attach a new name to the man she'd grown close to over the past few months. It was like discovering he had a hidden identity as a superhero, like Spiderman or Superman. He silenced her confused rambling with a teasing touch to the lips.

"Call me whatever you wish." His finger traced her upper lip delicately, if only to annoy Regina more profusely.

This was a test, she sensed. It was the final hurdle of becoming a true believer, the final stretch that would allow her to do away with the denial implanted in her mind. If she chose to call him Gold at this moment, it meant she had some remaining doubt or otherwise retreated from this new side of him. If she decided to use his true name, it implied that she accepted every part of his being including those that he did not want her to see. And she did love him still, despite any name he took.

"Rumpel," she conceded, much to his amazement. He cradled her chin in the palm of his hand and she could feel him trembling with relief. "We came here because we need your help," she stated, pleading with her eyes.

How many times did he have the answer to what seemed impossible to solve? She silently prayed that he had the answer now. And, alas, there was a wise gleam being brought to life before she even finished her sentence.

"Indeed, you do," he agreed.

And so, he informed her of True Love's power to transcend realms. He told her how he happened to have bottled true love by taking strands of her parents' hair. Just as easily, she read between the lines: this might very well be her only hope to save Henry. I'll do it, she vowed. She didn't care where the potion was or the kind of mad obstacles that stood in her way to obtain it.

But while Gold looked very pleased by her acceptance and headstrong willingness to do what was necessary, the Queen was not happy. She angrily drummed her nails on the counter, a series of shrill clicks that dug under Emma's skin.

"He's my son. It should be me," she argued hotly. Throughout their entire visit, Gold had exchanged only a brief glance with her, never giving Regina more attention than what he deemed worthy. Even now, he never removed his focus from Emma's face, though his jaw locked tensely.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, he's her son. It must be her, no one else," he begged to differ. Emma claimed the obligation without complaint. It was amusing to witness Regina become increasingly ruffled. Suddenly, Gold snapped his fingers. "Almost forgot. You'll need this, Emma."

His fingers commanded her attention toward that questionable black box, the contents yet unknown. Emma's curiosity peaked and she instinctively leaned farther over the counter, the anticipation dominating the movement of her every muscle. Regina glanced suspiciously at the box as the lid creaked, scurrying backward like a nasty critter trying to avoid being squashed by a falling shoe. Emma stared at the widening crack in the box's lid until her eyelids burned.

What was so crucial inside that box? Harry Potter's magic wand? Emma was sure she would blast a hole through Gold's wall. But it wasn't a wand, replica or otherwise.

She recognized the item immediately, even if she had never beheld this particular version before. Her hand curled and unfurled at her side, itching to claim it while her brain misfired in the struggle to perceive what she was seeing. There, nestled snugly inside a womb of crimson velvet was a sword.

"Your father's sword," Gold clarified, as if correcting her unspoken thought. Maybe he was a skillful mind reader, too. It wouldn't surprise her, what with all the fantastical circumstances in store for her tonight. Was that why he was so fond of her more intimate dreams, beyond the invasion of his personal space in bed?

She challenged him to a staring contest, of which he always won. Can you hear me now? What number am I thinking of? Hint: it's not seven. Or is it? How about this: tomorrow, I shall announce to all of Storybrooke that Gold has a pink fetish. As a matter of fact, I'll hire Leroy and Archie to trail you and take notes on everything you do, to be reported in the town square! And I mean everything.

A beat of silence passed.

Nope, he wasn't a mind reader. Ugh, she blinked!

All Gold did was watch with immeasurable patience, waiting for her to accept his gift. Emma's hand wrapped around the sword's hilt, a shiver skating up her spine from the cool touch of the metal. With a quiet sigh, the velvet casing released the blade into her care. It was heavier than she expected it to be. Unbalanced, her arm swung downward and the blade nearly chopped off Regina's foot.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Is this your attempt at assassination?"

Regina screeched like a banshee and leaped out of the way, knocking over one of the artfully painted mugs on the far display case. It crashed to the floor and shattered into several thousand pieces at her feet. At the rate Gold's shop was going, it wouldn't be far-fetched to host a Greek party, smashing plates and all.

"Regina, if I wanted to assassinate you, I think I would aim higher than your foot," Emma retorted coldly. It took a second to adjust to the blade's weight, but then its sharp end was leveled with Regina's neck. It was only for a moment and only as a warning not to cross her tonight. Gold had the audacity to casually examine his manicured nails and chuckle.

"Perhaps I should call the Ghostbusters and rid my shop of your mother's pesky ghost," he tossed in Regina's direction.

He winced upon giving Emma one of his classic once-overs, but she had no clue why. Was he implying a similarity to Regina's mother? Her? That was one comparison she didn't want to dwell on, unless she lose the contents of her stomach. Wasn't it bad enough that Regina was technically her step-grandmother?

Regina must have decided that her nemesis wasn't worth her anxiety, since she bluntly ignored his pokes and jeers. Or maybe that was another portion of this world she disliked—she had no idea who the Ghostbusters were. Emma wondered if the Queen was suspecting a new business in town. David, Archie, and Leroy, perhaps?

"Sheriff, you are to meet me outside the public library in no more than thirty minutes," Regina demanded, tapping the face of the watch on her wrist. Just for that, Emma seriously considered arriving in thirty-one minutes…at least, she would if Henry's life didn't count on it. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to say goodbye to my son once more before we go parading down to the library," Regina said snippily, making a beeline for the door.

"You're excused," Gold remarked, waving her off. Regina stopped for a moment in her tracks to send him a deathly glare over her shoulder. Then, she vanished through the door, a shadow that immediately blended in with the rest of the night.

When she was gone, Emma rubbed a hand across her forehead. That woman was a walking migraine. She felt her husband's lingering eyes on her back and she turned to meet his gaze. Without Regina's grating presence, he was noticeably less tense and resembled the man she loved.

Appearances were vital.

Still brandishing her father's sword, she tackled the obstacle of the counter between them, coming to stand inches apart from his body. He watched her every move with unabashed curiosity, though he did not try to touch her. So Emma made the first move in placing her hand on his chest. Gradually, his hand rose to cover hers; it was improvement from the previous lack of touch. He handled her in the manner of delicate china, breakable at a moment's notice.

"You have to tell me what it is I'm walking into. I feel like a child whose wooden sword was just replaced with a real one and is being sent off to battle. I'm not prepared for this," she unleashed the frustration that had been bubbling since she had become a believer. She could not understand the meaning of this distance between them when what she most needed was his arms around her. But all he proceeded to do was smile faintly for her benefit and stroke her palm.

"You'll know precisely what to do in time," he murmured. Her brow furrowed in dismay. This was his way of deflecting, of cleverly avoiding the subject. Whereas the sword had been entrusted to her care, words were always his weapon of choice. Well, tonight she would not allow it.

"That wasn't what I asked. What is Regina keeping underneath the library? How am I supposed to head off to fight if I don't know what kind of person or creature is waiting for me?"

There had to be a reason why Gold offered the sword instead of instructing her to use her gun. She had a foreboding inkling about the truth, but shook it off as she waited for his answer. By the way he stalled and took an interest in a worn patch in the floorboards, she sensed he was debating on revealing everything he knew.

Finally, he sighed in defeat.

"The creature in question…is a dragon," he relented.

Emma felt the blood drain from her face and neck. That was exactly what she had been afraid of hearing. A dragon. A real, scaly, fire-breathing dragon. How the hell was she supposed to fight that? The most knowledge she possessed about sword-fighting was that the pointy end went in the other guy.

"I take it you're not referring to Mushu," she sarcastically replied. The regret written on his face explained it all.

"Maleficent." Emma winced as she recognized the name. It made her take an involuntary step back, her mind attempting to process the new information.

"Wait…Maleficent? As in the green-faced, black-horned witch who got miffed about not being invited to a party or something and put Sleeping Beauty in a coma? That Maleficent?" Gold shrugged in apology. Oh, sure, he was perfectly calm and logical about this. He wasn't the one that was going to face a dragon with a sword that the dragon could use as a toothpick.

"It's not a very common name, is it?"

Emma examined the sword in her hand, the blade gleaming under the shop's dim lights. It was the same one her father had used to defend himself against those guards. No way could she fight the way he had in that vision—and he'd been holding a baby!

"Got any last minute advice for slaying a dragon?" She took a deep breath in and out. She needed the step-by-step manual. Somehow, she doubted it would be in stock at the library. Suddenly she regretted not bringing Henry's book. At least it had pictures of her father slaying a dragon.

"Hard to say; I myself have never fought one. All I would have had to do in our land was snap my fingers and we would've had the biggest turkey in the realm for Thanksgiving," he said, snapping his fingers in demonstration. Her husband…actually had magic? On their first anniversary, she fully expected a heated pool to drop out of the sky in their backyard. "Try to stab its foot—it might fall over. And when it starts to feel like a sauna in there, I suggest you duck for cover. You don't want to be in her line of fire, so to speak. Try not to make her sneeze, either. You'll just get the same effect. It's too bad you don't have a spare unicorn in that leather jacket. I hear she's rather fond of them."

Emma cocked an eyebrow dubiously, but Gold remained serious as ever. If she and Henry lived through this night, she was going to request a crash course on the Enchanted Forest.

Gold must have sensed the flux in her confidence since he removed his hand from hers long enough to caress her cheek.

"Relax, sweetheart. You can do this. It's in the blood that runs through your veins at this very moment. Your parents were natural-born leaders. You have inherited their goodness, strength, intelligence…as far as your mother is concerned, anyway. Are you familiar with the phrase 'can't find his way out of a paper bag?' I tested that theory on Prince Charming. Granted, it was in this world and he was taking a nap at the animal shelter, but I'm sure the result would have been the same if he were awake."

Emma gave him a stern stare. He waved it off.

"Point is: you are the savior and the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. You alone possess the ability to do this, to save your son. I have faith in you," he assured her.

Emma heard the sincerity in his voice and she felt the tenderness of his touch as his hand brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. The coil of sunshine-shaded hair slipped through his fingers like molten gold. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around his neck and embraced him, her face burying into the soft warmth of his neck. His hand tentatively pressed against the small of her back, holding her close.

Please, don't let this be our last moment together, she begged silently to whichever higher power was listening. She didn't realize a tear had leaked from her eyelid until his neck grew damp.

"I'll do everything I can to save Henry…but if something happens during this fight and I don't…I…" The words got clogged in her throat, her voice brittle to the point of breaking. The grief in his eyes reassured her that he understood. "Promise me you'll be there for Henry. And if he's saved in time, keep him with you."

It shook Emma to the bone to even consider that the consequences of this fight would be fatal, but she was not one to ignore the possibility when it was looming over her shoulder. For once, Gold was rendered speechless.

"Me? You would want me to raise Henry?"

He made it sound utterly ridiculous. In truth, Emma was nothing short of confident about her decision. She supposed she could place Henry in the care of Mary Margaret, but it was unbearable to think of Gold losing both a wife and child tonight. And it meant Henry might lose a mother—it was worse to imagine him losing his stepfather as a result. She was merely taking precautions.

"I can't leave him with Regina. I need to know that he's safe. I know you would do right by him and that you might need him as much as he needs you. Turns out I have faith in you, too." She entwined her hand with his and gave it a light squeeze. He weakly nodded in agreement.

"I promise. But, believe me when I say you'll come out of this alive. This will not be our last goodbye. Call it my special instinct," he declared proudly. Alright, then. Not only is my husband a magical being who spins straw into gold, but he can see the future, too. Has he ever tried playing the lottery?

Emma started to take her hand back, but he clasped it tighter. She looked to him questioningly.

"Just so you're aware, what you're planning to do in your son's name is exceptionally brave. Not many women can say they've slayed a dragon to save their child." Emma would eagerly place bets that Regina never achieved that award, either. She was still trying for Mother of the Year. One point for Emma!

"It's like my…mom once told me," she reminisced. It was surreal to call Mary Margaret her mom after those days of sharing an apartment and forging a friendship, truth or not. Oh, dear….she was best friends with her mom. How sad was that? "If I don't fight for Henry, who will?"

Certainly not Regina, not in a good way. God forbid if her precious heels got scuffed in the midst of fleeing from a dragon or her "meaningful" life was in jeopardy. Then another thought hit her. She had been struggling with it for the past half hour or so, sorting through it in her mind, but the reality sank into her stomach like a stone.

"I have parents," she breathed in awe.

She had been alone her whole life, searching endlessly for any detail of whom her parents were and why they decided to give her up. It astounded her to think she had held conversations with them for months and didn't put any stock into Henry's claims about there being something more. I'm sorry I doubted you, Henry.

How was she supposed to adjust to these awkward circumstances, though? It would be creepy to watch Mary Margaret and David share sweet moments together like hugging or cuddling on the couch or kissing…Not to mention the parental responsibilities. Could she still be grounded if she was 28? Could she be denied dessert at the dinner table? If Henry mocked her for being sent to her room or having her Bug confiscated, he'd be in big trouble.

Well, there went her freedom. After the curse broke, her parents would be trailing her across Storybrooke like paparazzi on Justin Bieber.

"I have parents," she repeated glumly. Gold half-smiled reassuringly. Either that or he was amused by the fact that she would be hugged to death after the curse broke. He'd suffered through enough hugs from Archie and Leroy both.

"Yes, you do. Just what you've always wanted, darling. Fortunately, I've already met them," he boasted. Emma doubted her parents would be open with the idea of her being married to Rumpelstiltskin if he was anything like this in the Enchanted Forest. Or worse.

"Does this mean you'll win their approval?" Gold opened his mouth, only to close it again. He trained his eyes on everything but her accusatory expression. He fidgeted with his tie, which was a sure sign of his discomfort.

"Don't you have a dragon to slay?" Emma rolled her eyes to the ceiling and rested the blade of the sword on her shoulder as she made her way to the door. That's what I thought. I won't be looking forward to Mary Margaret's Taco Night.

Ring…ring…ring…

"Hell…o?" A drowsy voice invaded Emma's ear. It seemed someone just had their sleep interrupted. Whoops. "Emma? Is that you?"

Warm water blurred across Emma's vision and she rapidly blinked it away. It didn't stem solely from Henry this time. It was hearing that honeyed voice, a voice she had heard countless times yet somehow sounded different tonight. Mom?

"Mary Margaret," she forced the name forward. "Sorry to wake you. I wanted to call you sooner, but everything's been so hectic and I'm not even sure I'm capable of thinking straight right now…" She trailed off, wincing as a dull throb thudded through her skull. Damn Regina and that door.

"Hectic? Emma, what's going on? You sound worked up. Are you alright?"

With every syllable, she sounded less liked a concerned friend and more like the concerned parent Emma never had, motherly intuition alerting her that something was wrong with her baby. Emma gripped her cell phone tighter and sliced the sword cleanly through the air.

"I'm…fine," she lied. Far from it. This night was turning out to be a trip through the Twilight Zone. "But Henry isn't. He's in the hospital and he's not waking up. I tried to get Regina to agree to share custody of Henry, but she gave me an apple turnover. Henry ate it and he collapsed to the floor afterward—he can't even breathe on his own!"

Emma didn't realize her voice had soared several notches until Mary Margaret was forced to soothe her down with words like 'it'll be okay' and 'take a deep breath.' The sword quivered in her grasp. She held it close to her chest and raked a hand through her tangled hair in frustration. A couple of the bigger knots snagged on her fingers and she cursed more than before.

A soft sigh indicated Mary Margaret's remorse.

"Oh, Emma, I'm so sorry. Henry, that poor child…How could Regina bear to hurt him so heartlessly? Her own adopted son…"

Emma paced back and forth, the clapping of her boots the only echoing sound on the darkened street. She checked the time on the clock tower above. Speaking of Regina…where the hell was she? Re-applying her lipstick?

"Technically, the apple turnover was meant for me. In her head, I should have been rolled into the emergency room on a gurney, not Henry." Another muffled gasp crackled through the phone; Mary Margaret must be going for the Kleenex. "There's something I need to do to save his life. Someone needs to watch over him, keep him company while I'm gone. Someone with decent bedside manners."

"I'll sit with him," Mary Margaret instantly replied, sniffling. By the tone of that sworn promise, she wouldn't leave Henry's bedside even for a bathroom break. Emma was grateful for her loyalty all of a sudden, her heart swelling painfully.

"His book is there with him. Maybe you could try reading him a story like you did with Dad—uh…um…David. You might wake him up," Emma rushed onward, praying Mary Margaret hadn't caught that slip-up. The dilemma of her parents had floated around her mind for the past hour, refusing to be ignored. It was a wonder she hadn't called Mary Margaret 'mom' yet.

"Maybe," Mary Margaret agreed, though neither of them sounded convinced of an unexpected miracle happening twice. According to her leprechaun of a husband, the only thing that would wake Henry was true love, but it didn't stop Emma from wishing for divine intervention.

"Thanks, Mom," Emma said with relief. Then she smacked the heel of her hand to her forehead. Why hadn't she knocked on wood earlier? She had cursed herself and now it was too quiet on the other end.

"What…was that?" Stupid, stupid, stupid, Emma mentally berated herself. Okay, no worries. Just play it cool.

"When?" Maybe the curse's effects would still make Mary Margaret hazy-minded. Emma crossed her fingers.

"Just now," Mary Margaret persisted. "Emma, you called me—"

"Mary Margaret. I called you Mary Margaret like I always do. You were dead to the world ten minutes ago; for all you know, this is a dream within a dream. Haven't you ever seen Inception? You know, I've been thinking. The name Mary Margaret is such a mouthful. Have you ever considered shortening it to Mary or a nickname like MM?"

Emma knew she was rambling and that it had little chance of working on Mary Margaret. Quiet as Mary Margaret might be, it only made her more attentive to her environment.

"I suppose…but Emma, a moment ago I could have sworn you called me Mo—" Oh, how Emma wished she had a bag of potato chips stored in her leather jacket. She was desperate enough to crumple it in front of the phone. Still…

"Hello? Hello, Mary Margaret?" Emma took the phone from her ear and held it away from her mouth, trying to make her voice sound like it was fading.

"Emma?"

"I can't hear you! Must be a bad connection. I guess I stumbled into the wrong part of Storybrooke. You're breaking up…can't…hear…you…" Emma coughed into the phone and stuttered a few times for effect before punching the button that would end the conversation. If she really did break this curse, she hoped her mother wouldn't hold this over her head.

"What's the matter? Your dear, sweet mother neglected to pack your chocolate pudding for your field trip?" Emma turned to meet Regina. That lipstick looked too fresh. A key dangled from her finger, her eyebrows speculatively raised as she awaited Emma's response.

"I'd take pudding over an apple turnover any day," she snapped. Regina's smugness faltered and a red nail hooked over the key. Emma pocketed her cell phone and readjusted her grip on the sword's hilt. "Let's get this over with."

….

Big thanks go out to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, stephanie101, Sup25, DragonRose4, JayJ1, Fairy Demon26, onceuponanevilregal, Deathbringer88, Newland Archer, sbcarri, RainMirror, john smith, reginamillz, Nightshade's sydneylover150, PrincessofSea, Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape, The Auburn Girl, The-Writer2012, and SwanQueen4055 for the wonderful reviews and support.