A/N: Ah, more timeline fun. I am making the night Regina finds out Snow's secret the same night she infiltrates the Queens of Darkness and they go out for their night of hard partying. There could technically be time in between these episodes, but I think it is the same night. Regina's character development suggests she would step up to this challenge as quickly as she could in order to both protect everyone and give herself more credibility. I also think Snow and Charming would want her to get started as early as possible. Since 4x13 ends at night and 4x14 begins at night, it's logical to me that one immediately follows the other.

Also, saw the finale last night, LOVED it, and have big plans, specifically that I think I will add Season 5 into this story. That means that once I finish and post Season 4, I will probably put the fic on hiatus until about six or seven episodes into Season 5 so I'll know what's going on. Thanks for staying with this. Season 4, like all the seasons, is an emotional roller coaster and I can't end this story where Season 4 ended. Just can't.


Another night not spent commencing Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Killian sighs, zipping up his jacket before stepping out into the hallway. He'd had half a mind to invite Emma back to his room here last night, to sit down and relive the time he'd spent with Ursula, from the ensnaring sensations conjured from her song to the reports he'd heard after the ordeal of monstrous tentacles snapping ships like twigs, demolishing them quicker than any tempest. He'd reached something of a revelation at dinner, that her faith that he would eventually be comfortable enough to discuss it with her had rendered him just that. But...not that it's conscious on Regina's part at all...the woman had once again thwarted him with nothing more than a phone call asking Emma if she would pick Henry up from her office and stay with her that night.

It only began worrying him early this morning—why Regina would want Henry with Emma an extra night. At the time, he'd chalked it up to the simple answer of her taking ill and wanting him as far from something contagious or inconvenient or both as possible. But Henry's a persuasive lad, and although his mothers might not care to admit it, he does hold some sway over them when it comes to certain things. No, if Regina was ailing, Henry would have insisted on staying there to care for her.

But then for what other reason would Regina give up her time with him? The most absurd section of his brain hopes for Robin. Robin somehow made it back, found Regina, and the two of them desired to celebrate in an extremely adult manner, thus ending this Author business and not thus not rewriting or "fixing" his story, which he happens to like right now.

He descends down into the diner and considers calling Henry, when he freezes at the sight of Granny and Ruby on their hands and knees scrubbing the tiles. A mob of hungry-looking customers grumble from outside. Another waitress hurries over to them with a broom and begins sweeping up broken glass.

"What the bloody hell happened?"

"Those god-damned bitches and whiskey! That's what happened!" The rest of Granny's explanation muffles into incoherent profanities. Her knuckles redden the harder she scrubs the dark marks off the floor.

"Our new guests suddenly aren't our guests anymore," Ruby clarifies. He rushes over to help her to flip a table back up onto its legs. Black streaks...his fingers trace over them in an attempt to wipe them off.

"Scorch marks."

"Right. Maleficent and all her little friends decided to spend the night one-upping each other," Ruby growls at the marks. Her eyes flash gold for a split second, lips curling back into a sneer, exposing her teeth. "I'm all set to sue them, but Granny..."

"Taking them to the cleaners is too good for them!" Granny shouts, almost knocking over the soapy bucket as she stands. "We wouldn't get a penny out of them anyway, girl. That Cruella, if she's got anything at all, probably spends it all on furs and booze. Hook, make yourself useful and go bring me that mop, or take that bacon off the pan and go about your day."

He rushes back through the kitchen to where they keep a horde of cleaning supplies, Granny not the only one spewing profanities around him.

"Just when I thought Regina had changed," one of the waitresses sighs, eliciting a snort from Granny.

"Granny, stop it. She was furious with them when they brought up her past in front of Henry," Ruby chides.

"Do you not hear yourself? 'In front of Henry.' That's all she cares about! You notice she didn't care about the table! Or the floor! Or the hundreds of dollars' worth of alcohol they chugged down their costume jewelry-decorated gullets! No, no, a Girls Night Out in my day was a quilting bee, and that was only if all the chores were done! Thanks, son," she says, softer, when he hands her the mop and, in a pursed silence, continues to clean the diner.

Henry's name appears on his phone as soon as he hears the now-familiar ringing sound. Just as a smile was about to grace his face at the image of Regina slumming it with Maleficent and her ilk.

"Henry?"

"Killian, Killian, is my mom at Granny's?" His voice is low, not in a whisper, but gravely...his inner voice run hoarse with worry.

"No, I'm sorry. She's not."

"You've got to find out what's going on. Grandma and Grandpa wanted her to keep an eye on Maleficent, and Mom just texted me that she's not at her house. If she didn't go home last night, where could they be?"

"We'll find her, Henry," he assures him just as he spots a flash of yellow turning onto the street outside. "Your mother, er, Emma, just pulled up. We'll be in touch with you." He hurries outside to her hustling out of her car and running toward him.

"Find anything in there?" she calls to him. About to run inside, he catches her sleeve.

"Well, a burned table, broken bottles, and a very irate Granny. Apparently, Regina and the witches drank the place dry." Of all the ways in which he could have stumbled upon the Evil Queen inebriated beyond recognition, it had to be with three villainesses invading the town. "I'd say she won them over."

"Unless that's exactly what they wanted her to think," she wonders out loud, her eyes widening in horror. True, there's no telling what Maleficent, Ursula, and this Cruella could do to Regina should they be inclined, but would they have bothered to lull her into some false sense of security first? These women have a plan, and, since he does know something about stopping at nothing to see a plan to fruition, he's sure they would have made short work of Regina if they had even sensed her hindering them in any way.

"Look, I know you're worried, but we don't even know what happened yet," he says.

"That's what's worrying me. She's not at home. She's not in her office. My parents are going to check her vault, but-"

"And you fear the worst," he interrupts with a nod. All right. Yes, it wouldn't be unheard of for villains to take some pleasure in...he tightens his lips. For Henry's sake, he won't think in specifics. Not yet.

"I can't help but think, if the undercover thing worked, if she's got the situation under control, then why the hell isn't she back yet?"

"When was she supposed to be back?" he asks. "We can work backwards from Granny's. Surely someone would have seen the four of them carousing and tearing up the town?"

"Right, like The Hangover...only with deadly consequences," she half-gasps, the heels of her hands pressing into her temples. "What were my parents thinking? Why didn't we all talk about this together? Regina has nothing to gain by this, and she was so worried about them being around Henry and off she goes to pal around with them..."

Leaning forward, he bends down and kisses her as she trails off, his hand finding its way into hers. Her eyes clamp onto him. He exhales when he feels her fingers maneuver around so they can interlock with his. Her frazzled demeanor thaws into something on the sheepish side, her shoulders drooping.

"Listen. You excel at finding people, Swan."

"You're not so bad at it yourself," she breathes into his chin, their foreheads dipping down until they rub against each other.

"Neither is the rest of your family," he says, tilting his shoulder. "You've looked in the obvious places, places where a sober Regina would have gone had she been by herself. I'm sorry, love, but I'm afraid you're going to have to think like a drunk to solve this one."

"Where's Leroy when I need him?" she quips, pecking his lips...to steel herself for the rest of the search. "So...that means she crashed somewhere. Want to go look for a hungover queen slash mayor with me?"


Shifting the balance, Regina had called it. He stands outside the library, cursing himself for tensing his jaw for so long it throbs. What could Maleficent deem a happy ending? Or this Cruella, for that matter? Ursula...he'd hazard a guess she wanted her singing voice back, but that had been years ago. The definition of happiness can change over time, and what she could desire now, well, it could be harmless. Or it could be destructive. If he's not the same person he was then, perhaps she's not either. If only some clue would arise as to which end of the spectrum she'd reeled.

"Thoughts on this mysterious lead the, I don't even know what to call them, Queens of Darkness, have?" Swan asks, exiting the library with her parents close behind her. Huddling closer so everyone can fit under the streetlight's protection, David and Snow exchange anxious glances.

"None whatsoever. I take it you and Regina will be heading out then?"

"Yeah."

"If no one's volunteered to keep an eye on Henry, at least for the night..."

"Thank you," she mouths, kissing his cheek before she and Regina head off into the night. He stares into the dark long after she's out of sight, clenching his jaw yet again. It's not an overwhelming sense of dread. Swan's endured worse scrapes than this, and so has Regina. It's not what they're heading towards that worries him; it's what else could be lurking in the shadows. Shuffling, he stuffs his hand into his pocket and shifts his torso with such speed he almost thrusts himself into David.

"Mate, could I trouble you to drop me off at the apartment?" he asks, one eye on the truck. He'll take his silence as acquiesence and follows him to the truck. Hauling himself up into the seat, the backs of his fingers brush console between them. It's nowhere near dreamshade levels, but he can't recall a time when the Prince looked more bedraggled, bags under his eyes, a slackness that typically isn't there. He and Snow had opted to stay in the library for some research, strangely not wanting Belle present when he offered to call her for them.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offers at the same time David starts the car. He chuckles at himself, wondering if part of him asked it at that second so the car would drown him out.

"Talk about what?" is the terse reply, David biting down on the last word. He grips the wheel with trembling hands, everything drained from his face except exhaustion and a simmering fury. Oh, he'd recognize that look anywhere...namely, the mirror at times. Since the Chernabog, he and Snow skittered about like their own shadows frightened them. It reminded him more of cornered alleycats on their guard from dogs and shattering bottles than the warriors he'd come to know.

"Are you sure everything's all right?" he tries again, letting his head fall against the glass on the side door. That way he can keep his eyes on the street. David grunts out a long sigh, like a father warning his progeny his patience has waned.

"No, Hook, everything's not all right. Storybrooke's infested with villains again, someone important to us is putting herself in danger to stop them, and now my daughter's going right along after her." There's a repeat of the sigh, a sign to discontinue this rather one-sided conversation.


Images of Storybrooke roasted from top to bottom, courtesy of Maleficent, fly around in his head as he plods up the stairs to the third floor, interrupted only by the realization that he might also be keeping watch over the baby in addition to Henry. Well, he thinks, cocking his head and knocking on the door, first time for everything.

"Hey. Come on in. We've got a lot of work ahead of us," Henry says, almost galloping over to the counter.

"More geometry, is it?"

"Nope! Better." He lifts his book up and lets it thud onto the table. Killian takes a seat across from it, raising an eyebrow as an identical thud lands next to it. A veritable mountain, the stack of papers now in front of him could rival some of the tomes at the pawn shop. He leans over them, his fingers already pinching the corner of the first page.

"Is this..."

"The book. Photocopies. It'll save us time." Henry slides a magnifying glass to him as he slides into his chair, pulling his book so close to him one might swear it would just go right through him. "The Blue Fairy said the Author left clues about his whereabouts in the pages of the book. Aug—I mean, Pinocchio, didn't know what my mom was talking about, but maybe he doesn't know what to look for. But if.." he trails off and laughs at himself, blushing.

"What were you going to say, lad?"

"I was going to ask you if you believed in magic," he scoffs. "This book has a way of talking to people when it wants. It brought my memories back to me, but before that, it let my mom see what she had finally started believing. Even when I first looked at it, it, it wasn't like reading any ordinary book. It...it was like it had be written just for me, and everything I would have changed about the stories I thought I knew—it was all there. There are clues in here, all right. We just have to be clever enough to find them. Before the bad guys do."

And here he was about to suggest they just rig up all of the baby's things and go out for a night on the town, he would have considered jesting with a wry eyebrow, but this is Henry. This is magic. This, unfortunately, now has stakes attached to it.

"Where would you like me to start?" he asks, flattening his hand on the page. He won't ingest one word of it until he listens to Henry's instructions.

"Oh. Anywhere you want, I guess. I hadn't thought that far ahead. My mom's story is near the end if you want that."

"Which one?" He flashes a grin at him, and the boy returns it...before an awkward expression comes over him.

"I think you know which one I mean," he mutters, burying his nose into the pages with only the magnifying glass between them. Oh, he won't start there. He knows enough of that story, heartbroken parents with their world about to collapse in on itself, Emma gazing up at her parents for the first and last time without even being old enough to realize it... He's in no mood for heartache right now, not with all this chaos erupting around them already.

"What of a less, less prominent tale?" he settles on. It snaps Henry's head up, his mouth tight in concentration.

"Tinkerbell's story is in there," he suggests.

"I'd rather not know the person all that well, if it's all the same to you," he says after a beat, staring at the book with a sideways glance. "That way it feels more like a story and less like an intrusion."

"How about Jiminy Cricket's?"

"As you wish, lad. The Cricket it shall be." Flipping over the pages as though they had been pieced together into a book, he skims the text paragraph by paragraph, wincing at the narrative. At times, the book read as an archaic epic, the language syrupy and grand, particularly whenever it covered a chapter in David and Snow's story. "...they didn't need words to express what they felt in their hearts," etcetera. In other places, it took on the colloquialism of the region it covered, and still in other places, the Author seemed downright conversational, all too happy to be nothing more than a fly on the wall or tree of wherever the story was, listening. Observing. Recording. So many ideas and no, no integrity.

"You've searched the illustrations. Have you searched the text?" he asks.

"I've read the whole thing cover to cover more than a dozen times," Henry almost snaps, ready to take offense.

"I mean, did you search for a code? This is an anthology, is it not? A collection of separate stories?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then why is the book structured in such a way that it moves from place to place? It's going in chronological order. 'Meanwhile, in another part of the Enchanted Forest.' You would normally have one story about certain characters and then a whole new story with all new characters after the first one finishes." He's not sure if he's getting his point across, nor is he sure he even has a point rather than an observation that's turned into nonsensical musing.

"It's just a narrative device," Henry argues.

"I'm not sure he knows what kind of narrator he wants to be," he ponders. That's it. That's the problem snipping at him from the pages—an indecisive feeling. The Author switches perspectives, voices, even the story he's telling. It all jumps from one to the other, as if he'd built an entire world and didn't know which region to play in first.

"If the book has a code, where would you start in trying to decode it?" he hears after a pause, only a few notches above a whisper. He rewards Henry for his consideration with a soft smile and opens his mouth, when a mewling sound resonates from the other side of the room.

"Don't worry about Neal. I got him." Henry rises and grabs a bottle off the kitchen counter. Killian twists in his chair to watch him cross over to the cradle, lean over, and cradle the fussing child in his arms. Indeed, the baby positions his lips around the nipple of the bottle with a nimbleness that can come only from routine. Rocking his arms, Henry smiles down at his uncle and resumes his seat. Remarkable, how mature this lad is in spite of everything, he thinks. When he'd first met Emma, when he first overheard her and Snow discussing returning to their family, he'd pictured a small child, and, given Swan's age, it hadn't been that ludicrous an assumption. But then he'd finally seen Henry and it all made so much more sense than it had before. Of course Emma had given birth to him young, too young to have everything a child requires, too young for much fortune or connections, and then her time in jail painted the whole thing in such a way he had never felt the need to speculate about it again. But even from meeting him at eleven to now, the wisdom exuding from him staggers him.

"You really do have a handle on all of it, don't you?" he sighs, leaning back in his chair. So much like Bae. So much like Emma. Bloody hell, he could even see Regina and his grandparents in him. All of them.

However, if he remembers being a boy on the verge of adolescence correctly, he'll clam up at the voicing of anything more that even resembles something tender. Clearing his throat, he gazes back down at the book.

"One of the easiest codes to try is counting the number of letters. You could pick a starting point and count every so often to the next one and the one after that and continue in that pattern to see if they form coherent words," he suggests.

"That sounds like it could take a while," Henry says, a bit of a groan in his throat. "If I'm going to do all that, you've got to, I don't know, change a diaper or something while you're here."

"One hand, Henry. Apologies," he sings, holding up his hook, being sure to keep his eyes in the book as he does so. "I'm afraid handling the wee one's excrement is not in the cards for me tonight."

"Got to start practicing some time for when you have kids of your own," Henry fires back, and, once more, the awkward silence fills the room...with apparently nothing strong enough to break it but for Neal very loudly passing gas. The trace of a smile breaks across both their faces, culminating in a guilty, tired...and affectionate burst of laughter.