The sun peeks out over the treeline. Another sleepless night, another person missing, and hours of silence all they have to show for it. He, Henry, Swan, and her rage, almost a tangible, breathing thing, were patrolling the woods in one direction, David and Snow in the other.
She'd only ever strayed from him to go collect information from them, this Author apparently of a wily sort, keen on tricking others to do his bidding. Based on Swan's taciturn summaries, her parents had run into a "helpful" peddler who had not only pointed out the direction of a wizard, but mentioned Maleficent's condition to them as well.
"Why doesn't he just write himself out of here? Hop on a plane to Tahiti?" she mumbles to herself, her light stick dancing over the tops of rocks a few feet in front of them.
"Because he's missing something," he answers. "Ursula said he wouldn't have everything until you..."
"Doesn't mean he's harmless," she interrupts. Stepping over some bramble, her hands push off of her thighs to gain some speed over the steep inclines.
"It doesn't mean he's superhuman, either." Halting, he trusts she'll turn back as she always does to make sure he's behind her. Wiping some of the morning mist off his face, he tries to smile for her. "I think we need to call your parents and regroup. Wherever he's chosen to hide, it's a splendid location, don't you think?"
"Ruby and Granny are on his trail, and Regina...well, I-I don't know where Regina is right now, but...we'll close in on him. That, or he'll wander all the way out of town...and I don't know if that's for the best or not." She closes her eyes and motions for him to wait as she spreads the fingers of her other hand. The beam of light emitting from her stick divides itself into five separate circles of light at her silent command and flitter here and there like mad butterflies, combing a good stretch of land in front of them. She sighs when they fade away at the entrance to a small glen.
"They were supposed to last longer than that," she huffs.
"I may not know much about magic, but I'd hazard a guess and say you're tired."
He's accustomed to her cold looks, but this one she's giving him now doesn't convey any annoyance at him. Rather, she's detached herself, temporarily dead inside.
"Look, you want me to go back home so I'm forced to talk to my parents about this, but they don't want to talk about it. They somehow got it into their heads that kidnapping a child and infesting them with evil was this great thing to do and want me to agree with them!" Realizing she's raising her voice, she stares out into the dark wilderness surrounding them, growing ever pinker by the minute, and shakes her head at herself. "I said how I feel about it, and they're not interested."
"Not interested in how you feel about what they did to you?" He knows she doesn't mean it that way, but, really, her way with words sometimes...
"They're not sorry! You were there. Did you once hear a 'we fucked up' or 'if we could go back and do something different we would have'? No! I tried to talk to them and they downplayed it, okay? They just stood there and acted like they knew best about everything like they always have. Bad enough they try that with me, but right in front of you, when they know how hard you are on yourself and how hard you've worked on changing..." She clamps her lips shut before she continues, tossing her hair over her shoulder as daybreak nearly literally unfolds around them, no more artificial light required. Angry, and partially on his behalf—that's a new one, he thinks, stifling the temptation to laugh.
"You have every right to be furious with them-"
"Think about how you're going to end that sentence," she warns, so he mirrors the stern expression on her face. It's not worth fighting over. Practicality, or perhaps his own thoughts, enter her head as she shifts her weight, softening her face.
"We'll call them up and go home to check on Henry. That'll give the Author enough time to stay in one spot long enough to maybe track him down."
Killian hasn't had much experience with children; just enough to know when adults revert back to that time. Even spending centuries as a thirty-four-year-old failed to wipe out those primal stomps and pouts, and the hunched-over figures of David and Snow trudging along behind them almost prompt some paternal pity in him. Their chins tucked into their necks, they try to shrink themselves away from all the anger, stepping as lightly as they can.
He forgives them, has tried and tried to know with moral certainty what he would have done in their situation, if he would have done the selfish thing and chosen his child at the cost of another. He both likes and dislikes the answer.
It's not until they're back inside, David and Snow hustling ahead of them on the stairs to unlock the door, that Swan even acknowledges their presence.
"You have to remember something else about the Author, some way to find him. Now think."
"We told you everything we know," David says as Killian, last, closes the door behind him. It's a bloody wonder their neighbors have never tiptoed in to ask if anyone's in need of assistance, what with all the insane comings and goings.
"Are we sure about that? Because secrets just keep coming out!" Swan snaps at them.
"Okay! You're clearly still upset," Snow tries, throwing her hands up in a submissive pose. He'd snort at the gesture under different circumstances. Bloody hell, it had been mere hours ago that they'd confessed their darkest secret to her. In just how short a timeframe did they expect her forgiveness?
"Yes, I am still upset. You were the ones who taught me there is always a right way, a heroic way, and what you did to Maleficent's child-"
"It was our only option to make sure you grew up...good," David argues, sending Killian's eyebrow into his hair. One might have considered the option of simply being good parents, but whatever. So then they are downplaying it, as she said. He hadn't doubted her, but had hoped she'd been, well, exaggerating, still bitter.
"I'm sorry, but if it were me, no matter what, I would not harm a defenseless person."
"And that right there. That goodness is exactly why we did what we did. It was worth it!" Snow shoots back. And so they remain at an impasse. They want her forgiveness but aren't ready for it, and she's unwilling to give them any. Perfect. The Author can go about his business and unravel everything that hasn't already been unraveled and they'll be where they were before—alone. He'd have taken the baby. Folding his arms and burning a hole into the floor with his eyes, he knows he would have done it, risked it all for what he wanted and pretended the burden of the act wouldn't devastate him afterward, and Emma Swan states she wouldn't have. She could have convinced him to have enough faith in themselves to raise a child into a good person, would have made him believe he could do it, and—blinking himself out of the dark thoughts—he wants the opportunity all the more. Gods, he shouldn't be entertaining such thoughts at a time like this, but he can't help it, can't help but long to actually marry her and to, eventually, have a wee one or two to worry over and make the impossible decisions for. Together. As long as they're together.
He shuffles back at the sensation of the door opening behind him. One brief second of locking eyes with Regina as she enters alerts him to the fact it's all about to become worse.
"Regina, where have you been?" Swan asks, nothing but a sigh answering her.
"In the middle of a very bad day—I'll tell you the whole story later, after I rescue Robin Hood."
"Robin Hood? What the hell are you talking about?" His sentiments exactly. She can't just stroll out of here and pay a call on her lover now. Maleficent and Cruella—don't they still believe her to be one of their own? Isn't Rumpelstiltskin still parceling out information to her? He opens his mouth to suggest she take her fake friends on a road trip out of town and abandon them somewhere. Filled with enough spirits, they'd awake hung over and unable to return to Storybrooke without the scroll.
"I called that number you gave me," Regina begins, looking downright apologetic about the whole thing. He's being too hard on her, he decides, widening his stance and dropping his arms to listen to the rest of what she has to say. Perhaps something happened to Robin or the boy. "But Marian answered the phone, and I discovered...she's not really Marian at all."
"So who is she?" David asks. Regina's shoulders tense as she hangs her head, as if she's about to retch.
"Zelena."
Oh bloody fucking hell! Dispatched, dead villains are now part of the game, too?
"The Wicked Witch?" David's disbelief won't be rewarded. Damn it all, they should have never left her side once they brought her through the time portal...or not brought her at all, or tested her on all the facts and preferences of Marian's life...
"I don't know how it's possible, but my sister has been masquerading as her this entire time, and she's in league with Gold. Robin's in danger, so I'm going to New York to find him and stop her," she continues.
"And what about Gold?" he finally asks. "If they're working together, he's not just going to let you waltz off and spoil his plans." Has the Dark One finally lost his mind? Cowardly, despicable, and monstrous he may be, but, at least until recent developments have come to light, he'd been cunning and patient as well. Zelena? The woman who'd killed his precious son? What could she possibly have over him that would force him to comply with her?
"I wouldn't worry about Gold. I know exactly how to handle him," she says.
"What are you going to do?" Swan asks.
"Oh, not me. This is about what Belle's going to do. She's going to find out everything she can for us."
"That's not going to work, Regina," Swan argues, rolling her eyes. "I'm no relationship expert, but I'm pretty sure kicking your husband to the curb on the other side of a magical line counts as a divorce. He's not going to trust her."
"You'd be surprised just how pliable Belle can make him," Regina half-sings, the knowing, queenly tone beginning to unsettle him.
"You're not going to hurt Belle to get him to talk," he warns, although he has no idea what he'll do about it. In fact, he's not sure he has an idea about anything at the moment.
"I don't have to hurt her. All I've ever had to do is imply. Trust me. I've got this."
With Swan leaving to help prepare Regina for her trip, a solo, witch-less one, he paces around in the courtyard behind the apartment building with his hand on his hip. Zelena.
Then swear to me on her name.
I swear on Emma Swan.
Cora had always made it abundantly clear what she wanted—Regina in her own way—and contented herself with simply disposing of anyone who stood in her way, including himself when, in her eyes, he'd erred. Even Pan had been predictable to a degree; he toyed with his enemies until he tired of them and then forgot about them. Neither one had exactly made life easy, but he could survive in their midst. The Snow Queen? The Snow Queen had loved Emma with a dangerous, poisonous kind of love that was only matched by her equally obsessive love for Elsa. Zelena, however, Zelena had been her own special classification of mad. One can't predict the actions of one that decides them on a whim.
He runs his hook along the fence posts in thought. Zelena surely hadn't tricked Emma into saving her; she would have detected the lies. It had to have been a time when Marian had been alone, but did it matter? The witch had fooled even Rumpelstiltskin. True, he had planned to keep both of them in his vault for all time, but surely he would have seen the Wicked Witch of the West as a detriment to his own plans. How had she wound up a hidden accomplice? What leverage did she have over him now that the dagger was in his own possession?
The Dark One wants a happy ending. Well, they all want that, he scoffs at himself, his hook digging into the top of one of the posts. Something, something other than Belle's feelings, had deprived Rumpelstiltskin of what he wanted. Bae's death, he thinks, scratching at his ear and banishing the thought from his head. Magic doesn't revive the dead, and it's no use thinking about the one thing he knows for a fact Rumpelstiltskin cannot change. So...he sidles up alongside the next fence post...the crocodile wants something, needs the Author to do it, needs to darken Emma's heart for the Author to do it, and Zelena can help him accomplish all of this, for a price.
His hook chips away at the square top of the post, flakes building and building before tumbling over each other down to the ground. He'd drowned in the Dark One's own bile, heartless and enslaved, and had nearly literally drowned at Zelena's hand, and he'd gone and promised Emma survival. How could he survive with the two of them, all other associates notwithstanding, in league with each other? Robin couldn't escape their little sphere of collateral damage by leaving town, and here he himself stands right in the thick of it. Picking at the damaged portion of the fence post, it reminds him of a sore inside a mouth, minuscule until one's tongue flicks here and there one too many times. His lips drying, he pulls his hook off of it.
He jolts at the sensation of a hand on his back, spinning around with his arm ready to draw a sword that isn't there. It's Swan, pale and out of breath. He hadn't heard her approach.
"We need to get inside. Cruella's taken Henry."
The words register with some portion of his brain, along with a flash of Regina running past them into the apartment building, but the world grays around him with a low, relentless buzz dulling his vigilance.
"Hey. Hey, Killian." It's soft, sweeter than he expected her voice to be, a sharp contrast to the way her fingers push their way through his hair, the way he likes it, harsh and tangible, making everything around him seem more real. Swallowing, he knows he owes her reassurance, something comforting and decisive at the same time, but every muscle in his throat feels like an anchor weighing down his voice.
"I know the odds seem stacked against us right now," she whispers to him. "More bad news is the last thing we need, but it's felt that way before."
How many times will he feel that way before it all catches up with him and he lets her down, his eyes ask, everything else in him straining to gain their bearings and latch onto something stable.
"It's not as hopeless as it seems," she continues. "We've got an Evil Queen on our side, some...well, some rulers who have shown they're more than up for some shady stuff." Shrugging, she attempts to smile up at him and takes hold of his hand. "I'm not so bad at this kind of thing, and I know this guy that's pretty good at making life a living hell for anyone who's in the way of what he wants." Holding her breath, she scans his face, not reading, just searching for a sign he's listening. "I need you."
Who is he to argue with that? Pulling her into him, he wraps his arms around her for a split second, inhaling the side of her face and neck. Breaking apart gives him an alertness that hadn't been there before, newer, more proactive thoughts streaming through his mind.
"Where are they?"
"I don't know yet. They sent us a message," she pants, racing up the stairwell with him right behind her. Bursting through the door, they find her parents and Regina scooting their chairs up against the table, prepared for a discussion of strategy. Impressive, but also pitiful, how quickly they can rally together now, he notes, sliding into a chair of his own and leaning forward as Swan begins a series of swipes and button-pushing on her phone. The screen that usually shows him a series of numbers and a name, a picture when he's lucky, has suddenly become a television, Henry speaking to them as if he could see them.
"Mom, Mom, Cruella has me."
A bit shakier than most filmed things he's seen, the woman, Cruella, dominates the screen, an array of black and white.
"Hello, darlings. As you can see, I have your dreadful son. If you prefer him to remain intact, you'll do exactly as I say. Kill the Author. Then, uh, bring me his broken little body. Or your boy will meet a very unhappy ending."
So cheery about the whole thing. Ostentatious and of the utmost seriousness, but cheery among everything else. He bristles at how she tugged on Henry, laying her head on his in mock affection.
"Why does she want the Author dead? The whole reason they all teamed up with Gold in the first place was so the Author could rewrite their stories," he asks out loud.
"Or maybe she wanted to get close to the Author for a completely different reason," Swan answers, not bothering with a "that's beside the point" look. Dark One, you're slipping, he muses. First Zelena catches you off-guard and now Cruella's deceived you. Whatever he desires, it must have reached an obsessive level. "Regina, does this have anything to do with what Gold wants? Did you find anything out?"
"Oh yes," she snorts, her eyes never leaving the phone. "Rumpelstiltskin is finally dying, in a manner of speaking, but don't start dancing jigs on his grave just yet. Leaving Storybrooke blackened his heart almost to the point of snuffing out the man still beneath the beast. Once it goes completely black, his ability to love will be gone. More importantly, whatever scruples he might still have will be gone. A Dark One without a conscience. According to him, only the Author can reverse the process. So, not good news, and not anything that might be able to help us save Henry."
"So darkening my heart prevents him from completely losing his," Swan murmurs to herself, and, for a brief moment, her head dips back and she's in her own world, one not with walls rebuilding themselves around her, but something else. Something in her face seizes into blankness and then a quiet resignation.
"Emma," David tries, and the vacant, nigh-serene expression hardens into the cold looks she's been giving them since yesterday. "Emma, there's something in the background on that video. Will you let me see it?"
She picks up the phone and, after a beat, holds it out to him. He swipes his fingers across it. Leaning back in her chair, Swan crosses her arms and continues glaring at her father. Whatever notion had struck her before, she's put it out of her mind for the time being, and he's rather grateful at least now he can see what she's feeling.
"I recognize that trailhead marker," David mutters before springing his head up. "Cruella's holding Henry a couple miles south of the toll bridge."
"So what now?" he asks.
"Time to get our hands dirty and do whatever it takes to get him back," Regina says. Agreed. Helplessness is not a feeling he welcomes and he'd rather it be a very long time before he feels it again.
"You're not actually considering Cruella's demand to kill the Author?" David argues.
"Of course not," she snaps. "Even if we could find him, that wouldn't be half the fun of killing Cruella."
Agreed again. He'll have to remember to smile at Regina more.
"Regina!" Snow scolds.
"What? It's Emma's heart we're trying to protect, not mine."
"If we go in guns blazing, we risk hurting Henry," Swan states. Still leaning back in her seat, only the corners of her eyes shift, and only in Regina's direction. "We have to find another way."
"I've headed many rescue missions. It would be helpful to know the terrain more," he utters. They'll have to rely on Snow and David for that, won't they? They know the woods better than anyone.
"And where the Author is. If he's enemies with Cruella, maybe he knows the best way to defeat her," Swan thinks out loud.
"Oh! We may be able to help with that!" Snow blurts.
"We went back to the convent and found a flask that we gave him. He dropped it when he escaped. A locator spell might work on it," David adds, and Killian is ready to hail the locator spell as the most useful bit of magic that ever graced anyone's presence.
"Sounds like a perfect job for you two." Cold efficiency. "I'll take Regina and Hook and we'll scope out the area where Cruella's holed up with Henry."
"Emma." Snow and David haven't been able to take their eyes off her, hanging on every word she says, hoping portions of them are meant for them to hear, but at least before, they aroused something in her—pain, betrayal, anger. Now, with little else than professionalism, they should be worried.
"I know you're still angry, but avoiding us is not going to help," Snow continues, all but hurling herself across the table at Swan.
"I'm not avoiding you. With Henry's life on the line, I need to be around people I trust, and, right now...that's not you."
"Regina."
Swan's run out to start the car, leaving him and Regina on the stairwell, the latter reaching into her handbag and pulling out a closed umbrella. If Henry hadn't been in the clutches of some witch with a strong aversion to natural beauty, he might have teased her about "roughing it," but, alas... He wishes she looked at him with some measure of annoyance, as she usually does.
"Did you know? Snow and David—they told you?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. Emma and I already discussed it; she's not angry with me, so can we go?" She motions both arms toward the door.
"Well, is there anything you can think of that might help them bury the hatchet, as it were? You're as neutral a third party as we're going to find, and, if you'll remember, the five of us tend to work better when we all trust each other." The thought hits him as soon as he says it. "We trust each other, don't we?"
"You're fine with me going out into the woods with you and your girlfriend, and I allow you to babysit my son. Clearly, we trust each other." She rolls her eyes harder than Swan does. Good. It means they've returned to their default setting.
"Perhaps we can convince Emma her parents are still worthy of her trust then?"
"Oh no," she snorts, about to march to the door, but he blocks her. "I am not getting into the middle of a family squabble, and I don't recommend you do, either. Don't give me that look. It's nothing personal. Do you know much about parent/child issues like this? You don't know enough and I'm afraid I know way too much." Shaking her head, she sighs. "I'm as eager for them to make up as you are, but anything from us is going to fall on deaf ears."
"At first," he argues, his hand on the door. "But I'm sure there was a time when, if someone told her she'd prefer us to her own parents, she'd suggest they seek help."
That seems to sink in without any need for him to elaborate. Giving him a staunch nod, Regina hustles out the door and into the car before a single drop of rain hits her.
The background noises during the drive to the forest consist mostly of Regina in the backseat clearing her throat and scooting this way and that.
"What?" Swan finally snaps, slamming the car into a stop, pulling the key out of its slot, and starting out on foot in one fluid motion.
"What?" Regina repeats, opening her umbrella and smoothing her jacket before they embark. The rain seems stuck all around them, the sticky mist in the air snaring it into an endless web. "I just want to know if your parents call back with any news if you're going to hand the phone over to me."
Simply walking underneath branches sprinkles his face and hair with moisture, the air feeling thicker the more they walk. Most likely sensing where this discussion will go, Swan scuttles down a decline and creates a wide gap of space between them.
"Are we keeping our eyes open for the bridge or not?"
"You're acting like a petulant child! Your parents did a bad thing. They apologized. Now get over it." His hand swipes at a heavier raindrop, avoiding eye contact with Regina. Wasn't the stereotype that women communicate better, have a better understanding of people's feelings?
"Forgive me if I don't take advice from the woman who held a grudge for half her life because a ten-year-old spilled a secret," Swan snaps without so much as a glance in their direction. He places his hand on Regina's arm when she utters the faintest sound of offense. Regina might have, well, as much a flair for vengeance as he has...probably more so, but that didn't prevent them all from banding together. Gods, as her Majesty had said, they trust each other now. Bygones are bygones, after all, and only a few paces ahead of them the Savior herself—who kisses him—who spends her time with him, who inexplicably loves a pirate and who has a friendship with an evil queen, can't bring herself to forgive her own parents?
"Swan, if you won't listen to Regina, perhaps you'll listen to me," he says, catching up to her. "You were able to forgive both of us, all because you found it in your heart to see past it."
"The difference is that you never held yourself as some paragon of virtue," she stumbles into an argument, looking over at him and then Regina. "Neither of you did. You were honest about who you were. My parents weren't. They said they were heroes."
"Even heroes make mistakes, love," he sighs, taking hold of her arm to keep her at his side. For a split second, she looks ashamed. Her bedraggled state with all this rain and humidity makes her look downright tiny, and the guilty little turn of the corner of her mouth emphasizes it.
"You know, not long ago, your mother gave me some advice," Regina says. "She said I needed to believe I could still earn forgiveness, that I had a chance at grace. I didn't realize it then, but she was talking about herself. Emma, she's been trying to make up for what she did for a long time."
"If you two understand them so well, you forgive them. I can't. More important things to worry about right now, like saving Henry." She turns and marches off, closing the matter. Old friends, he and that march...
"There. See? I got involved and it didn't do any good," Regina breathes an exasperated sigh at him.
"Oh yes. Telling her to just 'get over' something. Coming from you."
"You wanted me to get involved and now you don't want me involved. What do you want from me, Hook? What do you want the outcome of all this to be?"
"I-I want her to be happy," he makes sure he says in one breath, swiftly, so he can give his full attention to the arduous feat of traversing the soaked woods. Gods, it had been his last intention to discuss relationships with a woman that fate had decided long ago to paint a target on her back for bad luck with anything relating to other people. Shaking his head at himself, he hears Liam's voice, chiding him for being so harsh. If a long life's taught him much of anything, it's that he can't dictate anyone's behavior, regardless of whether or not he can predict it. If Swan loves David and Snow and wants to be with them, she'll forgive them on her own time, just as she allotted that to him.
"Then just let her forgive them on her own," Regina advises him, pouting out a crooked smile and continuing on her way. He'll never forget they have more in common than either of them would like.
The sounds of birds and insects chirping die away, only Henry's muffled cries left. The forest must be as apt to play tricks on one's ears as the sea, for he knows he'll find the boy in this direction. There can be no room for error—he'll have to attack the moment he sees them. His eyes dart to and fro, searching the trees for any hint of human life.
"Henry!" he shouts into the air. Nothing. Cruella won't kill him before she's made contact with any of them. Surely. Closing his eyes for half a second, he hopes he's right, that the woman's just that desperate to see the Author killed. If Emma, if they lose Henry now, after everything they'd all been through...
A last plea for help comes from—he tries to catch his breath—a shell. A conch. No wonder his voice had carried all throughout the woods.
"Magic." Damn it all. If it weren't for Emma, he'd swear magic existed only to bring people pain.
