Chapter 7

A/N. How about a deal, dearies? I aim to please with my tales, so I'm offering you your choice of hero. I have four possible endings, depending upon which character is the catalyst. Several characters will play a role in the final fight, of course, but who would you like to see as the victor over Cora and Regina: Bae, Emma, or Henry? (Snow and David are out of the running for a reason I'll explain in the next chapter.) Or should Regina switch sides? You choose and so it shall be!

I struck out on almost all of my guesses for "Miller's Daughter." Someday I'll get one right. . . maybe. In the meantime, I'm kind of glad I was so wrong, because a different path gives the traveler a different view.

And now back to the ship. . . .

Jolly Roger 2:13 pm

Emma snickers. "'Bite me.' Gold, you're for real." Then she remembers she's a mom and probably should not be giving her child the idea that vulgar language is funny—but hell, it is; it's so incongruent, this crassness coming from a man who, except for the popped buttons and blood stains on his Armani, still looks like a million bucks. Or considering he owns an entire town, six or seven mil.

When he doesn't react, she leans in a little closer. "Gold? You still with us?"

His eyes are closed and he's breathing in starts and stops.

He's told her his secrets.

How stupid! He was a grown man when he became the Dark One—and a man who'd seen other men at their worst. He knew better. He can make no excuses. He'd taught Cora anything she had asked to learn, he'd answered every question, no matter how personal the information and he couldn't even blame lust for his revelations. Because her darkness mirrored his, a soulless soul mate, he'd let her in. Because she touched him without revulsion, he'd let her take him in. Because she'd talked of a future together, he'd assumed she saw him as a partner in crime and in life. He'd trusted her.

On nights when he missed Bae especially hard, he shared stories about the lad; he'd even told Cora about Milah. He railed against the Fates, who had plucked up a friendless, powerless peasant, tricked him and trapped him because a new Dark One was needed and he was easy prey.

Cora sniffed. She didn't believe in fate. She believed in herself. To credit luck or blame fate was a display of weakness, she said, and the weak deserve what they get in life. She was warning him, he realized; she'd chosen him to be her master, so he should act like one: confident, domineering, unshakable, lest she turn the tables on him. The teacher learned his lesson and hid his vulnerabilities after that.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Never again would he be so stupid. Familiarity breeds contempt. Mystery fosters fear.

Trust no one.

"Gold?"

He sucks in a breath and pries his eyes open. Or thinks he does—Emma and Henry see only slits.

Storybrooke 2:14 pm

"I don't understand. What do you want?" Belle is crying as Cora drags the dagger down her cheek with just enough pressure to draw a thin thread of blood.

"Nothing you have, that's for certain." Cora rolls her eyes. "Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak."

She points a finger at Belle, warming up to cast a spell, but Regina interrupts. "I've been giving it some thought, and you know, it would be much more fun to keep the imp around, at least for a little while. There hasn't been anyone fun to play with since Mal died." She cuts her eyes to her mother, who's scowling; they both know that the truth is that Regina dreads what will become of her world if her mother gains the Dark One's powers. But they both also know they need each other in the battle to come, for Cora has had a taste of Emma's magic. Their fragile bond, based not on their blood relationship but on their bloodlust, must be preserved through the negotiation of half-truths and lies.

Regina continues, "Gold always has a backup. He wouldn't have made just one little bottle of this cure-all antidote. I'll bet if I search his shop, I'll find a second."

"You haven't much time, darling." Cora shows her the dagger: the "p" is vanishing. "If you don't have that second vial by the time the 'k' disappears, we must find him and take his powers, or they'll be lost forever."

"As for Belle, I have plans for Rumplestiltskin that only she can accomplish for me."

"Do tell, darling!" Cora urges.

Regina practically preens. "Just a quick preview. Imagine Mr. Gold—stately, proper, image-conscious scion—on his hands and knees and a collar about his neck as I lead him around town, permitting his former tenants to pat his head and scratch his belly."

Cora bursts into delighted laughter. "Brilliant, Regina! You cook up the most delicious plans."

"That's not all. When I tire of that game, I will allow him to rise, brush off his clothes and walk upright, and when he starts to feel like a man again, I'll lead him down the alley behind the White Rabbit—the alley we call 'Hookers' Row'—"

Cora is puzzled. "Hook's Row?"

"'Hooker,'" Regina corrects. "A modern term for a strumpet."

"Oh." And then Cora's eyes widen and she licks her lips. "Oooh. I can't wait to hear where you're going with this."

"I'll lead him down Hookers' Row where the two-bit whores parade themselves under the streetlight, and among them, the cheapest tart of them all, peddling her body to the drunks vomiting in the alley. . . ." Regina snaps her fingers and the bare-faced, hospital-gowned Belle is transformed in a purple puff of smoke into a garishly made-up creature in a bustier, a skirt with scarcely enough fabric to qualify as a dinner napkin, and spike heels that would give Dracula a heart attack. Belle gasps and shrinks against her bonds, horrified by the display of magic, while Cora giggles over the display of flesh. "Mother, meet Lacey, Storybrooke's trashiest prostitute."

"You actually have more than one in this tiny hamlet?"

"We're a modern town in a twenty-first century world. So what do you think of Lacey, Mother?"

Cora makes a lovely curtsy. "I bow to you, my daughter; I may be the Queen of Hearts, but you are the Monarch of Mortification. This is so much more satisfying than an outright killing. Rumplestiltskin will die a hundred times a night. He will beg to be allowed to kill himself."

Regina snaps her fingers and Belle is transformed again, this time into a brown mouse in a cage. "Just a sneak peek. Mustn't spoil it. Here, Mother," she offers the cage. "Something more portable for the time being."

"Bravo, Regina. If this is what you do to your former ally, I can't wait to see what you'll dream up for Snow." Cora picks up the cage and sets it on the wet bar. She seems to have accepted Regina's overriding of her plan to acquire the Dark powers for herself-seems to, but Regina knows better than anyone that Cora can wear the most innocent of faces while lying through her teeth.

Cora wanders the living room as Regina stares into the mirror. "Oh, how nice!"

Regina glances over her shoulder. "What is?"

Cora has taken down a pair of photos from the fireplace mantle. With a proud smile she turns the frames around for her daughter to see: both photos are of Regina. "So I take it the old acquaintance was a beau as well."

"A convenience, until he became an annoyance," Regina mutters, turning back to the mirror. "They're coming again. Gluttons for punishment."

"To be expected," Cora shrugs. "They're trapped in the role of hero. They can be nothing else—except dead."

"As soon as we dispatch this confederacy of idiots, we'll go back to Gold's shop and search for another bottle of the antidote." Regina mutters, "Stupid, clumsy girl, tripping on her own feet and breaking the vial. You know, if we can't find a second bottle, and we end up having to stab him to death, it'll be all Snow's fault. His death will be on her head."

Jolly Roger 2:15 pm

A cool, damp cloth is pressed to his forehead. He leans into it; its softness eases a little of the ache between his eyebrows. "You okay, Mr. Gold?"

"Yeah," he answers hastily. He won't tell them about the rooms his mind keeps wandering into; that's his business. His other vulnerabilities are all too obvious; he will reveal no more. "Just resting my eyes." Emma accepts the explanation, but Henry stares at him strangely. Gold redirects their attention. "Let's see what we can learn from this photo Regina was so kind as to send."

Emma leans over his shoulder to examine the photo. "The wall's yellow. It's not Jefferson's house."

"Not the clock tower or the library or Belle's," Gold surmises. "You ever been in Sidney's apartment?"

"We were never that close." Emma starts typing into her smartphone. "But it's worth a shot."

"Something to write with, please, Henry?" Gold is still talking when his eyes abruptly close without warning.

The first time he drops in uninvited and unannounced at Cora's estate—not "castle," for her husband isn't a king; and make no mistake, the estate belongs to Cora, no matter whose name is on the deed—he tells himself it's to recover some books, potions and powders that Cora stole when she left him. But it's the nursery he pops into, and he never does get around to searching for his stuff: he wastes his visit watching the nanny play with Regina.

After that, no more pretenses: he drops in whenever he likes (and whenever Cora's not at home, which is more often than not) to spy. He comes in the form of a spider or a sparrow or a mote of dust, so this year's nanny (for every season there's another; Cora doesn't believe in fostering attachments between her child and the hired help) won't notice him. But Regina does, and the nannies wonder at the baby, then the little girl, who's so easily fascinated by pests. When she's five she slips up one day and spills their secret, reaching out for the moth hovering around her candle. So excited to see him, she cries out, "Papa!" just as Nanny Number #6 enters the nursery. Nanny has a no-nonsense view of life, which is why Cora hired her, so she seizes the princess by the upper arm and hauls her off to Mother, never mind the fact that they're interrupting a session with the dressmaker. "The child harbors fantasies," Nanny spits out, in a tone normally used to describe children who suck their thumbs or wet the bed.

Regina spends that night locked in a dungeon. She is brought a pail of water and a chamber pot, nothing more.

After that he doesn't allow her to see him when he spies upon her, but he's there for her first steps, her first riding lesson, her first kiss, her first dance. He's there for her wedding. He's there when she's crowned and when her pregnancy is announced—and when her miscarriage is not. Some of these events, Cora is there for; but Rumplestiltskin is there for all of them.

Though the magic told him this day would come, he is thrilled beyond thrills the night she summons him (and just a little hurt when she mispronounces his name; a little more hurt that she shows no sign of recognition. She was only three when she left his home; he never should have expected she would remember him. . . but he did.)

"I'm so happy we're back where we belong. . . .Together."

And he should be happy when he discovers he's finally found the curse caster.

"Mr. Gold?" Henry's rooted around in Hook's desk and has produced a quill, a pot of ink and a half-sheet from a ledger.

Gold concentrates everything he's got on the movement of his right hand—and it takes everything he's got to force the hand to accept Henry's gifts. After two exasperating attempts to hold the quill, he admits defeat. "Perhaps you'd better write it for me."

"Sure." Henry takes the gifts back and prepares for dictation. "What do you want to say in the note?"

A wry smile flutters on Gold's lips. "Write this: 'I need science.'"

Henry copies it carefully. "What else?"

"That's all."

Something foul rises from Gold's stomach into his throat, and he reaches, unsuccessfully, for the cup of water. Bae rescues him. As he holds the cup to his lips, he has to fight to swallow; his burning throat needs the water, but his stomach wants nothing to do with any new additions. Hook has chosen his weapon carefully: it will be a race to see whether the poison destroys the heart or the stomach first.

Bae whispers, "Don't go dying on us just yet" as he takes the cup away.

"I wouldn't give Hook the satisfaction," Gold answers.

"I see land." Henry's looking out a porthole. "There's a car waiting in the treeline!"

"That would be Mr. Dove," Gold says. He glances at Bae. "He's my Lost Boy." And then Bae understands Dove can be trusted. "He will drive you into town. Ask anything of him: he'll deliver. Henry?"

The boy pops back around.

"Take the note to Mr. Dove. Ask him, after he's taken Bae and Emma to Sidney's apartment, to find Mary Margaret and get the antidote from her. Then he should take the antidote and this note to Dr. Whale. Can you remember all that, Henry?"

"Yeah!" Henry takes the stairs two at a time.

"Sounds like you're not coming with us," Bae says suspiciously.

"I can't. If I cross inside the five-mile barrier, my magic will return, and the dagger will react to my presence."

"And Cora will take over," Emma predicts.

"I'm not strong enough to conjure anything, and I could drop dead at any minute, so as soon as she realizes she has possession of me, she'll summon me. The only way she can gain anything is to kill me."

"But then she'll be the Dark One," Emma says. "Who would want that?"

"She would."

"So you can't go to the antidote, and since the antidote requires magic, it can't be brought to you," Bae surmises. "What's left?"

"Once the dagger has been taken back, I can cross the line. Mr. Dove will be waiting with the antidote—and, I hope, Dr. Whale."

"Emma," Gold continues, "you're going to have to fight Cora and Regina." He's looking at Emma meaningfully.

"How can we—" and she suddenly takes his meaning. "Oh, no. I won't do it. I agree with Neal: I don't want anything to do with that crap." She throws her hand up. "Don't! You're going to lecture me about how I have to do this for my town and my family because I'm the savior."

Gold smiles wryly. "But you are." He glances at Bae. "It's a long story, one I'm sure Henry will be glad to share when this is over. Emma, it's not the power you're afraid of; it's the source of the power. But listen: your magic did not come from me. And although I saw your future and took advantage of that information, I had no plan for you beyond breaking the curse. I wouldn't have bestowed magic upon you even if it had been possible for me to do so; it just wouldn't have served my purpose."

"Where did it come from, then? If it's not black magic, is it fairy magic?"

He snorts. "If it were, you could never have stopped Cora when she tried to take your heart, and you wouldn't be able to stop her now. That kind of magic is all airy-fairy; useless in a fight. Your magic is the direct, unadulterated product of True Love, and that's why Cora and Regina together can't stand against it. I'm not even sure I could."

Bae is listening to this with growing disgust. He sweeps the news away with a toss of his hand. "I better get up top. It's time to drop anchor."

"Bae," Gold calls him back. "Before you go, in case the poison moves faster than the battle does—"

"Yeah, I know. I'll get around to forgiving you one of these days."

"We need to say it now. You need to hear it, in case—I love you, son."

Bae shifts from foot to foot. "Yeah. Me too." He starts up the stairs, then turns around. "I love you too, Papa." He holds his hand out for Henry. "Come on, kid. Help me drop the anchor." He adds to Gold, "We'll call you as soon as we've won."

"You won't have to. I'll feel it."

"How?"

"I won't feel Cora pulling on me any more."

Bae nods. "See you, Papa," he says firmly.

Gold's voice isn't as confident. "See you, Bae."