Chapter 13
Storybrooke 2:55 pm
All action ceases. For better or worse—and half the folks in Sidney's apartment are experiencing, to their surprise, some doubts as to which category this news falls into—a major player in their worlds, both the fairytale one and this one, has died. Life has changed, and Storybrooke only recently became a place that experiences change.
Emma and Snow exchange a look. What's between them lends credence to the nature part of the nature/nurture debate: though Snow didn't raise Emma, their bond is strong enough that they sometimes find themselves thinking the same thought, and right now, as Emma looks into Snow's eyes, she knows that bond is at work: they're both worried about how Rumplestiltskin's death will affect the delicate balance of power in this community, this rather insular community of people who seem fated to be together, whether they choose to be or not. Until this moment, power has rested on a triangle: the clearly good, the clearly evil, and the perplexing Rumple-Gold. Whenever one side seemed likely to gain the upper hand, Gold would bolster the losing side, and the battle would live on. Now it seems likely that the war will soon be won, and with the burden of fair fighting on one side versus most of the magic on the other, Snow and Emma feel a bit shaky.
And if Snow or Henry were to ask her, Emma would have to admit she's going to miss Gold. As she looks at her mother, she suspects Snow will miss Rumplestiltskin.
Emma glances to her left, where Neal stands stock-still, staring at his phone as though he's waiting for a follow-up text: j/k! Your dad's fine. She reaches out a hand, touching his shoulder reassuringly, then jerks her hand back because her fingertips are glowing with magic and she's too inexperienced to know what that magic will do to him, if anything. Transfixed by his phone, he doesn't seem to notice her. He rubs the back of his hand over his eyes. Later—if Cora and Regina allow there to be a "later"—Emma will take him aside and listen, because he will need to talk and because she still cares, Tamara or no Tamara.
Regina has to know for sure. It should be clear enough, from the anguish on Baelfire's face, the fury and disappointment in Cora's, that Gold is gone, but she has to see some proof. What if the text message is a lie, what if Cora's misinterpreted the disappearance of Rumple's name from the dagger? She throws out a command to the nearest crow: get me information. The crow caws—it's too far away for Regina to hear it, but she feels its call in her bloodstream. The question is carried from bird to bird until the answer comes back and she finally accepts the news. Her eyes burn, and to her surprise moisture pools in them and her throat tightens.
She didn't expect this, didn't expect this at all, these tears for him. She bites the inside of her cheek, distracting herself with a different kind of pain. She's not crying for him, certainly not. . . not that scaly-skinned, manic imp who made a monster of her, nor that reptile-blooded, depressive misanthropist who'd never lift a finger for anyone except his darling Belle. She despised the man and hated the imp. Miss him? Don't be ridiculous. It's just that he's always been there; even when she didn't know his name or his connection to her family, she always kind of sensed his presence in the shadows. . . .Her instincts were probably right: he is—he was (she must remember to use the past tense now) just the kind to spy on people. He was just the kind to pick out some unsuspecting innocent and spy on them from afar until the opportunity to use them arose.
He wasn't deserving of her respect, let alone any warmer feelings. Still her magic whispers to her, and she recognizes the whisper as a memory: Poor little wee one.
An uninhibited cry interrupts the stunned silence. Henry has pulled himself into a sitting position and he's openly, unashamedly sobbing. Both of his mothers know why: he's not injured, not even afraid of the war he's rushed into the center of; somehow, the boy is either childish enough or farsighted enough to believe that good will win—and that everyone in this room has the potential to join Team Good. He's crying in grief for a man who's always made him nervous, suspicious—and yet whom he's somehow loved, long before he knew Gold was his grandpa.
What Henry does next is just about the worst thing he could do, in Regina's opinion. He lifts his wet face to her and asks, "Mom, why did you let my grandpa die?"
Regina bites her tongue. She knows Henry will never accept any excuse she might give, for in his mind, there can be no excuse for murder—and what she and Cora have done constitutes murder, even though they didn't want Rumple to die (not yet, not until they'd had a little fun with him and taken his power). Still, she pleads a technicality: "Honey, he was poisoned. It's Hook's fault, not ours. See?" She produces the blue vial (the fake blue vial). "I was going to give him this antidote. I wanted to help him. But he wouldn't give me a chance."
"That's a lie," Henry says, dully. "Will you kill me too for my power?"
Regina's voice quavers. "Henry. . . ."
David sheathes his sword, sweeps in and picks up the boy, starts to run out with him, but Regina's magic, even on auto-pilot, responds to her priorities and streaks out across the apartment, knocking over a rocking chair and a table lamp. When it reaches David, the magic splits itself in two, circles him, and one arm of the magic lifts Henry away, carrying the boy to Regina's side, while the other arm wraps itself about David's body. Emma dashes in, sword raised above her head, growling, and with all her strength—far more than is necessary, really—she slashes the sword through the coils of magic, freeing her father, who drops to his knees, then scrambles for his feet and his sword. Father and daughter approach Regina from opposite directions. "Let Henry go," Emma demands.
Henry tries to run, but the carpet beneath his feet suddenly shoots up in waist-high tendrils that wrap around his legs. He uses the only weapon he has left: Regina's feelings for him. "Mom! It doesn't have to be this way. You love me! Prove it to them—let me go." He wriggles under Regina's magic.
A low, subhuman groan cuts across the room, and Regina is momentarily distracted; she glances toward the source. If she didn't know better, she would swear her mother is overcome with grief as well as frustration and disappointment—but of course that can't be; without her heart, Cora can't feel grief. Cora raises her arm, ready to fling the now-useless dagger away, then thinks better of it and uses her power to drag Baelfire to her side. Stunned from the news he just received from it, Bae drops his phone. His eyes blank, he doesn't attempt to fight back as Cora seizes a handful of his hoodie to hold him steady. "Your father proves himself a coward to the end!" Cora informs Bae. "Leaving you to pay his debts."
She raises the dagger, positioning it directly above Bae's throat. "Your worthless life is pennies on the dollar for what he owes, but wherever he is, if he sees this at least I'll have some satisfaction."
"Let him go, Cora!" Emma demands, raising her hands so that Cora can see the sparks of magic flying from her fingertips.
Henry twists under Regina's magic grip, turning his frightened face up to hers. "Mom! You have to stop Cora. He's my dad! Please!"
Snow has picked up the box that Henry dropped. No one notices as she reaches inside the box, her mouth open in amazement. She jerks her hand back, then narrows her eyes and thrusts her hand back inside to remove the box's contents.
Regina hesitates, her glance passing between Henry and Cora. As her plan unravels before her, she scrambles to unite its scattered threads, though she realizes many of them are beyond repair now. But the thing she wants most—really, the only thing she wanted from this plan—is just a yard away, and with a simple snap of her fingers she can have it: she can send Henry back to the mansion, lock him in his bedroom to wait, safe and sound, for her return. Henry can be hers with a single movement from her, and that's what matters. The final satisfaction, in the form of the destruction of Snow and Emma, can wait for another day, a day when Henry isn't present to witness it, a day when one of the other fine citizens of Storybrooke can be made the instrument of destruction, leaving Regina's hands spotlessly clean. The cricket, perhaps—that would certainly give this sleepy little town something to talk about, wouldn't it? The town conscience suddenly snaps and slaughters the Charming family, and such a shame, because the town's only defense attorney is dead. And those padded cells in the basement of the hospital stand ready—the psychiatrist stashed away in the asylum, perfect irony.
Yes, the cricket, a perfect candidate, or what if Charming himself suddenly rose up from his bed in the middle of the night, found his police revolver in the nightstand and. . . . A lovers' quarrel ends tragically in a suicide-double homicide. Tragic. . . "If something tragic were to happen"—Regina shakes her head to clear it of the imp's voice. Why is he haunting her thoughts?
"Mom, please!" Henry's plea cuts through her reverie.
Regina looks at his imploring face and another magic, more ancient and powerful than the magic she relies upon, rises in her. It's a mother's magic, and it shows her their past together all in one flash: memories of this child, her child, who loved her from the moment Gold set him into her arms for the first time, whose loyalty has strayed but, she believes—she must believe, or she has no one else to love, for deep down she knows the truth about Cora—Henry's love has never wavered. Henry wants something; his mommy can provide it. It's a simple equation and a request so easily fulfilled. Regina thrusts her head around. "Mother! Let the imp's son go. He's useless to us now." When Cora ignores her and presses the dagger against Bae's throat, Regina flicks her hand toward the scene: her gesture appears to be one of annoyance, but it's accompanied by a little magic, and the dagger goes flying. Neither Cora nor Regina bothers to take note of where it lands: it too is useless now, just a fancy piece of old metal.
Unobserved, David dashes off a quick text message.
Cora's lipsticked lips (that's Vampire Kisses, Regina's favorite brand, she's wearing—no doubt Cora swiped the tube from Regina's dressing table) part slightly, then form a smile. "If you think that will stop me. . . ." In a puff of magic a brand-new dagger appears in her manicured hands (Regina recognizes Blood Roses nail polish. What else has Cora taken?).
"Oh, really, mother," Regina sighs and jerks her hand backward: Bae goes flying through the air and lands at Henry's tethered feet.
"You foolish girl!" Cora storms—and so does Sidney's apartment. A storm cloud appears over the living room and a bolt of lightning streaks from it, striking the mirror and shattering it.
Regina snaps her fingers and the carpet releases Henry. "Take my son out of here while I have a conversation with my mother," she orders Rumplestiltskin's son. As Bae grabs Henry's hand and runs for the front door, Regina calls after them, "This is temporary, Baelfire. I'll be back for my son when I've finished my business here."
"Regina, don't let your soft-heartedness turn you into a wastrel. This is your opportunity at last to get rid of the whole kit and caboodle of them," Cora urges. "Every last one of these do-gooders would interfere with your rights to Henry. If you don't eliminate them now, you'll never get him back."
"It's too late now," Regina points out. "Henry would know what we've done and he'd never forgive me. We have to let them go."
"That's not what I came here for!" The thundercloud overhead rumbles and threatens rain. "I can't have the Dark One's powers, but at least with him out of the way, I can take what's left." Cora turns her attention to Emma. "Raw, untapped power. It will be just like a draught from the Fountain of Youth." She shapes her hand into a claw and Emma begins to sputter, grasping at her throat, struggling against the magic strangling her.
"Emma! Use your magic!" David urges. "Fight back!"
Emma throws fireballs with one hand as she claws uselessly at her throat; her fireballs burn holes in the carpet and the couch but come nowhere near her enemies.
An authoritative voice, until now silent, cuts through the air. "Release my daughter." All eyes turn to Snow, who holds a glowing black mass in her hands and whose words are being directed at that mass.
With a gasp Cora breaks off her attack on Emma, and Emma drops to the ground, gasping too to regain her breath.
"Mother. . . " Regina whispers.
"Where did you get that?" Cora snaps. "How did you know about that?"
"I didn't." Snow seems just as amazed as everyone else. "Henry brought it."
Cora swings on Regina, her face as dark as her heart. "You told your son how to control me?"
"No, of course not," Regina starts.
But David interrupts her. He comes to Snow's side, transfixed by the rocklike object in her hands. "You can destroy her." His voice is hushed. "All you have to do is crush it."
"No!" Regina shouts. "You won't harm my mother!"
"Crush it," David urges again. "It's the only way to stop her for good. For good, Snow," he repeats. "For the good of all of us."
Regina takes a step forward, her hand raised, magic sparking from her fingertips. "You will not hurt my mother."
"Let her live and she'll kill all of us, even Henry," David says. "And she won't stop here. If she finds a way to get out of Storybrooke, it'll be a bloodbath like nothing this world has ever seen."
"You can't!" Emma interrupts.
"Crush it, Mary Margaret!" David insists.
Her mouth falling open, Snow stares at her husband.