Chapter 15

A/N. And this chapter's for all the Whalers.

Jolly Roger 2:57 pm

"Ring, damn you." Hands on his hips, Whale glares down at the five cell phones lined up neatly on the blanket upon which the deceased lies. "Any of you."

Slightly has brought a bucket of water and some cloths—not very clean, but who would expect laundry service aboard a pirate ship. Kneeling beside the body, Dove has wetted the cloths and has been washing the blood and chemicals from Mr. Gold's chest. His movements are so gentle, Whale thinks, you would think he was washing the body of his own son, not his employer, not the centuries-old Dark One.

Whale's scowl travels to his watch. "Two minutes."

Slightly glances up at Whale. He's glad for the excuse to turn his attention away from what Dove is doing; he feels like he's intruding on a moment that should be private, between friends. "Two minutes gone or two minutes left?"

"Gone."

Slightly kicks at a mound of sand. "If I ever get my hands on that f-ing Hook. . . .Soon as the boys get back, we're going after him."

"Where is he?" Whale asks, but truthfully he doesn't care. It's just something to think about. He balls his fists to control the impulse to lay his hands upon that immobile chest and begin pushing into it. The CPR theme song fills his ears: "Ah ah ah ah stayin' alive, stayin' alive."

Dove says quietly, "Master Bae wanted you to know he's kicking ass in your name."

"What?" Whale blinks, but then he realizes Dove is talking to the deceased.

Whale stares into Gold's face. The amount of time in this world and the previous one that he'd spent in this man's company could hardly constitute a relationship, but they had conspired together, so that counts for something, Whale supposes. It occurs to him he doesn't even know Gold's first name. He'll have to leave that space blank on the death certificate.

"Four minutes. Gone."

One of the EMTs mutters, "One left before brain damage."

Whale nods. "But he could surprise us. Tough old bastard." He studies the deceased, not with fondness, but with respect. Funny how bodies seem to shrink so quickly upon death. The living Gold always seemed so much taller.

"Ring, damn—"

One of the phone rings. Slightly dives for it, but Whale doesn't wait to hear the news. "Move him!" Dove and the EMTs lift the body, carrying it by the blanket; three steps and they're across the border, another step and they're inside the ambulance, and as Slightly speaks into the phone, Whale drops to his knees and begins to push rhythmically on the freshly washed chest. You can tell by the way I use my walk/I'm a woman's man, no time to talk. The CPR theme song—a song of life—Frankenstein's song. "Defibrillator!"

"Six minutes," Dove announces.

"Atropine, damn it!"

Highway 3:06 pm

David jerks the steering wheel of his Ford so sharply that Snow, crammed in the middle of the seat, slides into Bae, knocking him against the door handle. A siren blares, bringing pain to the passengers' ears, and a white vehicle comes roaring down the narrow dirt road, showering the Ford's windshield with dust. "They got him!" David shouts, and he jerks the wheel again, spinning a U turn in the dirt. "Hang on!" He slams his foot against the accelerator.

"Thank the gods!" Snow suddenly bursts into tears and as best she can in the tight space, she slides an arm around Bae's shoulders.

David's barely completed his U turn when a second vehicle looms in his rear view mirror, a blue Yukon. Bae twists in his seat and reports, "It's Dove and Slightly." He starts to dial his phone, but it's already ringing. "Yeah?. . . Tell Mr. Dove there, the steaks are on me tonight, boys."

Snow can hear the caller caution, "Petey—Doc said he wasn't sure. Best not count your chickens before they hatch."

Bae replies, "At least we've got eggs now."

Storybrooke General Hospital 3:15 pm

Belle's grip on his arm tightens as the automatic doors slide open and Archie leads her into the hospital. Her body stiffens; he understands why. Back on the scene of the battle, he'd given her a precursory exam to determine the extent of damage Regina and Cora had done to her physically; tomorrow, when a semblance of normalcy returns to Storybrooke, he'll focus on her emotional state. In the exam he found recent needle marks on both of her arms and a dull glaze in her eyes. He has a pretty good idea that the sorceresses aren't Belle's only torturers.

His face is red with anger over what's been done to her. His ears are red with shame over his own ignorance of it. But not any more. Tomorrow he'll begin gathering evidence, and as soon as he's learned which of the hospital's staff is to blame—which one or ones have Regina's stiletto heel marks tracked across their backs—he's going to Emma and then to the press.

"I'm sorry, Belle. If I don't have those tests run, I won't know what drugs are in your system and how to treat you." He looks her directly in the eye. "I promise, as soon as the tests have been run, I'm taking you out of here."

"I won't have to come back?"

"I promise. The minute those tests are done, I'm taking you home."

"Doctor Hopper, I don't know where my home is."

His mouth opens and closes. "Ah. Yes. You shouldn't be alone. Granny—"

But before he can finish his sentence, a shrieking ambulance rolls up to the front of the hospital and three men in white coats leap out. Archie draws her aside to make way for the running men and the gurney they're pushing.

Belle and Archie catch a glimpse of the patient. The fact that Whale and the EMTs are running brings Archie relief. "He's alive."

"I. . . I know him," Belle stutters.

"Do you remember him?" Archie squeezes her arm hopefully.

"Yeah—no, not from before, I mean. He came to see me here; he seems to know me, but I don't remember him."

"I'm going to do my best to rectify that."

Regina is sitting primly on a nasty Naugahyde couch in the waiting room at Storybrooke General. Before she sat down, she conjured a sanitized sheet to cover the couch: no telling how many sick people have left their germs all over this ripped-up furniture. Next to her is Henry, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, making his body small as if to protect himself. Poor kid: mother a jailbird, father a junkyard mongrel, one grandpa in the grave and the other a moron married to a blubbering idiot. At least Grandmama Cora will be all right: Regina has brought in three nurses and a cardiologist to tend her, and just for assurance, she's chained their families to the walls of Henry's treehouse and will release them only when Cora is on her feet again.

She rubs Henry's back in little circles. "It's going to be okay, sweetie; I promise."

Freaky Emma is disco dancing with a vending machine, bumping up against the Plexiglas with her hip. She's also yakking into her phone to that drunk Leroy. A bag of Cheetos drops down into the bin and she retrieves it, tosses it at Henry with a "You hungry, kid?"

Curling her lip in disgust, Regina catches the snack and tosses it into a trashcan. "My son does not eat junk food, Ms. Swan. Nor does he eat between meals."

Emma glares back but she continues to yak to Leroy.

Regina conjures an appletini and sips it as she reflects on the day's events. Nothing has gone the way she and Cora planned, yet it could yet turn to their favor. The cardiologist's preliminary diagnosis is a mild heart attack: Cora is expected to recover fully. Perhaps that bitch Fate has decide to play Regina's game after all: when this is all over, Henry will see that out of all his crazy relatives, she's the only voice of reason, the only source of confidence and power. And with those ditzes the Charmings in such a state of chaos, Henry will beg to come home to his safe, quiet bedroom in the spacious, comfortable mansion. She'll have Henry and Cora back soon, and Gold is at last out her hair. Ding dong, the bastard's dead.

Yet. . . .Gold is dead. She tosses back the rest of the appletini. Why is that a buzz kill?

A sudden ruckus interrupts this little cold war. Regina glances up as Whale and a couple of other medics rush past the waiting room toward the emergency room. She's enraged by all the racket as Whale's lackeys wheel a gurney down the hall; the noise surely is interrupting Cora's rest. Regina rises gracefully and approaches the first intern she finds, threatening to have her job and her head if she doesn't do something about that noise.

"Another emergency patient," the intern tries to explain, but Regina will have none of it. She releases a flood of demands—until she catches a glimpse of the man on the gurney.

Gold. Alive. Then she realizes the slimy imp has tricked her once again. So why does she catch herself smiling?

That cacophonous dark voice in her soul awakens, blaring one word: Dagger. As the idiot Charmings and that whelp Nealfire come running in pursuit of the Sperm Whale, Regina's smile expands into a full-blown smirk. That shining, curvaceous kris dagger beckons and she shall have it. You may be alive, Dark One, but the Evil Regal shall have it and Henry and your little dog Nealfire too. She dismisses the intern and instructs Henry to stay with Emma, then she transports herself back to Sidney's.

Emma is on the phone, summoning Leroy for guard duty; though it appears Cora's in no condition to do anything nasty for the rest of the day, she won't take any chances. She stuffs a dollar into the soda machine, but when Regina begins to squawk to some poor intern about the noise, she loses interest in Dr. Pepper. When Regina vanishes in a cloud of magic, Emma groans. If she knew a spell for tracking, she'd use it, but short of that, she'll just have to do it the old-fashioned way as soon as Leroy arrives and can watch Henry. She wonders how in the hell she got into this mess, then the badge attached to her waistband pokes her: oh yeah, she's the sheriff, that's how. And how did she get to be the sheriff? Oh yeah, Gold.

David and Snow come running in with Neal; the latter gallops on past in pursuit of the gurney, but Emma's parents stop in the waiting room. After quick hugs and assurances, Snow breaks the big news. "He's alive! The EMTs brought him in just ahead of us."

Henry's voice rises a full octave. "Grandpa's going to be okay?"

"Seems Whale's some kind of hero," David says. "Finally got his wish and brought someone back from the dead, except with CPR, not weird science."

Before she can latch hold of her cool—for Gold may be the Dark One but she's the Tough One—she whoops like a cowboy in a Saturday night saloon. She clears her throat in embarrassment. "That's good news. Keep me posted. Listen, can Henry stay with you? Regina took off. I'm going out after her."

"Sure, sweetheart," Snow answers. "Good luck."

David fumbles in his jeans pocket for coins. "You want some chips, Henry?"

As she hurries out to the parking lot, Emma feels a smile stealing across her face as she contemplates the latest news. Not that she cares—Gold's been nothing but a pain in the ass—but it matters to Henry.

Yeah, a pain in the ass. But Storybrooke's pain in the ass.

Sidney Glass' Apartment 3:16 pm

Regina straightens her suit jacket as she arrives in the center of Sidney's apartment. Pictures askew on the walls, furniture overturned, fireball burns in the carpet, a cracked window and a shattered mirror clutter the place. Sidney the neat freak would have been heart-broken. Gold the landlord will blow a gasket. Regina can't wait to see that, and in fact she's going to ratchet up the fun a wee bit: with a couple of cans of spray paint she decorates the walls with graffiti ("Gold is a capitalist pig," "Snow is frigid," "David for Dunce of the Year," "Ruby's a chunk of paste glass," "Pongo=tomorrow's lunch special at Granny's"). On the front door she sprays "Crack house. Crack whores welcome."

She folds her arms as she surveys her artistry. Then she notices all those framed photos of herself, too good for a place like this, and she transports them to her mansion. Now she's satisfied. Won't Gold just crap a brick when he sees the mess his former tenant left behind.

She wiggles her fingers, magic dancing along the tips of her Blood Roses nails. "Come to mama." But the dagger doesn't come.

With a huff she deduces that one of the idiots must have taken the dagger. Maybe that moron David will use it to cut open cans of sardines while he watches WWE Wrestling on his portable TV. Or maybe the ditz Snow will take the dagger home to pray over it. One of them has it, and conveniently, they're all back at the hospital.