Chapter 35
Dove's house 7:45 pm
Bae allows himself to notice that her rosy skin glows and her hair, now loose about her shoulders, swings as Emma walks from the bathroom into the kitchen, where Henry is making preparations for their evening ritual: a cup of cinnamon-cocoa and a light chat before bed. She kisses the top of his head as she accepts her cup ("World's Greatest Mom," it says; his Mother's Day gift to her). Around a yawn, she admits, "I don't think I can last for a full talk tonight. I didn't get any sleep last night and I'm bushed."
"It's okay," Henry says, removing two additional cups from the microwave. Looks like he's going to escape making a confession of sneaking out of the house a little while ago, though he knows he'll have to tell her eventually. Hiding his wrongdoings, he's learned, is a kind of lying, and he and Emma have promised to be truthful with each other.
Henry carries the other two cups to the kitchen table, and only then does she notice Bae sitting at its foot. She starts, then mumbles a greeting. "Where's Mr. Dove?"
"Out walking the grounds, he said. Just making sure we're alone."
Emma smiles wryly. "Out setting traps, most likely. Don't go wandering outside tonight."
"You don't have to tell me," Henry says.
"I was talking to your father."
Bae is holding his head in his hands, the steam from the cocoa wafting up into his nose. "No midnight rendezvous for me either."
She seats herself at the head of the table and Henry sits in between, his head ping-ponging from one parent to the other. He's watching for signs of attraction between them, like the quirky smiles that pass between Gran and Gramps, or the little hand-brushings he's seen between Belle and Grampa, but Emma and Bae just sit there, heads hanging, occasionally sipping their cocoa. If they weren't so tired, Henry's sure, there would be jokes and sideways glances, and after a few days of that, those smiles and touches, and after a few days of that, hugs and kisses and wedding invitations.
It will take scheming and manipulation, but Henry will maneuver his parents into position, after they've had a good night's sleep. Operation Love Birds, he'll call it. Maybe Gran, Belle and Grampa will help. Henry's not so sure about Gramps, though; he doesn't seem to like Neal. Gramps will come around when he sees how happy Neal makes Emma.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimes and Emma stands, motions to Henry. "Bedtime."
Now Bae comes alive. "Would you mind if I tucked him in?"
"I don't mind!" Henry practically shouts. He tugs at Bae's sleeve. "Anyway, you're bunking with me. Come on, we're at the top of the stairs."
Bae glances back over his shoulder. "Mr. Dove's giving up both his bedrooms for us? Where's he going to sleep?"
Emma grins wryly. "I don't think he does."
Bae's gone nearly a half-hour. When he returns to his cold cocoa, Emma's still at the table, cheek pressed to her arms. He wonders if she's asleep; if she is, should he leave her there or wake her so she can go to bed? He leans over her to determine her wakefulness. She looks innocent and vulnerable when she's not glaring at anyone. He brushes a stray lock of hair out of her mouth and she wakes. "Sorry," they both say at the same time.
Her hair is mussed, reminding him of how she looked in the mornings, in the days when they were living together. He dares to sit down at her right; when she fails to glare at him, he pats her arm comfortingly. "You should turn in."
"There's something I need to tell you."
"If it's about the town meeting, Belle told me. Since I know Pan, she asked me to be there." He watches her closely when he adds, "And since I have some family here."
"Then there are two somethings I need to tell you." Emma plays with a spoon so she doesn't have to meet his gaze. "We found a U-Haul; the rental papers were signed by Tamara."
"U-Haul," he echoes. "What would she need a U-Haul for? We were only going to be here for the weekend."
"Electronic equipment, laptops and boxes of files." Now she has no choice but to look at him. "There was a man who came into town about two weeks ago. He wrecked his car at the town line, spent most of his time here in the hospital. His name is Greg Mendell. He and Tamara were. . . involved."
"So I've heard," he says dryly. "I don't believe it."
"I don't know what their personal relationship is—was—but they were working together. Their job—I wish I didn't have to say this, but they came here to destroy magic and kill everyone who's got it, Regina and Blue and your father. . . and me and Henry."
"Heard that too."
"Do you believe it?"
He's a long time in answering, but finally nods. "I guess I don't have a choice."
"The evidence is in that U-Haul. I'm sorry, Neal."
"Me too." He empties the rest of his cocoa into the sink and rinses out the cup. "You done with yours?" When she hands him her cup, he washes it too. "Don't want to leave a mess for Mr. Dove. He's a nice guy."
"The best. Henry's safe with him." She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "Neal, we ought to talk about going back."
"Going back where?"
"When this all comes down, my parents are going back. They have to; it's their kingdom. People need leadership, and that's what Snow and David do." She bites the skin off the side of her thumbnail; he remembers that means she's undecided.
"You and Henry could come with me to New York." He starts talking fast so she can't slip in an objection. "You should come with me to New York. You don't belong in the Enchanted Forest; this is your world. I hear you visited there recently and had a miserable time."
"Yeah," she sniffs. "'Visited' is the wrong word. 'Fell in' is more like it. After a wraith grabbed my ankle. And you're right; the Enchanted Forest sucked. For one thing, it's a wreck. Buildings demolished, crops and livestock destroyed. It'll take years to make it livable. But Snow and David are going back, so. . . and Henry wants to go too."
"Henry's eleven years old," Bae points out. "Every eleven-year-old boy wants an excuse to skip school."
"Oh, he's going to school, all right, no matter where he is. Snow was a teacher here. She says the first building they erect will be a schoolhouse."
"More like the second," he suggests. "The first will have to be a hospital. Unclean water, unfamiliar plant life, wild animals—"
"Ogres. Heart-stealing witches. Roaming bands of robbers. You don't have to convince me, Neal. I don't want to go back, and I don't want Henry there either. I've tried to tell him it's nothing like he imagines. Nothing like the illustrations in his storybook." She sighs and folds her arms—self-protectively, not defiantly. "But my parents are going, and they're my family. If you knew how long I waited to meet them—"
"I do know."
"I don't want Henry to be separated from his grandparents. It's not like moving to Florida, you know. We can't just hop a plane and visit on weekends. He needs them. I need them. They need us."
"Seems perfectly logical," he agrees. "And hey, I'm sure David will bring his kingdom into the modern age. A few years and you'll have electricity, sanitation, maybe even cars. But here, you already have all that, plus great schools, universities, museums, symphonies, art, ballet—"
"Rock 'n' roll, tv, movies. I know, I know," she moans. "But Snow and David are going back, and they're my family."
"And Henry is mine," he insists. "You agreed, remember? He needs me."
"And you're not going back."
"The Enchanted Forest might've been fine for royalty like your family, but for most of the people who lived there, it was a hellhole. No running water, no toilets, no refrigeration—"
"I know, I know. And I want you to be in Henry's life too. So what do we do, Neal? How do we keep this family together?"
"Come to New York with me. If they see your mind is made up, your parents will change their minds."
"You don't know my parents. They're heroes first, parents second." She shifts in her chair. "What about your family? Your father—is he going back? I don't think he could adjust to New York. If you could've seen how nervous he was in the city—"
"New York and Boston are the exception. Little towns like Storybrooke are the rule. He could stay here."
"Could? Does that mean you don't know what he's going to do?"
"I haven't asked. His decision has no bearing on mine."
Emma snorts. "Like hell. I know you, Neal: you may hate him for the rest of your life, you may keep running away from him, but he'll always be your father."
"Doesn't mean I want to live in the same world as him."
She falls silent except for her fingers tapping rapidly on the table. She's pissed, and he's expecting a lecture about how important family is and how stupid he's being. But gradually her fingers stop tapping and she sighs wearily. "You know, I can't blame you. I've had, what, about two years of Gold, and I've seen what a conniving son of a bitch he is. From what I've heard, Rumplestiltskin was a thousand times worse. So I don't blame you. I keep a close eye on Henry whenever Gold's around."
"He won't hurt Henry," Bae interrupts. "He's an asshole, and he killed my mother and my girlfriend, and he deserves to rot in hell alone. But he won't hurt Henry."
"His influence will."
"Well, that's what Henry's got David and Snow for. Balance." Bae realizes he's coming across as hypocritical, or the least, confused. "I think. . . I think he loves Henry—"
"That doesn't mean he won't hurt him. If I made a list of all the men that I wanted to be my kid's grandfather, Rumplestiltskin would be right there between Jack the Ripper and the Boston Strangler."
"Aw, come on, Em. He's bad, but not that bad. It was the magic that made him violent. When he was just a man, he was the kindest, most patient soul you'd ever want to meet. He raised me alone, from the time I was six. More than once he went hungry and cold so I could have enough. He was a spinner; did you know that? Damn good one, but nobody in the local area would buy from him because he was an army deserter. He had to walk to the next district to sell. A nine day trip."
"A deserter. A coward." Emma glances out of the corner of her eye to see if her strategy is working.
It is. "No," Bae gets pissed now. "Staying to fight—that would've been the cowardly thing. It was a war against ogres, Em. You got an idea—"
"Actually, I do. I had one breathing down my neck 'til my mom shot him between the eyes."
"Well, not every soldier's as good an archer as your mom. It was the Second Ogres War, and it had been going on for seven years at the time my father was drafted. He went, hoping he'd make a reputation for himself, come home a hero so he could make some good money for a change. But it was a slaughter and the duke knew it. A seer told my dad he didn't have a prayer of surviving, and she was right: his entire battalion was wiped out in a single battle. Dad wounded himself so he would be sent home. It wasn't because he was scared to die. It was because the seer told him I'd grow up without a father; that's what scared him. It was for me. Everything he did from that moment on until he stole the dagger was for me. All the times I hurt him, looked at him like he was less than a man because he was lame, told him if he wasn't such a coward we wouldn't have to be poor—he never yelled back at me, never spanked me. . . he forgave me every time. Until the magic gave him everything he thought he and I wanted."
"He doesn't have magic any more."
Bae closes his eyes. He's too tired to think, so he can't fight off the sliver of hope that's creeping in.
"He forgave you every time, huh?"
"It was the magic," he mutters, "that made him vicious. It was the Dark One. My father wasn't like that." Forgive your father, then, not the Dark One. That's what Belle would be saying. For today. He stands abruptly. "Good night, Em."
Storybrooke General Room 304, 8:30 pm
The hospital staff chased her out of the cafeteria so they could close, then they chased her out of the day room so the custodians could clean in there. Regina could go home: she's perfectly fine and Whale knows it, but she and he also know—though neither has said anything about it to the other—it's better if she doesn't have to be alone tonight. Greg is still on the loose, with who-knows-how-many of his collaborators en route (or possibly already here, in hiding in the woods perhaps), and Regina's just lost her mother. So for a change, Regina obeys Sheriff Swan's orders and spends the night in the hospital, and then she obeys the hospital staff and returns to her room (hers and Rumple's. Shudder. She hopes he doesn't snore, because if he does, she'll have to gag him.)
As she enters the hallway, Tiny brings himself to attention (or is it that he's stiffening out of fear of her? One's just as good as the other), then unlocks the door and holds it open for her. Once she's entered, he closes and locks it again.
Gold is sitting up in bed. He's returned to his lime-green hospital gown; his suit is draped over the guest chair. That physics book is open and lying face down on his lap, but he's staring upward and toward the wall. Puzzled, she follows his gaze: the tv is on.
She's caught him. He's not only watching tv—he's watching a western. And he's not only watching a western—he's watching Blazing Saddles. Oh, the fun she'll have tomorrow leaking this tidbit of gossip all over town.
"Sorry," he mutters, fumbling among his sheets for the remote control. "I suppose you want to sleep now." He finds the remote and points it at the tv, ready to turn the movie off.
She continues into the room. "No, leave it on. I could use a laugh, and there's no point in going to sleep until they make us." She picks up her nightgown and robe, transported from her home. "Besides, we're adults; what gives them the right to tell us when we have to go to bed? Have they forgotten, we're the most powerful mages in the world?" Then she catches herself. "Oh. Sorry."
"Quite all right, dearie. Just keep thinking I still have my magic. We'll both be safer that way." He sets the remote onto his nightstand.
When she returns from the lav, freshly showered and dressed in her silk and satin, she pushes the roller screen back and settles into bed to watch the movie. It's not one she would have chosen; she's in the mood for Beaches tonight, the perfect excuse to release a little emotional tension. But the movie seems to be nearing its conclusion, so she permits him to continue with it.
"Well, Mr. Gold, you surprise me. I've known you, what, two hundred years or more—I never would have guessed you for a fan of such crude humor."
"Masterpiece Theatre was a rerun tonight," he shrugs, and she doesn't know whether he's kidding. He seems quite intent on Blazing Saddles, quite intent indeed.
Regina glances at the book he asked her to read. It's this dry tome or jokes about flatulence, so she chooses the movie. . . and finds herself giggling, despite the fact that she's a queen and the classiest woman in town. Later, it occurs to her that, despite his concentration on the movie, Gold doesn't crack a smile.
The movie ends and he offers her the remote, which she waves away. "I guess I'll turn in after all. It's been a long day." It's only 9 o'clock and Regina never turns in before midnight, but she is suddenly weary, and, strangely, relaxed. For the first time since Graham's death (since she killed Graham), someone's watching out for her. It reminds her of the old days, when she had a castle full of guards.
Sometime late, late that night, or early the next morning, Gold awakens to a muffled, gasping sound. He sits up, assuming Greg's gotten past Tiny, and he reaches for his cane; as weapons go, it's not as off-putting as the pistol he keeps at home, but he's done a hell of a lot more damage with it. He glances at the door: it's still shut. Greg must've come in through the window, then. As quietly as he can manage, Gold draws his sheets back, slides his bare feet to the cold floor and bites back a curse when his bad ankle and burnt thigh protest the sudden activity. Nevertheless, he inches forward, reaches out a hand to feel his way in the darkness, finds the screen still drawn back. He's close enough now that he can make out Regina's form under her blanket. She's asleep and alone. He scans the room thoroughly as his eyes adjust to the sliver of moonlight leaking through the window blinds. Satisfied then that they are alone and safe, he lets his cane be a cane again, leaning on it as he patters over to Regina's bed.
She's lying on her left side, facing towards him; she's curled into a half-ball, her hands stuffed under her pillow, and she's crying.
"Regina?" he whispers. She doesn't answer. Crying in her sleep then. He approaches until he's standing over her. He holds his palm above her forehead and starts to utter a relaxation spell, until he remembers he's powerless. He shifts from foot to foot, wondering what to do. When her intermittent gasps become full-blown sobs, he dares to lay his hand on the back of her head. She doesn't react, so he moves his hand in long, slow strokes, smoothing her hair.
She's in an open grave. Magic has immobilized her: she can't move or speak or even open her eyes. She can't tell them that she's alive and they should take her out of this cold, damp hole that's too deep for her to climb out of. But even if they could hear her, she doubts if they would rescue her. As a spadeful of dirt is thrown upon her, she hears them laugh.
Dove's house, 6 am
A hand clamps over his mouth and he lashes out with fists and feet; suddenly his body locks up, no longer responding to his demands. Paralyzed, he stares into the darkness, expecting a gun, a sword, a dagger; expecting Pan. This is just the sort of thing he would want: to steal into a dark bedroom while the prey slept, to cut the enemy's throat, to make a prize of the bloody body of Pan the Ninth. He would leave to his army the hard work of killing off the mages and the heroes, but he would reserve the right to kill his predecessors himself, to prove to everyone, himself included, that he was the master.
But it's a female voice that hushes him and bargains with him. "Baelfire. Be quiet and I'll let you go. I didn't come here to hurt you." She doesn't release his mouth from her hand or his body from her magic; she's waiting for some sign of submission. "Oh come on," she urges, "I wouldn't kill you with Henry in the room. Whatever you think of me, you must know I wouldn't kill my son's father." Now she releases him and steps back, allowing him to sit up. "That sounds strange, doesn't it? 'My son's father.' But I love him, so you're safe with me, as long as you don't try to take him away from me."
Free of the spell, he clambers to his feet. "What do you want, Regina? Did you come here to kidnap him?" Frantically, he squints in the darkness towards the army cot on which Henry is sleeping, but he can't see it, only a blank wall separating him from that part of the bedroom. "Where is he?" Bae runs to the wall and presses his hands against it.
"He's on the other side of that wall, sleeping peacefully. That's a sound barrier, so our little chat won't wake him. When I leave I'll take it down."
"I don't believe you." Bae pushes against the wall, trying to slide it aside or knock it over.
With a deep sigh of frustration, Regina waves her hand and the wall becomes a glass partition. Now Bae can see his son, and it's as Regina said, he's sleeping peacefully.
"All right." Bae sighs too, in relief. He returns to his half of the bedroom, where Regina stands with her arms folded.
"Satisfied?"
"I'd be a lot more satisfied if you'd leave."
Her voice frosts over. "I came to apologize."
"Apologize? Did I hear that right?" he moves a curtain aside to allow moonlight in. Bae doesn't trust anything he can't see, and only half of what he can see. Standing a head shorter than he, and dressed in a trim gray pantsuit with a red blouse, Regina doesn't cut a frightening figure, but Bae reminds himself of the power she so easily wields. No sense in provoking her, even though, if he could get off the first punch, he could possibly defeat her. . . .Nah. She's got years of experience and centuries of nastiness over him.
"What other way should I say it? It isn't like I do this every day," she snaps. "I apologize, I'm sorry, I beg your pardon, I was wrong. Pick one."
"Apologize for what?" He rubs the sleep from his eyes. "For trying to take Henry? For you and your mom attacking me and Emma and the Charmings?"
"I won't apologize for things I'm not sorry for." She sets her hands on her hips. "I'll do what it takes to get my son back from the people who've conned him away from me."
"Then what, Regina? Why are you dragging me out of the first decent sleep I've had in four days?"
Regina's hands fall to her sides. "I lied. That's what I'm apologizing for: I lied about what happened in the cannery."
"What do you mean?"
"Your father didn't intend to kill Tamara. It was an accident. Magic has a. . . sort of raw will of its own, and its first instinct is to survive, whatever that takes, even if it means killing the host. Although that rarely happens: magic tends to latch on tight to its hosts."
He scowls. "Sounds like you're describing some sort of parasite."
"'A symbiotic relationship,' that's what scientists in this world would call it. Magic takes what it needs to survive, gives what it can in return. Second law of magic: universal balance. Or as you father likes to natter on about: 'All magic comes with a price.' And vice versa. Magic pays its way. But to get back to the point: magic protected your father and itself by destroying its attacker. Tamara would have killed him, so magic retaliated in kind. Universal balance."
"Now you're just making up crap. Magic killed her, huh? You got a screw loose, lady."
"No, he killed her; he could have stopped the magic, but it happened so fast, I don't think he had time to realize what he was doing. It was self-defense and it was an accident." She snaps her fingers and the sound barrier vanishes. "Now I've paid my debt. What you do with the information is up to you. I'm done here."
She snaps her fingers again and disappears.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Bae is reminded why he left the Enchanted Forest. This life of heroes and villains and magical beings is full of crap.
Still. . . .if she lied to him, does that mean he was wrong?