Chapter 40
A/N. The inspiration for the chapter was U2's "Walk On," which reminds me so much of Bae.
Sheriff's Office 6:45 pm
"We have an hour before the party," Snow points out to her family. "We could go home and pack."
"I need to figure out what to do with Hook," Emma frets. "It'd be inhumane to just leave him in jail when we break the trigger."
"It'd be stupid, though, to let him go before then," David argues. "He'd either run off to join the pirates or he'd try to kill Rumplestiltskin again."
"I don't think we have to worry about that. Pan is Hook's blood enemy," Snow points out. "And with a hundred magic-carrying thugs on that side, and a highly pissed off Rumple on this one, I'd say Hook is screwed."
"Yeah, but we're going to have to haul him to the forest with us. What do we do with him then?"
"We can always stick him in Rumple's cell," David suggests. When Snow swats him, he says defensively, "Well, it'd save us having to build a new cell."
"I've been in that cell," Emma grumbles. "It would be kinder to let the Lost Boys take him to downtown Detroit and dump him."
Father and daughter stand on either side of the jail cell, their arms folded across their chests. From his seat on the cot, Hook stares up at them, trying to smile irresistibly. "Oh, I can definitely see the resemblance, Your Royal Highness. She's every bit your daughter."
"Here's the thing, Hook: twelve miles from here, Peter Pan and his army of hundreds are whooping it up around campfires, just waiting for tomorrow so they can attack us."
Hook drops the act. "Give me my hook and my sword and let me out."
David leans against the bars and crosses one foot over the other. "Why? So you can run—or join him?"
The captain is deadly serious. "So I can kill him."
Emma sniffs. "What's with you and killing people who are twice as powerful as you? You got a death wish?"
"For Pan, I do. As much as I hate Rumple, that's how much I hate that pimple-faced, wet-nosed brat in tights."
"I better keep you away from Batman and Robin comics."
But Hook won't be kidded, especially when he doesn't understand the joke. "I know Pan, better than any of you. Let me out and give me a sword; I'll take care of him for you."
"Don't be ridiculous," David snaps. "That option isn't even on the table. What we're trying to decide is whether to take you with us when we evacuate or dump you in Detroit."
"If we take you with us, we're gonna need proof that you won't turn around and kill us. A token of good faith," Emma suggests.
"You already have my ship and my hook. I have nothing else in this world."
"No, I meant information. Tell us about Pan."
"Gladly. What do you want to know?"
"Everything," Emma says. "Who he is, what he can do, what motivates him."
David cuts to the chase. "His weaknesses. What will stop him."
"Pull up a chair, then. I have many a tale to tell." Hook crosses his legs, making himself comfortable.
Emma suggests to David, "Let's get Gold in here to compare notes." To Hook, she says, "If he can corroborate what you tell us, I'll let you out. You're not getting your hook back."
Storybrooke General, 6:45 pm
Head Nurse Kelly is organizing a team consisting of every spare pair of hands in the hospital, from the custodians to the administrators: they are going through every room in the building, systematically sorting and packing what's to be taken to the Enchanted Forest. "Much as I'd like to, we can't take our generators; it'd just be too risky transporting gasoline through the portal. But as soon as we get to the forest, we've got to go to work on developing a source of energy. It'll be like working a MASH unit, but without people shooting at us."
"But with the ogres," Whale quips.
"Let's get to work. We'll get started now and come back after the party; work through the night if we have to."
Five young men walk up. "We're don't know much about medical supplies," Bae admits, "but we do know a lot about packing and hauling. We're at your disposal."
Belle's Apartment, 6:45 pm
Belle throws a suitcase on her bed and stands before her closet. She remembers her time on the road, chasing the yaoguai. She knows what she'll need to survive in the forest, and she starts to pack.
Deep down, though, she harbors a hope that the Dark Castle escaped the destruction. Even without Rumple's magic to run it, the castle would still be a whole lot more comfortable than sleeping on the ground.
Deep, deep down, all things considered, she'd rather be in New York.
Mayor's Mansion, 6:45 pm
An open suitcase on her bed, Regina stands before her closet, rifling through her outfits. She must own at least twenty skirt-and-blazer sets and twice as many blouses, but not one garment that can be safely washed in a river. She owns not one pair of dungarees, not one pair of hiking boots, not one (shudder) flannel or cotton shirt. But what does it matter? She's the queen: she's supposed to dress the part. It's not as though she'll be planting vegetables or chopping wood.
She gives up on her closet. If her royal gowns back home are in disrepair, she'll simply hand them over to a seamstress. Or better yet, conjure new clothes.
She crosses to Henry's bedroom. In less than fifteen minutes she's packed his clothes, except for that darling little three-piece suit he wore at her last post-election party. He's probably outgrown it anyway. She packs a few of his toys, disturbed to find how many of them are electronic. She comes across the teddy bear Henry slept with every night until he started school and considered himself too old for cuddly toys. Someday Henry will have a child of his own and that child will need a teddy bear. She shrinks it to the size of a sock so it will fit into his suitcase. And then, rethinking the situation, she returns to her closet, waves her hand and with a groan of regret, changes her pencil skirts and silk blouses to (shudder) denim and cotton. In no godsforsaken land, however, will she wear flannel: she is the queen.
Library, 7:45 pm
Belle snaps on the fluorescent lights. Regina runs her eyes over the packed shelves. She remembers the state these shelves were in, the last time she was here—assisting the savior in slaying Maleficent. "A shame. You put so much work into preparing this library for an opening that never came." When Belle doesn't bite at the bait, Regina asks, "So which ones do we take?"
Belle begins slapping Post-It notes on the shelves she's designating as essential. Clearly, the selection is a difficult process for her, not intellectually, for the Dewey Decimal System has arranged the science, technology and medicine books into groups, but emotionally. Her hand lingers longingly on the books in the 200s, mythology and spirituality; in the 800s: poetry and theater; in the 900s, travel and history. She sighs as she walks through Adult Fiction, with a second glance at the Westerns Rumple loves to read at bedtime (how can she leave behind Elmer Kelton, Johnny D. Boggs and Stephen Overholser, knowing how much enjoyment they've given him?). And she can't even bring herself to enter the children's department.
"Oh for gods' sakes," Regina mumbles, and with a wave of her hand every book in the building vanishes.
"Where—what did you do with them?" Belle sputters, her face reddening with anger. "Regina, bring them back!"
Regina simply points at a single wooden crate in the center of the floor. Belle peers inside to find neat piles of shrunken books, now the size of quarters. "Temporary spell; it will release in seven days, which should give you enough time to transport them to the Dark Castle, if it still stands." Regina folds her arms and looks around. "If we're going to fit three hundred suitcase-carrying people in here, plus assorted animals, we're going to have to get rid of that circulation desk."
"Hmm. Regina, do you think you could power generators with magic?" Belle reaches for her cell phone.
"Piece of cake, honey."
Sheriff's Office, 8 pm
As they walk out into the cool night, the sheriff, her deputy and the pawnbroker can hear bells ringing in the distance. "The convent," David identifies the source of the music. "The nuns have begun the celebration."
"Hope they're saying their prayers too," Emma says dryly. She turns to Gold. "Well? Was Hook telling the truth?"
"What do your instincts say, Sheriff Swan?"
She thinks about it a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I think so."
"I've dealt with several Pans over the centuries. I always had to work through third parties: Neverland is a difficult place to get to, even more difficult to leave, so I avoided it. It's strange to think," Gold says dreamily, "one of the Pans with whom I dealt may have even been my own son. But as for Hook—yes, I believe he's given us honest information. And now I have a question for you, Sheriff."
"That's fair, I guess."
"What are your plans for Hook? As I'm sure you can appreciate, my son and I have a vested interest."
"He's coming with us."
Gold walks away, replying over his shoulder, "I hope he justifies your trust, Ms. Swan. I truly do."
Granny's Diner, 9 pm
The party is in full swing, the music hot and raucous, the tea (no beers tonight) ice cold, the laughter loud enough to reach across the river. Or at least, that's what David would like to think. A phone call from Curly at 8:30 confirms that Ruby's checked in and spies are indeed observing the goings-on from a distance and the enemy leadership is perplexed, eventually coming to the conclusion that Storybrooke must be inhabited by fatalistic Epicureans.
Pan has yet to arrive.
Crouching beside one of the picnic tables on Granny's front lawn, Gold is teaching his fourth group of the night how to extract the drops of magic Regina has instilled into their personal objects. As Henry follows along behind him, delivering the former pawnshop goods in his Radio Flyer (left over from his kid days, he explains with all seriousness), Gold repeats his favorite clichés over and over. "To use even the small amount of magic instilled in this object, you must surrender something in return. Pay up front and magic won't charge you late fees." Then he presents a pair of scissors and instructs, "Clip off a lock of your hair. An insignificant price for you, but it will satisfy magic."
There really is no need for Gold to crouch on the damp ground: he could as just as well sit on the bench beside his students. He's crouching simply because he can: his ankle doesn't complain. And with Bae and Belle restored to him, he has forgiven himself sufficiently that he no longer requires the physical pain to mask his emotional pain.
As for his students, he is impressed, not with their talents—none of them show a knack for magic—but with their numbers. Of the 120 Storybrookers who have chosen to return to the Enchanted Forest, 64 have volunteered for the front line. Families are being split up, with one spouse joining Storybrooke's guard while the other escorts the children through the portal. If this were a traditional fight, David would have turned away most of these volunteers, but this is a hit-and-run mission employing magic, so strong backs and youth are not requirements for these soldiers.
Although most approach Gold with trepidation, even suspicion, they acknowledge his wealth of knowledge of all things magic, and therefore accept him as their teacher. He doesn't bother to try to charm them or impress them: what he's teaching will save lives; that's credential enough. Later this evening, when Gold has finished his work, David and Snow will begin theirs, organizing these volunteers into squads of fighters.
Gold finishes with his fourth group and stands to stretch. Before the next group arrives, Granny waggles her finger at him. He pretends not to notice, but she makes matters worse by calling his name across the lawn. He gives up, walks up to the entrance to take his punishment. "What, are you going to charge me for using the picnic tables now?"
She has to raise her voice to be heard over the music. "A little birdie told me you were asking for steak while you were in the hospital and never did get it. Here, saved a table inside for you." She nudges him inside. He doesn't want to go—the music hurts his ears—but she did say "steak" and it's going to be a long, long time before beef becomes available in the Enchanted Forest. Despite the noise and the crowds, he's going to hope it's a sirloin and savor every bite.
It is. And keeping it company is a serving of asparagus with hollandaise sauce, escalloped potatoes, a crescent roll (Granny's cook makes them from scratch each morning), and a pitcher of iced tea. "You clean your plate and there'll be a scoop of chocolate ice cream for dessert," Granny advises.
He's a bit perplexed: the server has just laid a second, identical plate across from his. A server in a blue lace dress, her auburn hair swinging as she pours glasses of tea—"Belle!"
She can't hear him, of course, so he abandons Granny and takes the waitress in his arms. He kisses her, then eyes the steak. "It's all right, Rumple," she laughs. "I'm hungry too."
They speak of business as they enjoy their meal: there's just too much to do before morning. Gold expresses confidence in his students' progress, and in reply Belle pushes her half-eaten steak aside (earning a frown from Gold, who hates to see a fine cut of meat go to waste). "My turn," Belle announces.
"For?"
"Teach me how to extract magic from my special object." On the table she sets a necklace, a petite pearl on a delicate gold chain; it stirs soft memories in him, for she wore this necklace, an inheritance from her mother, every day that she lived in the Dark Castle.
"Belle—" he starts to object.
"No," she interrupts. "You're not going to send me away this time. I understand that you want to protect me, but have you forgotten where you found me when we first met?"
He's miserable as she pries it out of him: "In a war room, with generals and battle maps."
"You spied on me beforehand, didn't you?"
"How do you know that?" He blinks in surprise.
"It's your modus operandi, isn't it? And when my father asked your price, you didn't hesitate. You didn't even look around to see what he might have to trade. So admit it, you'd been watching me."
"Yes." He pokes at his asparagus, avoiding her gaze.
"You knew what kind of person I was before you selected me."
"Yes. Well, I had to be sure: a life with the Dark One would break most people."
She folds her hands, signaling her victory. "If I can handle the Dark One and ogres, don't you think I've earned my place on the front line with you?"
He pushes his plate aside, giving up on his long-awaited steak, for the time being. He hands her his scissors. "Very well, then. A snip of your hair to pay for the magic."
She accepts the challenge in typical Belle fashion: she picks up the scissors and walks away.
"Belle? Where are you going?"
"I'll be back in bit. Finish your steak; you've earned it."
Somewhere into his third glass of tea, he takes her advice and finishes the steak. For the last of its kind, it's well worth the wait. As he's polishing off the promised ice cream, the pair of scissors is laid on the table before him. He glances up, then glances up again. "Belle! A snip, I said; you've—" he gulps, reaching up to touch the tresses he's so long admired—the tresses that now end at her jaw line. "You've overpaid," he finishes lamely.
"My father always encouraged his soldiers to keep their hair cut short, so it wouldn't get in the way," Belle says, then she tosses her head. "It feels great to be free of all that hair." She resumes her seat and takes a bite of her steak, now cold. "I'm ready. Teach me."
Granny's Diner, 10 pm
Gold's voice is shot by the time he's concluded his magic lessons. Finally it's time for David to round up the fighters and strategize. Henry's wagon is now empty, and Emma is declaring it's his bedtime, but uncharacteristically, Henry bluntly refuses to budge. "I need to be in on this," he declares. The picnic tables are being pulled into a rectangle, maps are being spread atop them, fighters are taking their seats, even Blue and Regina have joined the discussion, and Henry plops himself down among them.
"Henry." Emma's tired and stressed, and Henry's too old, she thinks, for temper tantrums.
"I need to be here. This town has four mages. They've got a hundred. You can't afford to leave me out."
"Emma is right, Henry," Regina says—it's probably the first and last time she'll ever utter that particular phrase. "You need your rest."
"And if you think you're going to stay behind and fight—"
"You're fighting. My dad's fighting. Both my grandpas and my grandmas are fighting. Even Archie's fighting."
"You're eleven years old," David reminds him, as if that should settle everything.
Snow adds, "You'll be leaving with Grace and her parents tomorrow. They'll take you through the portal. They'll take good care of you and we'll catch up very soon."
"We'll be right behind you, kid," David says.
"I'm counting on you to get the baseball through," Bae tries.
"I wish everyone would stop talking to me like I'm a baby." Henry pins Gold with a piercing look. "You know I have to be there. Tell them."
Gold licks his lips as the entire Charming-Rumple clan turn on him to solve this problem, preferably without hurting Henry's feelings. "Your bravery is truly commendable, young man, but—"
"You need me. My magic is powerful; you said it yourself."
"That's true, but it's also unformed, and—" Gold suddenly jerks back, staring at Belle, who's seated across from him. His mouth drops open, and so does everyone else's.
Belle twists about, trying to understand why she's become the object of so much interest. "What?" As she twists, her hair swings about her shoulders. She reaches up a hand and grabs a handful of thick locks—shoulder length locks. "What's happening?"
"Is that long enough?" Henry smirks. "I can make it longer."
"What's going on?" Emma demands, then catching on: "All right, Regina, stop playing games with Belle's hair."
"It's not her; it's me," Henry confesses. "Grampa was wishing Belle hadn't cut her hair."
Gold nods, still licking his lips.
"See? I don't have to be on street with you," Henry suggests. "I can be inside somewhere, where they can't even see me, and all you have to do is think the magic, and I'll do it. Look! Hold out your hand."
"Henry. . . ." But Gold spreads his fingers despite his protest. A fireball floats gracefully above his palm, as if he himself had conjured it.
"You said yourself, Grampa, my magic is more powerful than you've ever seen. If Pan sees my magic coming from you—"
"It would make him nervous," Gold admits. "Take him off his stride."
"For just a moment," David adds. "But a moment is all we need."
"If I was five years older, you'd let me be on the front line with you, wouldn't you?"
Emma points out the obvious: "But you're not."
"Why does a couple of years make any difference? I've got magic right now. There's a reason for that; I heard you say so yourself, Grampa. I heard you say my dad was the bravest boy in the Enchanted Forest when he was my age. My mom and my gramps killed dragons. My gran and my—and Belle, they fought in wars. Why should I be any different? They're all heroes; I was born to be one too."
"Yes, of course, but not at such a young age," Snow says.
"It's now that you need me, not five years from now."
Regina dismisses the idea. "You're too young to fight and that's all there is to it."
Gold looks at each of them in turn. "He's too powerful not to."
The argument goes on a full ten minutes, eating away at precious time that should have been spent on battle plans, but in the end, Bae gives way, remembering that he had been willing to fight at an age not much older. David becomes convinced that Henry has a destiny to fill, and with a guarantee that Henry will be hidden away, out of reach of the enemy, even Snow relents: she and David are born heroes, and they recognize their bloodline in the boy. Only his two mothers remain adamantly opposed.
"There's a reason that he has this power now, not five years from now, Em," Bae speculates. "Why he can do what no one else can."
"Don't give me that crap about destiny."
"With every cell in my body, I hate magic," Bae declares. "If I thought we could order him to stop using it, I would, but I don't think we can. I think he's supposed to use it. We'll keep him safe, I promise. He has to be what he's meant to be."
Regina slams her open palm on the table. "That's my child you're talking about."
"And he has magic, just like you, just like his mother," David says.
Bae closes his eyes briefly. "Just like his father."
He says it so softly it almost slips by unnoticed, but Henry catches it. "What did you say, Pop?"
Taking a deep breath, Bae lays his hand open. A fireball, identical to the one Henry produced, appears in his hand.
"My gods," Gold whispers.
"Yeah," Bae says miserably. He closes his fist and the fireball disappears.