Chapter 3: Know Thine Enemy

"But the wardrobe," Emma said uselessly, for about the tenth time. "The wardrobe dust. We used it up, we took the compass, we got into the portal and I'm pretty sure we would know by now if they had climbed out of that well after us." I thought we were safe, was what she really wanted to shout. I thought this was over. "I just don't understand how Cora could be here."

Gold and Regina exchanged a look. On pretext of investigating the fire, Emma had removed the three of them to the sheriff's office as quickly as possible; it wasn't a neutral ground, but she wasn't very interested in being neutral right now. David had wanted to come as well, but she had told him to take Henry home. Partly out of concern for her son's safety, and partly out of a (possibly mistaken, she now realized) conviction that she could handle Gold and Regina herself. Besides, there was some small selfish part of her that wanted to show her father that it was fine, this was her job, and he didn't need to hold her hand.

Not to mention, Emma didn't want to worry her mother. Mary Margaret wasn't always the world's most rational human being when the welfare of her family was concerned, and if she heard even a whisper that Cora might somehow have followed them to Storybrooke after all, she'd be strapping on her sword and quiver and heading out to hunt the witch while Emma was still getting her clothes on – she hadn't had time to change, was still decked in her pajamas, leather jacket, and boots. And as for the rest of the town. . . they didn't need to be thrown into a panic, hear that the one person even Regina and Gold feared had dropped in to pay a call. Not until she could find out how this was even possible, or if it might just be one of Gold's demented little power plays.

"Think hard, Miss Swan," the pawnbroker said now, in answer to her earlier question. "Was there anything else you may have seen, any indication that she or her accomplice might have given as to their contingency plans?"

Emma looked suspiciously at him. "How did you know that she had a. . .?"

"You did say we would be able to tell if 'they' had climbed out of that well," Gold pointed out, logically enough. "Implies that even the great Cora isn't working alone."

At that, Regina broke in angrily. "How can she even be back? You told me that the looking glass would work, that it would send her away forever. And then she didn't, she ended up in Wonderland and I had to – "

"Loose lips, dearie," Gold reminded her, with a sidelong glance at Emma. "But that's what happens when people fall through the looking glass, yes. They end up in Wonderland. I did ask if I could see her occasionally. In the deal I made with her." He shrugged.

"What deal did you make with my mother?"

"My business," Gold said coolly. "But as it happens, I wanted information on your grandfather. He came from this world, you know. Nebraska. I believed that with him in my power, I could command him to take me here. But the fellow turned out to be a miserable fraud. A charlatan. A little man behind a curtain." His mouth twisted.

"None of which sounds anything like you, of course," Regina snapped.

"I'm insulted, dearie." Gold's tone remained level, but Emma saw the ugly flicker in his eyes. Oh god, I should have brought David after all. If these two immortals got to blows, it was going to be a pain in the ass to pull them apart. "I am many things, but a charlatan, no. You may not have noticed, but my curses work. And a little man behind a curtain, yes, but for an entirely different purpose."

"Little man behind a. . . wait." Emma stared between them. "Gold, are you seriously telling me that Cora's father was the Wonderful Wizard of Oz?"

"Not her father, no. Her father – her adopted father – was a poor woodsman who ended up, after various axe-related mishaps, mostly made of tin. She took his heart, and he never gave up looking for it, poor thing," Gold added, with unconvincing sympathy. "As for the Wizard, he was her husband's father. Certainly not wonderful, however. As I said, a snake-oil fraud. He didn't really fly home in that balloon when he left the Emerald City. He flew to me. And he failed me."

Emma didn't want to ask what had happened to him as a result. She could guess well enough. Another reminder that while they might be swimming through the ocean side by side, Gold was still a shark. "Oz? Okay. Shyeah, I can see that. If she did get here through the wishing well, that rules out her being the Wicked Witch of the West, since otherwise she would have melted. Wicked Witch of the East, then? Anyone got a house we can drop on her?"

"Very funny, Miss Swan." Gold raised his hands and pretended to applaud, ignoring the dagger of a stare Regina was still throwing into the back of his head. "But we are getting sidetracked. I asked if there was anything about Cora or this unknown accomplice of hers that would lead you to believe they had a secondary plan."

For a moment more, Emma was mystified – and then she wasn't. It crashed into place almost beyond a doubt, spinning a vortex – a tornado, hah – of questions in its wake. It numbed her, making her realize what an idiot, a total utter idiot, she'd been, again. He didn't go easy on me in that swordfight because of what Aurora said, because he might care for me. It wasn't even Aurora speaking right then, he'd already stolen her heart. He had an exit already planned.

But why not just kill me anyway? She and Mary Margaret would never have gotten home if Hook hadn't told them about the compass. If he hadn't given her that enchanted cuff to climb the beanstalk with him, and wanted to come with her. Which was more than a stretch to explain away. Just so Cora could follow us. . . but why go to all that trouble? Why? Why?

"Your face seems to indicate we have a potential solution, Miss Swan," Gold commented. "If you please?"

"I. Yeah." Emma moved back around to sit abruptly on her desk, hoping it didn't look as if her knees had given out, because they more or less just had. "He. . . dangled it in my face when we were imprisoned in your old cell. He said it was useless. Dried up, like. . ." Her throat closed. No way was she going to tell the two of them what Killian Jones had said to her, what had passed between them in the giant's lair. How this might still be her fault after all. "But I just thought. My. . . parents told me what Lake Nostros does, how it saves things. And it's. . . kind of. . .possible that he threw it in and it. . . worked."

"Threw in what, Sheriff?"

"A magic bean." Emma felt like someone had just punched her in the chest. "From the beanstalk we climbed. To get the compass. Well, I got the compass. I sort of. . . left him behind."

"Left who behind?" Both of them were staring unblinkingly at her now.

She hesitated, but only fractionally. He said I should have trusted him, but how could I have? If he went straight back to Cora anyway, I was completely justified in ditching him. It made her want to cry. Charm in men, especially in criminally good-looking, totally amoral men, was the worst character trait ever, because it blinded you to everything else. Her hand on his shoulder. There's a good girl. Him bandaging up the other one, with rum and his mouth. I'm always a gentleman. Him catching her when she'd stumbled over that stupid tripline and into his arms, the way he'd gathered her into him with those sea-blue eyes and that dizziness-inducing smile. It's about bloody time.

Remembering infuriated her more than ever. She'd thought she was past it, immune to all the tricks guys liked to play on you, especially when they were just trying to distract you from what was otherwise plainly obvious before your eyes: that they were a worthless, manipulating sack of dogshit. Trust me? Yeah. Right. I wanted to, but he was as much a liar as Neal. Good thing. If he was the one who'd brought Cora here, to her friends, to her parents, her son, her life. . .

That thought turned grief into total rage. He deserved absolutely everything coming his way, and she hoped he got all of it. "Hook," she said. "Captain Hook."

"Hook?" Gold and Regina bellowed in unison, springing off their chairs as if they'd been electrocuted. They then glared at each other and sat back down.

"Yeah." A surge of something, almost giddiness, swept through Emma. "How about you tell me what you know about him, and I'll tell you what I know about him."

Gold took a deep breath. It was rare to see the suave, self-controlled pawnbroker so discommoded, or – no matter the strings he pulled, his deals, his frank description of just good business – the almost frightening hatred in his face. "Yes," he said. "I'll tell you. That man stole my wife from me, my son's mother. Both of them. Both of them together. Betrayed me and dishonored me. If he is here, if he is remotely nearby, I would very much like a word with him."

"I'll be happy to arrange it for you," Emma informed him, seething. Yet even as she spoke, she saw again that tattoo on Killian's arm – Milah – and the uncomfortable conversation that had followed. For someone who's never been in love, you're quite perceptive, aren't you? And her own self-defensive, faltering admission. Maybe I was. . . once.

That made her even more uncomfortable. Enough so that she coughed and said, "You listen to me, though. That doesn't mean you have the right to just do anything you want. I'm still the sheriff, Gold, and I'm still in charge of the law around here. If you think you can – "

"Those who have to say, 'I'm in charge,' rarely are," the pawnbroker observed. That pleasant smile on his lips, and the almost inhumane hatred in his eyes hadn't changed. He's not going to listen to a word that comes out of my mouth. Jesus, she really should have brought David.

"We'll see about that." Emma stared back at him, well aware that this was about more than just the question of what would happen to Hook, if – oh god – he was in Storybrooke with Cora. She didn't want to start blatantly throwing her weight around like some "bad cop" in a Wild Western, but she also didn't want them, for a second, to think that they were still going to be able to get away with splitting the town between their plots, powers, and vendettas, like they had before. On that note, she turned to Regina. "And your story about our friend is?"

Regina pursed her lips, but answered grudgingly. "I found Hook in my castle, in the cell of a certain prisoner. After he'd killed my guards with that hook of his. If he'd had the chance, he would have done the same to her, but I stopped him."

"Well, that's just terribly informative, dearie," Gold remarked. "I told you all what I know, so fair's fair." He smiled again. "Cough up. Please."

Regina grimaced. "I found him inside Belle's prison. He had changed his mind about rescuing her once he discovered she had no interest in hurting you." She flashed that swift, venomous basilisk stare back at Gold, who stared straight ahead almost comically, hands folded like a choirboy. "So he backhanded her unconscious for his trouble. Seems he has an interest in hurting people that you care for, Rumple. I do so wonder why that could be. But in any event, there was a. . . flair to him that I admired. There aren't – weren't – many people brave enough to risk that. He was the sort of mercenary that I needed to handle business. So I recruited him to travel down to Wonderland and take care of my mother." She almost spit the last two words.

"But he betrayed you too, I see," Gold remarked. "And took up with her."

"I wouldn't have needed him at all if your spell had done what you promised me!" Small sparks of magic were beginning to explode from Regina's clenched fists, making the air stink of ozone. "But instead, because of that deal you made with her back God knows when, because you taught her how to do magic, rip out hearts, you – "

"I don't generally kill my clients, dearie." Slowly, deliberately, Gold slid one of his hands down the shaft of his cane, as if about to draw a knife. "It's not good business."

"No," Regina said, spots of hectic color burning in her otherwise bloodless face. "You prefer them to stay alive so they always owe you something more. If you think I'll just – "

"Excuse me!" Emma shouted, causing both of them to start once more. "Who's getting sidetracked now? If you want to have your little fight, you can have it outside, because this place is a bitch to keep clean in the first place and I'm definitely not swabbing up blood from the decks on account of you two." You'd make a good pirate. . . I don't mean to upset you, Emma, but I think we make quite the team. She shook her head so hard it almost rattled. "Can we finish what we were here to do in the first place? Gold, can you swear – " she verbally underlined the word, staring hard at him – "that the fire at Regina's house is Cora's fault, and that she's here?"

"Certainly." Gold gazed back at her without apparent perturbation. "That fire wasn't really meant to kill your son and Mayor Mills. Cora's a predator, and she likes very much to play with her food. That fire was only to serve notice that the game was on. Besides, another term of the deal I made with her was the ability to see her when I wanted. By which I mean, I know whether or not she's close, and she is." Anticipating Emma's next question, he added, "No, I can't tell you where exactly. I can't see that myself."

"How about you get to work finding out?" Emma stood up. "You and your little Cora sixth sense, that sounds like a useful skill to have. I'm going home to change and then discuss this with my – with David. If there's anything I need to know. . ."

"You'll be told," Gold assured her, with a tone in his voice that she didn't quite like. It seemed to be implying that she would, indeed. . . if he chose to grant her the information, and if it didn't get in the way of something else he had in mind. "Oh, and dearie?"

Emma gritted her teeth. "Yes?"

She heard Gold get up, make his way across the floor, the soft tap of his cane, until he stood almost directly behind her, speaking softly into her ear. "Leave Hook to me."

(8888888)

Like hell she would. Smarmy, sexy, charming, vicious one-hand, no-heart Captain Douchebag had made it personal between them, and Emma Swan wasn't the kind of girl to leave that alone. She wasn't going to let him show up in her world like this – if he's even here, what if Cora just stole the bean from him and made her own way through – Jesus, why was she worrying for the safety of the man who'd just thrown her world into turmoil, threatened Henry and her parents? Show up in her world like this, and get away with. . . the one who'd turned back when she'd called desperately after him, as she hadn't turned back when he'd called desperately after her. . . show up in her world like this, and get away with. . .

She was having a lot of trouble finishing that thought.

Furious with herself, Emma hit the dash of the Bug and screeched around the corner, past Granny's Bed and Breakfast, a whole lot faster than the sedate 30mph that most people drove in Storybrooke. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of two men emerging from the front door and starting down the steps. Nothing special about them. Ordinary clothes. Both with their sweatshirt hoods up, so she hadn't even gotten a decent glimpse of their faces. But for a horrifying, heart-stopping second, she had thought –

Strangers don't come to Storybrooke, Henry told her, when August had first ridden into town on his motorcycle. And it had turned out, of course, that August was no stranger after all.

With Cora on the loose, and who knew else. . . Emma was the sheriff, she would have been perfectly justified in pulling over and demanding to see their ID. But she was driving the Bug, not the police cruiser, and she was still in her pajamas, her hair messy, without her badge and more importantly, without her gun; she needed to get a new one after the ogre had crushed hers into scrap metal back in the Enchanted Forest. And besides, it wasn't as if she could jump out and arrest them for walking down the street, minding their own business. She needed to talk to her parents, break the news as gently as she could. Make sure Henry was safe.

And it definitely hadn't been who she thought. Hadn't been. Not possible.

Just a bad dream.

It didn't stop her from flooring it the rest of the way home.

(8888888)

"You've got a queer look on your face, mate," Killian Jones remarked off-handedly (the same as one-handedly, he reckoned) as the noisy yellow machine slowed slightly, then screeched out of sight at redoubled velocity. "Any reason for that?"

"Y-Yeah." Neal Cassady appeared to have been turned to stone. "I. . . that was her."

"Was it?" Killian felt a sudden fervent longing for his spyglass, to whip it out and get a better look at the contraption. But it was distinctive, he felt sure he'd recognize it again, and the knowledge made his heart start to pound; he had to turn away and pretend to be examining Granny's garden. He'd been rooming with the bastard for several days now, and he still hadn't gotten much of anything out of him. Combining the charm of a seasick crocodile, the looks of the south end of a northbound ogre, and the brains of an especially brilliant bridge troll, that was Neal Cassady. Not that Killian's estimation was in the least biased. What did Swan ever see in him?

Still, he was useful. Killian had already calculated that if he could steer the two of them into a shock reunion at a disastrously inconvenient moment, Emma was sure to put Cassady up in stocks and fetters. Better yet, chase him out of town with torches and pitchforks; Killian had been on the receiving end of both sorts of treatment more than once in his life, and therefore was extremely eager to see his present companion subjected to it. Cassady would then be eliminated as an obstacle to his – to his revenge, and in her fragile emotional state, Emma might be more reckless, more willing to run risks, not to mention more inclined to cry on the shoulder of a handsome stranger who only wanted to comfort her and dry her tears. It had occurred to Killian that he might be underestimating her, and he'd be a fool to do so, as she'd already bested him thrice. But I let her, the last time. He rubbed his cheek. Permitted or not, he did have to admit that she threw a fair punch for a lass.

But still. Even if she was formidable, unpredictable, tough, fearless, sassy, devoted, and up for any adventure, not to mention beautiful – bloody hell, Jones, priorities – she was still a woman, and he knew more about her soft spots than she thought. She'd admitted enough to him, even if half against her will. And with Neal fucking Cassady standing right here. . . Killian knew how he'd feel if Milah had been the one to rat him out and string him up, the way Cassady by his own admission had done to Emma. . . she wasn't going to be able to foresee that. She wasn't going to be able to control her own reaction. She'd want revenge. He should know.

"Oh," he said again, casually. "Well then. That would be a shock. Sympathies, mate. But you can't keep creeping around and ducking whenever she might be looking. You came here to see her, didn't you? You have to take it in your hands. You said you didn't want any. . .whispers floating around." Killian flashed Cassady a smile that was intended to imply that if he wanted, he was in prime position to start some of them. "Do it on your terms. Soon as you can. Won't get any better with waiting."

"Yeah, maybe, but. . . " Cassady was still staring down the road in the direction of Emma's vanished machine. "This is going to sound crazy, but when I turned her in. . . I didn't want to, I got my arm twisted into it. There was this guy, and he. . ."

Cassady trailed off. Just as Killian was wondering if he was actually going to have an original thought, and how much it would hurt if so, the man looked up with a jerk, anger and shame both visible on his face. "Look, he told me that she wasn't normal, and that this place – Storybrooke – wasn't normal either. That there was. . ." He chewed on the word. "Okay. Magic. And I'm starting to think that something. . . something's happening to me too. I've had these dreams every night since I got here. There's something I need to remember, like there's another reason I came here besides finding Emma. And maybe I need to get that straightened out before I go see her. So I can at last tell her who I am."

Now that was unexpected. Killian took a sudden, hard look at his companion, trying to judge if some sort of power lay hidden beneath the surface, something he might need to look out for. If this man was more than what he seemed, it was the best disguise in history. But what he said, smooth as ever, was "Not a surprise, mate. You want to have a good reason for why you left her, want to ride up to her as a knight in shining armor. But that's not how it works."

Cassady glanced over. Up until now he and Killian had been on friendly terms, and Cassady was so grateful to have someone to confess to that he'd gushed information (as mentioned, none of it outstandingly useful) like he'd been given a truth potion, but a definite belligerence entered his tone. "Yeah? And who are you really, mate? Why did you just so happen to come to town at the same time, if this place is what August – I mean, the guy – told me? Who's Emma to you?"

Killian hesitated, glanced away. "No one," he said quietly, allowing a soft, heartbroken edge of emotion to roughen his own voice. "Never even heard the name before you mentioned it. But I do know something about losing a true love, feeling as if you betrayed her, being unable to ever apologize or have back what's gone for good." He pulled up his sleeve, awkwardly with his teeth since he still, of course, wasn't wearing his hook, and showed Cassady the heart tattoo. "I'd give anything to get her back. I just want to help you."

On sight of it, Cassady softened. "Milah, huh? That's pretty. I'm sorry, man. I know you're doing your best. But my nerves are shot. Just feeling like a fugitive again, from this woman that I love. She's here, she's here, and I can't even get close to her."

"You have to face your fears." Killian clapped a brotherly hand on Neal Cassady's shoulder. "Just go talk to her. It'll get worse the longer you put it off. You have to. Right here. Now. Today."

For a few seconds longer, Cassady remained quiet. Then he let out a slow, deep sigh. "Yeah," he said, rubbing his own hand across the back of his eyes. "Yeah, you're right. Today."