noamg: Even if Neal *is* Bae, which I obviously can't confirm or deny at this point, he has almost certainly spent most of 300 years in Neverland, which causes you to forget your old life. And as indicated by his comments to Hook, he hasn't figured out anything about who he is, so no, he wouldn't necessarily recognize the name. But glad you enjoyed.

Rashaka: Don't worry, Hook is going to have to do a lot of work if he fondly imagines that he's ever going to get on our favorite ass-kicking blonde's good side.

JuliaAurelia: I'm trying, I'm trying. Those darn bunnies keep attacking me, however, and these chapters are a lot quicker and easier to write than TNR, which is serious and drama-y and complicated with the 10 million storylines. Hence why these updates are more frequent. Planning to start Chapter 83 either tomorrow or the day after, though.

Chapter 4: Heart To Heart

Mary Margaret was waiting out front when Emma turned into the driveway of her parents' house. Clearly, she'd gotten an advance account of the proceedings from David, because Emma barely had time to yank the Bug's parking brake and twist the key before her mother was rushing toward the car door, almost pulling her out headlong. "Emma! My God, is it true? Are you all right? Did you see anything? What did Gold say? Are we going to – "

"Sheesh!" Emma threw up her hands against the onslaught. "Hold on a second, okay? Where's Henry? I – " She lowered her voice and glanced around, half expecting to see an evil witch lurking under the porch swing. "I don't want to talk about this in front of him."

Mary Margaret was even paler than usual. "So that's it, then? It's true? She's here?"

Emma blew out an unsteady breath. "Yeah. Yeah. And I'm kind of terrified that it's my fault." Her voice, to her mortification, cracked.

"Oh, no," Mary Margaret said, shaking her head. "No, sweetheart, it is not. This is Cora we're talking about, she has powers like we can't imagine. Maybe she found a way to reopen the portal, or. . ." She hesitated, clearly in search of an explanation, any explanation to exonerate her daughter. "Anything could have happened."

"No, I think I know what did." Emma dragged her hand across her eyes, trying to get control of herself. She'd already been back to her apartment and changed into her clothes, though so fast that she still looked as if she'd been on holiday in a wind tunnel. As succinctly as possible, she explained her theory that Hook had used the waters of Lake Nostros to revivify the magic bean, and that he and Cora had come through in such fashion.

When she finished, struggling with her sobs, Mary Margaret was already moving to take her in her arms, an action that still reflexively caught Emma by surprise. But she allowed her head to drop onto her mother's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I should have – "

"You should have what?" Mary Margaret said fiercely, stroking Emma's tangled hair. "You didn't do anything wrong. You were right to leave him chained up on top of that beanstalk, and it's not your fault that he managed to escape. He's a bad man, and you're lucky you were able to see it so quickly. He's looking out for himself, and only himself. The only reason he told us about the compass was because he needed an accomplice to help him get it from the giant. He used you and tried to trick you, and believe me, if I do see him, I'll be giving him a little lesson what happens to people who hurt my family." At that, even in her usual cardigan and flowered blouse, the slight, mild-mannered elementary school teacher looked so much like her warrior princess alter ego that Emma had to stifle a painful laugh. "Trust me."

"I bet you will," Emma said shakily. She wanted to call Mary Margaret Mom, but still couldn't quite get her tongue around the word. "But I should have done something else. . . I should have. . ."

"Done what?" Mary Margaret repeated. Her eyes were very intent. "Do you wish you'd told the giant to kill him?"

"I. . ." Emma started, then shook her head. "No," she admitted. "I don't. I was just. . . the reason the giant spared me was because he thought I was a murderer, and then I showed him that I wasn't, and I. . . with Hook, I mean, it didn't even cross my mind. I just wanted a head start. And I hoped – it was stupid, but I hoped that maybe that he wouldn't. . ." She shook her head again and said raggedly, "I'm a total idiot. I'm sorry."

"No," Mary Margaret answered decisively. "You're not. Leaving aside the question of whether or not he deserved to die, you didn't think of it, you didn't want it, because you're a good person. That's what you have to remember. That's what is going to get you through this, get us through this. It's not because you're the savior, not because you're some piece in Gold's chess game, but because you, Emma Swan, are able to make the right choices in the worst circumstances. That's why Cora couldn't take your heart, and why you got us back home. Because you're brave, you're loyal, you're so strong, and you're good, and I love you so much. I can't even tell you how proud I am of you." Her voice cracked too.

At that, Emma's eyes welled up with tears again, but for a different reason. She hugged her mother, and the two women held onto each other tightly. Then they stepped apart, Emma sniffled, and wiped her eyes on her jacket sleeve. Not pulling away when Mary Margaret took her hand, she followed her up the front steps and into the expansive Victorian.

David had been standing at the living room window, watching them, but he turned around when they entered. "I sent Henry out to the back to play," he said quietly. "What are we planning next?"

"Out? By himself?" Emma twisted around, trying to see her son through the picture windows of her parents' dining room. "Is that okay?"

"It's all right," David reassured her. "No one's going to come up and steal him out from under our noses. And it's true that we'll have to tell him sooner or later. He was very brave, he would have gone back into the red room, I had to insist. Not to mention," he added wryly, "every time we tell him he can't help, he always finds a way to make it in somehow, and – "

"Yeah," a voice said reprovingly from the kitchen door. "You have to let me help."

Emma, Mary Margaret, and David all whirled around, but none of them, despite their protestations of dismay, were terribly surprised to see Henry standing there, fists planted defiantly on his hips. "Come on," he added. "Please? I've showed you, I've promised, I'm not going to get in the way. What is it? What's going on now? Seriously, Gramps, I was just in Regina's house and it was on fire. I know something's funny."

David blinked, as he always did whenever Henry called him that; Emma wasn't the only one who had to get used to new terminology. He shot a glance at his wife and daughter for support, then sighed and made a motion permitting his grandson into the room. Straightaway, however, he added, "Henry, this is very serious. The person who set the fire at Regina's house. . . she isn't anyone to mess around with, ever. If you're going to – "

"I know," Henry interrupted. "Is it Cora?"

All three adults exchanged looks that were equal parts resigned and stupefied. Henry took this as his cue to add, "I know who she is. Regina told me. She said that she would want to hurt me and I couldn't ever go near her, and that she – Regina, I mean – was going to look out for me. It's true, right? She wouldn't lie about that." His lips trembled. "Right?"

David sighed and rumpled a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "It's true. Henry, you've done so much for us already, but you have to understand that we don't want you in danger. And if you're putting yourself out there, then – "

"If she's really here, we're all in danger," Henry countered. "At least let me know what's going on. I promise I'll be good and do what you say. Pleeeeeease?"

David sighed again. "All right," he told his grandson. "But you have to promise."

"Okay," Henry said happily. "I promise."

(8888888)

With that settled, the family spent the next hour planning strategy, which only served to make Emma's head hurt (she still hadn't had her coffee) and did not outstandingly reassure her as to their preparedness for an assault that may or may not be coming in the immediate or mid-range future. She saw that David had already brought his sword downstairs, and had leaned it casually against the china cabinet; his eyes kept flicking to it as if he expected a villain with a hatchet to leap through the window. Mary Margaret was certain to have some weaponry as well, but hers was better concealed. Henry, of course, wanted to yak about his book. He thought that maybe, as it had before, a new story would appear, that something would change, or that they'd otherwise get the convenient magical clue that they needed to fall into their laps.

"Look, kid," Emma said. "That would be great, but in the meantime, we have a crazy witch on our hands and we don't know what she's capable of doing, if the fire was all she could manage because her powers aren't as strong in this world or because she's saving up for something really spectacular. Gold says she's here, and there's something weird about a deal he made with Cora in the past, so he knows. But he can't tell where, apparently."

"Well, she would have thought of that," Mary Margaret said, frowning. "Deals with Rumplestiltskin are unbreakable, usually, but he's not all-powerful. There are ways to get around him, outwit him – he tries to make it as impossible as he can, with his clauses and conditions, but it can be done. Cora isn't stupid enough to just waltz in here if she knew he could track her."

"So she's masking her traces?" David asked. "In which case, Gold isn't going to be much use." His jaw set, an expression that Emma, with a sinking heart, recognized all too well. Her father, Prince bloody Charming, was about to put on his heroic hat and do something stupid.

"No." Mary Margaret, apparently having realized the same thing, clutched her husband's hand. "You are not going out by yourself to look for Cora. She's gotten even more powerful than when I knew her as a little girl, and she'd love to have you as a hostage, more than anything. We just found each other again, and I am not, am not, going to lose you again immediately. Please."

David put his arms around his wife and kissed her head – but he didn't, Emma noted, say that he wasn't going to go look for Cora. "I'll protect us all, you know that," was what he promised instead. "And as I understand, it's not only her we need to look out for."

"No," Emma admitted, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. "And honestly, I'm almost as worried about him as I am about her. David, if you're going to go hunting for anyone, it should be him. You're probably as good with a sword as he is, and. . ." She hesitated. "Gold said he was going after him. There's some seriously bad blood between them, something to do with Gold's – Rumplestiltskin's, I guess – wife. I don't know the whole story, but it's pretty clear that if Gold catches up with him, there's going to be a problem. He told me to stay out of it, but damned – " she shot a guilty look at Henry – "uh, darned if I will."

David looked at her curiously. "You want me to go after him to fight him or to. . . protect him?"

"Go after who?" Henry interjected, confused.

"It's definitely not to protect," Emma said, feeling a hot flush starting to burn up her neck. "I just. . . I'm the sheriff, not Gold, and we all know what he can do if he's allowed to cut loose. Besides," she added, having a sudden brainwave, "he was kind of. . . you know. . . making moves on me. If he's around, he'll try it again, and I thought. . ."

David's eyes narrowed dangerously. He had clearly taken the implication that this no-good desperado had, to compound his other crimes, been attempting (or at least imagining) indecent actions upon his, David Nolan's, only begotten daughter. "I'll get on it."

"Good," Emma said, satisfied. It wasn't going to be any sort of hoax when her father kicked Captain Shitwit's lying, lowdown, disturbingly attractive ass. No. Forget about that part. It would give him what he deserved, and keep him out of Gold's hands. Emma had recognized the depraved look in the pawnbroker's eyes. He'd kill Killian Jones if he got the first chance. And she was justified by what her mother had said, about not wanting him dead. She still had no damn clue if she was actually a good person, and thought not more often than she thought so, but she did know that she wasn't a murderer like them, wasn't just going to fling aside anyone and everyone in her path. And then she wondered if part of the reason her parents had sent her away, apart from the hope of keeping her safe, was that so she wouldn't have to face that moment. To look someone in the eyes and choose to take – or spare – their life. To hold their heart in her hands.

"What? Who's making what moves?" Henry insisted, startling her out of her reverie. "On you? Is someone hitting on you?"

Emma gave him a jaded look. "You are too young for this, kid. Trust me. We've got this under control. So how about you do us a favor and stay close for now? You know Cora's going to be going hard after your – your mom." It always stuck in her throat to call Regina that, but it was another uncomfortable name, a fact. "You're safer here."

"That's what she said," Henry agreed. "That it was probably better if I was with Gramma and Gramps for now. But. . ." He still looked worried. "She wants to hurt all of us, doesn't she? Cora. What did we ever do to her?"

Emma knelt in front of him. "Henry. Henry, look at me. The fact is, there are some people in this world who really don't have a good reason for wanting to hurt others. They just do it because they can. Cora's one of those people. She wants to rip our lives apart just because she has the power, and she thinks that gives her the right. But I promise, David and Mary Margaret and me, and. . . and Regina, we're not going to let her hurt you. Believe me?"

Henry cracked a grin. "Yeah. You fooled her once, right?"

"I wish I could say that," Emma muttered, getting to her feet. "Boy, I wish I could."

(8888888)

With their plan of action essentially crystallized as "keep a sharp eye out and hope for the best," Emma hugged her family and told them that she needed to get back to the sheriff's office. There had to be a new gun somewhere on the premises – probably stashed in some safe under twenty-eight years' worth of garbage, which Graham had never given her the combination for – but maybe she should try thinking positively instead. Besides, it was the best place to stake out an observation post, and start trying to use her magic consciously. It was definitely a better thing to do than staring out the windows and pacing. She wasn't staying on the sidelines for this one.

Deciding that it was best to look as official as possible, Emma drove the cruiser back to the station, not the Bug. She headed inside and threw her keys on the desk, lowered the blinds, took off her jacket and flexed her hands and arms as if warming up for a sporting event. Then she stared across the room at the jail cell, and imagined Killian Jones incarcerated in it, a satisfying fantasy (she hoped) for target practice.

"Okay, magic," she said out loud. "Abracadabra."

Nothing happened.

Emma scowled and closed her eyes, trying to summon up the feeling that had struck her like lightning when Cora had tried to take her heart. Love, fierce love, and terror alike, bravery without a choice, bravery reacting to the situation – nothing heroic in her estimation, just animal instinct. Love is weakness. . . no, it's strength. The power that had thrown the witch away from her, bought her enough time to run to the portal with Mary Margaret and jump in.

Rage. At how Cora could ever dare. Amazement. That she herself could hold her off, with nothing more than herself, Emma Swan, her flawed messy human self. A magic far beyond anything, any dark sorceries, the witch could scheme and conjure and cut throats for.

Emma thought she felt a faint tickling around her fingers, but when she peeled one eye open for a hopeful peek, there was nothing unusual about them. She sighed in aggravation and was steeling herself to try again, when she heard the front door of the sheriff's office open. A man's voice – hesitant, strangely familiar – called, "Scuse me?"

Emma felt her heart starting to pound. Blackness fizzed at her vision, and for a moment, she seriously thought she was going to pass out. It's not. Not possible, remember. She found herself clutching the desk for support. Cora's magic. Playing some kind of trick on my mind.

"Scuse me?" the man said again, voice breaking with hope. "It's. . . me. I'm so sorry, baby, I'm so sorry. I only wanted to find you, after all this time, and ask for – "

He stepped into the light, hands held before him in a peace offering.

With all her throat, lungs, heart, mind, and soul, Emma Swan screamed.

(8888888)

It was almost two, past the lunch rush and not yet time for the dinner crowd, but Granny's was still fairly busy, people huddled together and discussing the fire at the mayor's house. Leroy and his dwarf gang were among them, concocting assorted plans for discovery of the culprit and/or condign vengeance upon them, but the commerce was brought to a skidding halt when the door jerked open and the white-faced sheriff of Storybrooke staggered in. She didn't stop until she reached the counter, where Ruby was polishing glasses, but turned in surprise. "Emma. . .? Are you. . .?"

"No." Emma barely moved her lips. "No, I am the furthest thing from okay right now. Get me a glass of the strongest stuff you have, and then about four more. Please."

Ruby cocked her head and looked at her friend's daughter with concern. "Emma? Really. You look terrible."

"Kind of how I feel. Please." Emma slid into a stool at the bar, her voice faint. "Please tell me you have something more poisonous than Bud Light. I'm not ruling out drain cleaner."

"Granny's got some of the hard stuff in her private stash. I'll go look for it." Ruby hesitated. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Yeah. If you see any guy asking for me, give him every kind of hell you can possibly raise. I'm talking the full monty." Emma put her head down on the Formica counter and stifled a gut-wrenching sob. "Teeth," she said indistinctly. "Claws."

"It's a few days until wolf time, but. . . yeah, you got it." Still worried, Ruby hurried into the back room, filched the key from what Granny still thought was a brilliant hiding place, and returned to present Emma with her choice of libations. Emma stabbed at one, and Ruby poured her a straight vodka. She didn't intend to let Emma drink herself under the table, nor did she know how much the sheriff could handle (though she doubted she was a lightweight). But it did seem cruel to deprive her right now.

"As you were," Ruby said loudly, seeing the diner's patrons staring. "Nothing to see here. She's as worried about the fire as the rest of us. It's her job."

This was a flimsy cover story, but they did at least have the decency to avert their eyes. Ruby turned back to finish drying the dishes, but was interrupted by Emma thrusting the vodka glass at her. It was already empty.

"I'm serious, Ruby," she whispered. "Another."

(8888888)

Killian Jones was sitting at his ease on a park bench, trying to conceal his smirk as he watched Neal Cassady proceed through the gesticulations of extreme heartbreak, when a voice behind him said, "Chap looks to be in terrible straits. Terrible."

"Oh, aye," Killian answered automatically. "Love, the bane of every otherwise sane gentleman. The only poison that always strikes true."

There was a moment in which he didn't realize. Then the words, both his own and the other's, struck him, and he jumped up and whirled around, not believing it until he laid eyes on the otherwise sane gentleman behind him, short and doughy and bearded and wearing his ratty clothes and his knitted red cap as always. How he had gotten here, Killian had no notion, but –

Lady Fortune was smiling on him at last, and Hook felt a raffish, brilliant grin of his own stretching his face from ear to ear. Not that this was total good fortune, considering that his first mate had always been just as untrustworthy as any pirate worth his salt, but it was the start. I could use a few weapons against Cora. Even if they're halfwits.

The man recognized him at the same time, and his jaw dropped. "Captain?"

"Ah. You remembered." Hook held out his handless arm as if for a shake, and bared his teeth in another, far more feral smile. "Good form, Mr. Smee. Good form."