Beta/Edited by PeaceHeather

Chapter 7

They call the Blue Fairy.

(Emma thinks that Regina would probably be more of an expert on this sort of thing, but she's out for obvious reasons.)

Then they prepare to go through the same cloak-and-dagger routine to fetch Blue without Gold's knowledge: Charming once again plays lookout, while Snow slips across town to the convent.

Emma sits by Hook's side and watches as the gold inches slowly away from the wound, gleaming in the light. The stitches she'd sewn so carefully the night before, amused by the thread color, glitter where the sunlight catches them, fused with his skin. Even the soft hair that runs down his torso has turned to stiff gold where it lays too near the injured flesh. The edges of it shimmer with magic, creeping steadily outward.

He pants in pain, his muscles locked, veins standing out starkly over the corded muscles of his arms and neck. Emma pushes the sweaty hair back from his forehead and clasps his hand tightly. He squeezes hers back, nearly to the point of breaking it.

"Emma," he gasps, rousing briefly. His voice is raw and raspy with pain; she has to lean forward to hear him better.

"I'm here," she says.

"What is—"

"I don't know," she says. "I ... The cut, it's turning to gold."

Hook laughs, a hollow, mirthless, frantic sound. "Oh, that's ... bloody brilliant." He struggles to inhale between words. "A fitting punishment ... for a pirate, I suppose." He swallows, hard; his jaw flexes as he grits his teeth. "Should have guessed."

"What are you talking about? What did Gold do?"

"Dagger," he says. "Thought it ... gleamed."

His eyes shut tight, and his hand clamps harder against hers as another spasm takes him. When she looks down, the shimmering edges have spread another few inches.

"Hook! C'mon, fight it," she says. "Snow went to get help. You just need to hold on a little longer, okay?"

He hisses, breathing heavily through his nose. "Won't let him ... win this way."

"Jones—"

"Don't leave me," he says, suddenly, his eyes latching onto her face as if he is drowning and she is the rope.

"I'm not going anywhere," she says.

"It's so—" he says, and then whatever he was going to say is lost in a cry of pain. Mercifully, perhaps, he passes out, loosening his bruising grip on her hand. He doesn't rouse again.

The gold creeps across Hook's belly in an ever widening pool. Emma wonders what it's doing beneath the skin. She wonders how long he has left. She wonders, desperately, how to fix this. This isn't poison, it's magic, and aside from a few very hasty lessons from Rumpelstiltskin, Emma doesn't know how to fight magic. Not this kind of magic, anyway.

Her hand hovers over the wound, uncertainly. She knows it is possible for magic to heal physical wounds, but this is more than just physical. It's possible that anything she were to try would only make it worse.

"Emma!" The door slams open downstairs and footsteps pound up them. Snow rushes into the room, Mother Superior—the Blue Fairy, once upon a time—looking uncharacteristically rushed and flustered behind her. Emma moves aside so that they can get a better look at him, but she doesn't release his hand.

Blue leans over Hook briefly. She reaches out a slender hand, but does not touch. "How long has he been this way?"

"He was injured last night—" Had it really only been last night? It feels to her as if it happened a lifetime ago. "The gold thing just started about an hour ago."

"It's a curse." The words are not unexpected, but Emma reels anyway. "I have seen its like before, in our world. It worked differently there, more quickly. Merely touching something that carried the curse turned anything instantly to gold."

Emma's not sure which is more horrific: this creeping torture or poof! golden statue.

"King Midas' curse," Snow says.

"Yes, his hands were cursed. Though the curse could be placed on anything," Blue explains.

"Anything? Like a dagger?" Emma asks.

Blue looks up at her and nods.

"So, what happens to someone that's turned to gold?" she has to ask.

The Blue Fairy gives her a look that is, oddly, full of pity. "They are trapped by it, for eternity. Not dead, but not alive either, their souls forever lost in a netherworld." Her soft voice is gentle and sad, which somehow only makes the words worse.

"Like the Sleeping Curse?" Snow says.

"Yes. However, I'm afraid that there is only one known way to break this curse, and it does not exist in this world."

"What is it?" Emma says.

"The waters of Lake Nostos," Snow says. "Charming once rescued a man who had been turned to gold using the water from the lake."

"The lake we jumped in? That was a portal back to this world? That lake?"

"That would be the one," Snow says, her brows creased with worry.

"There is something else," Blue says, before Emma has even finished making a plan in her head. "I do not know if it is because magic works differently here now, or if the curse has been altered in some way; but if, as you say, he was cut with a cursed blade, he should have turned to gold instantly. However, you say he was injured last night, and this only started an hour ago?"

Emma nods; Snow confirms it.

Blue frowns, her hand hovering over the injury once more. She closes her eyes and her hand shimmers slightly. "There is some other magic at work here. Dark magic, and light, battling. Who treated this wound?"

"I did," Emma says. "But, I - I just stitched him up. I didn't do anything—"

Downstairs the door slams open with so much force it sounds as if it's been blown off its hinges.

Hook comes awake as if he's surfacing suddenly from the depths of the ocean, gasping for breath and panicked. He releases Emma's hand, shoves her away from the bed, and lunges for his hook. A blade suddenly slashes down, embedding its razor-sharp edge in the nightstand between Hook's fingers and his weapon.

"Ah, ah, ah, captain," says Rumplestiltskin.

He's standing between Emma and the bed, a pirate cutlass in one hand, his cane in the other. He looks over the room, coldly appraising them all.

At that moment, David comes skidding through the doorway. "He's coming!"

"Next time," Emma says, through gritted teeth, "You might try calling. It'd be faster."

"Well, isn't this a charming gathering," says Gold. "Here I am, trying to do the community a service and rid us of a dangerous animal, while you all are trying so valiantly to save it."

Hook snarls, throws back the sheets, and lunges for his adversary with his one good hand cocked into a fist. The instant he sits up, however, the gold shimmer grows stronger, and with a scream he falls back on the bed, writhing in pain. The IV line pulls free from his arm and dangles uselessly next to the bed.

A cold smile curls across Gold's face. "As you can see, he doesn't want to be saved."

"What did you do?" Emma demands.

"I told you, dearie. I gave him a warning," Rumple says. He lifts the sword tip and places it against Hook's throat. "I warned him that his quest for vengeance would be his undoing. That the darkness inside him would consume him until there was nothing left for him but his hatred. And then ... well, then I ensured it. Quite clever of me, really. I admit, I hadn't expected it to take so long. I half expected to find a solid gold pirate statue crouching on a rooftop like a gargoyle this morning."

His gimlet gaze turns toward Emma. "That'll be your doing, I expect." Gold's smile is almost reptilian. "Heroes. Never can trust 'em to kill off the villain. No, you just have to try to save everyone." He turns back to Hook, the sword tip pressing slightly harder into his skin. "Forget about all the innocents who will suffer and die, just so that one man might have a chance to be redeemed. Sometimes, you just have to know when to cut your losses, dearie."

Hook breathes hard, his hand clenched against the gold of his stomach. "Do it," he says. "Kill me now, in cold blood, in front of witnesses, whilst I can't fight back. You coward."

"Oh, I've got something much worse than death in store for you." Gold sneers.

Emma reaches for her gun, but Rumple slashes out with the cutlass and knocks the revolver across the room, out of anyone's reach.

Gold contemplates the blade with humor, then turns the tip of it back to Hook who is staring at him with cold fury. "Now who is the coward?" Gold asks, tipping Hook's chin up with the blade. "Once more letting a woman fight for you. What was it you said, all those years ago? Ah, yes..." He leans closer, his voice drops to a mocking imitation of Hook's. "A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets."

Hook knocks the sword aside and lunges again, this time managing to reach for his hook and clasp it in his hand before another strong shimmer of magic envelops him. He arches backward, a scream tearing raggedly from his throat. Emma is horrified to realize that the gold now covers most of his abdomen, the shimmer spreading even over the waistband of his sweatpants. Where flesh and fabric have turned to metal, he can no longer move.

Gold smirks. "Oh, I know all about your little death wish, dearie. You think that dying will reunite you with your one true love. I told you the day I killed her: death would be too good for you. But good news! You'll have your precious vengeance to keep you warm for the rest of eternity, and I hear it's cold where your soul is going."

"Stop it!"

Emma doesn't know how, but she's suddenly between them, and she's holding the cutlass. Gold looks at her with surprise, and if he's surprised it's nothing to the way that she's feeling. Emma schools her face into an I-meant-to-do-that scowl, adjusts her grip on the sword, and steps more solidly in front of Hook, the blade a shining barrier between him and Gold.

"I don't care if you are the Dark One or ... whatever. You have no right to do this."

Gold points a gloved finger in her direction. "I'm doing you a favor, Miss Swan. I warned you, he's a danger to anyone connected to me, and that includes your loved ones. He'll stop at nothing to destroy me—and you have the evidence of that right in front of your eyes. The more he hates, the more the darkness in him controls him, the faster the curse will consume him."

"Emma," Hook gasps. "I would n—"

"You're wrong," she says, as cold and icy and furious as she's ever felt. "You're wrong and you know it. He would never hurt Neal and he wouldnever harm Henry. Because they're Milah's blood, and he loved her more than you ever could."

Gold nearly snarls in fury, and suddenly there's something more behind his cold, dark eyes. Whatever it is, it is ancient and implacable and not entirely human. For the first time, Emma can see beyond the Storybrooke veneer of the charming, soft-spoken pawnbroker, and the thing that's coiled beneath that facade is scaled and horrible, with the kind of smile that suggests that it likes to play with razorblades. Gold lets loose a high-pitched giggle that creeps her right the fuck out.

He points his free hand toward the ceiling, like he's about to start an evil cha-cha across the room. "So heroic! So naive." He twirls his finger airily, then points at Hook. "Not that it matters anymore. There's only one way to break this curse, dearie. And, as he knows all too well, that hope is long dead. He'll be yard art by nightfall. Perhaps you could turn him into a birdbath." His eyes light up with unholy glee.

Emma takes a step forward, raising the cutlass threateningly. "Get out."

Gold bares his teeth in a crocodile grin. "Or maybe you could melt him down for coin; at least then he might be worth something."

Inside Emma something swells and surges; then, a tidal wave of energy bursts out of her, strong enough to toss Gold across the room and into a wall. It feels much like it did when Cora tried to take her heart. "Get out."

Gold slithers to his feet and props himself up on his cane. He eyes her as if she is some stunning new creature he's never seen before. Then he laughs again, that light giggle skipping like spiders down her spine.

"Oh, now this is funny. If it's all the same, I'd rather stay and watch."

Emma advances on him, sword held at the ready. Her body is almost thrumming with magic, she's so angry. She doesn't even want to think about what its use will cost her, and at the moment, she really doesn't care. Her eyes narrow, focused entirely on her target.
"You've done enough damage, and I can promise you this: if we can't break this curse, I will make sure you never see your son or your grandson,ever again. I will find a way."

Gold's smile turns into a sneer. "Well, good luck with that, Miss Swan. Let me know how it turns out."

And then he vanishes in a cloud of red-purple smoke.

Emma blinks, glancing around the room, ready for him to reappear; but he's gone. Mary Margaret and David seem to stagger, and Emma realizes that Gold must have done something to prevent their interference. They stare at her silently, in shock. Blue is somehow still perched on the edge of the bed, pressed up against the footboard. Her eyes are wide as she, too, studies Emma, who suddenly feels self-conscious.

"What?" She lowers the sword warily. "It's just a thing ... that I ... do. Sometimes."

"Emma."

She turns back to the bed, to Killian, who is trapped, half propped against the pillows. His voice is a ragged whisper, as if he can't quite get enough air into his lungs. He reaches out a hand for her and she sinks beside him on the bed. Instead of taking her hand he touches her hair, brushing it back from her face. His smile is pained, but his eyes are open wide and the color of the sea, so clear she thinks she can see through to the bottom of his soul. "Have I told ... you before that you're ... bloody brilliant?"

"Hook—"

"I liked it better ... when you called ... me Jones," he says, having to pause to draw air into lungs that are probably more than half metal. How he's even talking is a mystery only magic can explain, but if a man can be made out of wood and still speak, it only stands to reason that a man made of metal can do the same. He grits his teeth and hisses as the curse takes a little more of him, the shimmer now halfway up his ribcage and descending past his hips. "Damn," he gasps.

"We're going to break this," she tells him. Her heart is pounding wildly somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. "That's what the good guys do, right? We break curses and save pirates in distress?"

His mouth twists derisively. "Not this ... time, darling."

"He said there's a way to break it."

"Aye," Hook turns his arm over and lays it across her lap so she can see the tattoo there. "But the only woman ... that ever loved ... me enough ... to die for me ... did."

"Jones—"

"May I have ... my hook?" He lifts his left arm, slightly. "If I'm to spend ... eternity trapped in hell ... I'd feel better if I'm fully ... armed."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

He smiles up at her, his mouth cocky and brave, but Emma knows when he lies, even when he's doing it without words. "My hook, if ... you'd be so kind?"

She picks it up from where it had fallen on the bed, and inserts it into the brace with a touch more force than she probably should. She grips it, hard, and looks him in the eye. "You have to fight this. You are not going to be stuck like this for eternity."

"Even ten hours ... can feel like an eternity ... when there's something ... you want to get back to," he says. He swallows with difficulty and closes his eyes. "If you would ... show me mercy ... kill me, before ..."

"No!" Emma stares at him. "Are you insane?"

"Probably," he admits. "Your pistol ..."

"No," she says and shakes her head. Emma clutches at his shoulder, her other hand latched onto his hook as if it is a lifeline that she doesn't dare let go. The gold creeps up over his collarbones and begins to spill down his shoulders. Her eyes burn. This is worse than Graham. Worse than Neal's betrayal. She can stop this, she knows she can. She just doesn't know how.

What good is it to be the savior if you can't save people?

"We are going to fix this," she insists. "If I have to find a way back there and drain the whole damn lake, we will fix this."

"I'm not ... worth it," he rasps, the gold shimmer sliding up his throat like a lover's hands. His voice is so quiet now she has to lean forward to hear him, and it echoes slightly as if she's hearing it through a metal pipe.

"That's not true," she says. "Remember? I know when you're lying."

His hand moves against her thigh. "Take ... this?" She glances down to see that his arm gleams gold now nearly to the wrist, and it lays heavily across her lap. His fingers are still flesh, though, and he slips the thimble from his fingertip, then cups it in his palm. "I'd have ... liked ... to have ... given you ... real one, but..."

She takes it, then grips his hand tightly, as if she can anchor him here by force of will alone. "Jones, don't you do this."

I'm magic. I'm magic. I'm not Milah, but I'm magic. True love can break any curse, right? I'm the product of true love, so maybe that's ... maybe that's enough.

His eyes linger on hers, and she feels his fingers solidify, warm flesh turned to cool metal beneath her hand. "Dead guy ... of ... year ... picked me ... remember? ... This is," he fights to breathe. "This is ... just ... another ... adven ... ture."

Emma wants to tell him that the best adventures are the ones you take with other people. She wants to remind him that he needs someone to keep him out of trouble. She wants to shake him, but there's nothing left to shake. She'd shackle him to the bed if only it would keep him from leaving. But she's out of time.

"Jones, I am not done with you."

With tears scalding her face, Emma does the only thing she can do: she leans forward, her hair falling around them like a curtain, and kisses him, just as his lips turn to gold beneath hers.

Notes: This chapter has ALL the drama. Jeeeeez.

Anyway, I just want to state for the record that I *love* Rumple. He's one of my favorite characters, and I love him most when he's giving into his dark side. That doesn't mean I think he's beyond redemption, but for the purposes of this story - there's no love lost between him and Hook and I'm playing off that. Hook brings out the Dark One in ways that few others still can.

What's that saying, though? All villains are the heroes of their own stories? I think that's especially true of Hook and Rumple.

BTW ... you may *think* you know what's going to happen next. But don't count on it, dearies. ;)