56

Bitter and sweet. Brandy tasted bitter and sweet on his lips, burning his throat, yet warming him up inside - chasing away, if only briefly, the great coldness that took hold of him now that he was back to where he started - now that he was his old self again.

He didn't drink for years - ever since the curse broke, in fact. Before that, for those twenty-eight years that he spent in a self-imposed time loop, he drank every night; moderately, no more than a glass or two, but every night. He kept a decanter of brandy in his bedroom, in a chest near the window, and poured himself a measure every night.

Drinking was his only way to fall asleep, otherwise he would keep awake all night waiting for that elusive moment when today becomes yesterday, trying to figure out what was wrong with him if he kept living through ever-repeating day half-remembering some other time and place - some other version of himself. He had to sleep, otherwise these incessant thoughts would have driven him insane. But he couldn't sleep - not without a drink.

He did drink back in the old times, too - back in the Enchanted Forest, where he used to carry a flask with him always. He drank to chase away his doubts then - he drank to make himself forget that his quest for his son might prove futile. As it did eventually. Later, when he thought her dead, he drunk in vain hope to ease that pain.

But since the moment the curse broke and She came back into his life, he never drunk again - not even when she became Lacey and urged him to join her in her drunken merriment. The only alcohol that touched his lips was that glass of vine he drank with Zelena in his deluded attempt to seduce her and to take back his dagger. Otherwise, never. Not even when Bae died. Not even when he saw his wife kiss another man. He didn't need that false consolation, that brief oblivion, which brandy brought. He didn't want to be consoled - he needed his grief to be sharp and cutting. He didn't want to forget - strangely, he cherished everything that happened to him.

And he didn't need to drink because there was something in his life that would console and reward and alleviate all darkness that he would have chased away with brandy... He had her love. Even in darkest hours of his life, he had her love. Bitter and sweet and strange and impossible - he still had it.

Not any more.

So bitter and sweet brandy became his friend again, and was helping him to come to terms with what happened - with what he had become. As soon as he walked into his shop after that embarrassing scene by the lake, after all these futile sacrifices and tears, he magicked his decanter into the shop and settled in the back room to brood. He was a lonely beast now, just like in old times, and brooding is what solitary beasts do.

He did not want to go to his house - didn't want to feel its' emptiness yet again now that she was gone, and this time indeed forever. He felt much better in the shop. He didn't need such a big house anyway, just as he didn't need a large estate back then...

"I need a caretaker for my rather large estate".

Oh no, no, no, he wouldn't go there now. He had plenty of things to think of apart from lost love.

So he sat there, silently drinking, recalling events of the day.

The inner workings of a human soul are very strange. Only this morning he was one of the good ones - a hero, proven and accepted, though definitely uncomfortable in the role. Only this morning, observing the death mark of Dark Ones on his wrist, he felt doomed and desperate and frightened, but he also... uplifted and enlightened. He was doomed to die, that much was certain, and his heart broke at the thought that his grandson was among the marked too, but one thing gave him peace. He knew that She was safe, and he knew that it is in his power to save her - to send her out of town, out of his life, out of harm's way - forever. She would go away, she would have a life, she would know nothing of what happened here in town, and darkness and isolation and doom that seemed to follow his family, to haunt his bloodline, would be gone from her life. She would be free, and she would have the life and the light and the happiness he always wanted for her. And knowing that it is so he could rest in peace.

No rest for the wicked, though - that's how they say. They also say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Well, he didn't go to hell. Not yet.

She came when he summoned her, and he could see her irritation: she thought that he called her to try and win her back. Nothing was farther from his thoughts - he needed her to get away as quickly and as far as possible. He kept everything secret: he knew that if she learned of his and everyone else's imminent death her stupid heroic instincts would kick in, and she would insist of staying in town, and then goodness knows what might happen. She would do something silly and brave and she would get hurt. Even if not, she would suffer from horror and loss. She needed to be spared all that. So he was businesslike and bright and even slightly formal with her - he cringed at how false his words sounded as he chased her away with light banter and forced smiles. But she accepted everything - he was convincing enough for her, it seemed. If anything, she probably found him too bright - she looked bemused. No wonder - last time she saw him he was crying in the forest, and now he was chattering like a mad blackbird.

There was just one moment when he nearly broke. He gave her a final embrace, and as she walked into his arms for a second, for a brief instant it seemed that everything was as it used to be. He felt her shape, so familiar yet ever exiting, and her warmth, and the scent of her hair and skin invaded him, and everything she was and everything she meant to him seemed so close suddenly, and yet he was saying farewell, and he would never see her again, and her eyes would never smile at him, and all light would be gone from his life, in this world and the one beyond the grave. He felt her, and his loss, so intensely that he couldn't control a sob - convulsive, soft, bitter and sweet.

She drew away from him and asked him if anything was wrong. Always such a kind and polite girl, his little princess.

He shooed her away.

He needed to be left alone to cry freely - to prepare for the end.

As always, he was interrupted. These people never lost their habit of coming to him with their troubles - even now, when he had no power to help them.

Emma and Regina came to him and told him their plan. Dark Swan wanted to gather all the powers of all Dark Ones into the sword, and then kill herself with it, thus destroying all darkness... well, forever. All the Dark Ones would be gone then, all people marked for death spared, and everyone would live happily ever after - mourning their loss, naturally, but safe and heroic.

It did sound like a good plan. No one voiced it, but it was obviously based on his example - on his suicide on the Main Street, when he killed his father and himself with his dagger. He disappeared into the light, the dagger was gone, and darkness was gone - it seemed that this is what happens when the Dark One commits suicide with his magical blade. Well, this is where the catch of the plan lay, and he knew it much better than anyone. When he died, the dagger did not disappear - it went back into the vault of Dark Ones, his soul trapped in it. And when he died, darkness was not gone - not even temporarily, let alone forever. It just receded, biding its time, waiting for a suitable moment to rage again.

That was the crucial point, the essential weakness of the plan. Darkness never disappeared, it could not be destroyed - it was there, present in the world as long as the world existed. The first Dark One was supposedly that temperamental wench Merlin loved, Nimue - but darkness itself existed before and apart from her, that ancient lady just gave it a body to inhibit. Darkness was one of the basics of the world's foundation, just as light was. How could one destroy a force of nature, an element of universe? None of them thought of destroying the rain or the air or the gravity - well, trying to get rid of darkness was just as absurd.

Darkness couldn't be destroyed or tamed - how could they forget what happened when his heart was cleared of it, and it roamed free, attacking everyone it found appealing? What made them think the same would not happen again - that, having lost a body, darkness would not immediately seek another host, and the whole damned circle would not start again.

Darkness couldn't be destroyed, or tamed - not unless it was in a body that knew how to deal with it. He looked at Emma, so determined to sacrifice herself, and thought of just how inane and helpless a Dark One she proved to be: weak, sentimental, girly; she proved to be just as unable to hold dark magic as light - it took her immense trouble to accept the power. The pirate, her lover, was even worse - silly, impulsive, uncontrolled; just as vindictive and rash as he used to be when human.

He mentally cast a glance at all the people that would be open to darkness once it was free from the sword. All of them heroes, none of them blameless, even his grandson. A teenage Dark One, open to all turmoil of his age? Charming, the handsomest and the most stupid of Dark Ones? Snow White, the most uncompromising of them? Regina? Oh, she would be able to hold it. But she just found a semblance of happiness - devoid of it, she would be the most vindictive of Dark Ones.

He chuckled inwardly as he imagined Dark Dwarfs. Dark Grumpy? Dark Doc? Perhaps Seven Dark Ones - this lot seemed to do everything collectively.

There was only one man among them capable of doing what was necessary - of taking the darkness in, and keeping it under control. After all, he did it for hundreds of years, and nobody suffered - or at least not too much.

And he was the only one of them who had nothing and no one to lose.

He never said a word to heroic ladies - he didn't want to complicate things and to frighten them unnecessarily. He wasn't even sure the whole thing would work. He nodded, apparently giving Emma's plan his approval, and walked into the back room where he kept the sword. He gave it a brief look. It held the names of Emma and her lover, obviously binding its' power to them. Would the power know where to go once it was set free? The more he thought of it, the more he was sure it would never, ever be destroyed. In the past, darkness always found the most suitable heart - the one ready for it, the one broken and hopeless. God knew his heart was broken and devoid of hope - he had lost everything. But he was supposed to be a hero now. Would that interfere?

He had to do something, anything to lay his claim on the blade - to make a very uncertain thing that little bit surer. He still had some potions of his making left - they held traces of his magic. That would, hopefully, be enough for the darkness.

He didn't even look which potion he poured on the blade - the finding potion, most probably, he had a lot of them in stock. It didn't matter. The maker's power was the only thing that mattered.

He gave Emma the sword, and went along with her to meet his fate - whatever it would prove to be.

Things went wrong, things went ugly there on the lakeside. Dark Ones torturing Swan, Hook stepping in to save her - of course he would, the sentimental fool.

He watched, apprehensive.

Hook gathered the powers in the blade. Emma, sobbing, pierced her lover's heart.

His old self would have said that it served them right for wronging Bae. His new self was genuinely moved.

Poor children. They did not deserve it. No one deserves such sufferings.

He once gave himself to darkness to save the children at the frontiers of war. He wondered if he would be able to pull this stunt again.

The sword turned to dust in Emma's shaking hand. The pirate collapsed on the ground. Everyone watched, horrified.

He stood still. He listened to whispers, and watched the shadows of the forest, wondering if the darkness would come - knowing in his bones that it would.

And then he felt it - this sudden and deep coldness that burned from the inside, that current of incredible, unimaginable force invading his body, taking possession of it, turning his flesh into a mystical new substance, and settling there with familiar comfort.

There was a satisfied sigh in his head, and a silent whisper: "Hello again. I've missed you".

"Shut up", he commanded, just as silently.

It giggled, but obeyed.

His hand suddenly felt heavy, and as he looked he saw that he was holding his dagger. Only it changed now - the blade was black, the letters of his name silver. This dagger held the power of all Dark Ones now - not just his.

He was the most powerful wizard in the world now. His dark power was limitless.

And he controlled it. Haven't lost a bit of his form. Apparently this is something one's body cannot forget. He could do this job.

He did the right thing.

He remembered how in the alternative universe that inept little author wrote for him, the one where heroes became villains and vice versa, he was faced with a terrible choice: he, the hero, had to harm an innocent woman to set in motion the force of her sacrifice. He had to become a villain to break a curse - that change in him was necessary so that the world would be balanced.

He had to do it again. He probably wasn't much of a hero here, in this world. But his most - his only heroic act was to relinquish his goodness and embrace his darkness.

"Keep telling yourself that, Dark One", the voice giggled.

"I am right, and we both know it". The voice fell silent again.

Yes, that's what he was: a man who turns to darkness to save the light.

To save all the children on the frontiers.

He could accept that. He could justify that. That was not what made him sit in his closed shop and brood and drink.

Something else tore at his heart, making it bleed, making the sky outside grow dark.

He could not be saved. He cannot be changed. He has to remain dark, forever, so that everyone around him would have a chance to live happily. And that means that all his love for Her was futile. All his striving for light. All her struggles for him. All her faith and hope. She believed that he can become a good man; but he was not meant to be good. The man behind the monster had to remain hidden forever.

That couldn't be undone.

So it was all in vain. His love. Her love. All in vain. All a big, blinding, bright illusion.

Thank goodness she is out of town and would never know all this! Thank goodness she is spared this pain.

He poured himself another glass of brandy. Who cares if he gets completely plastered? No one. He is alone, now and forever. He is a difficult man to love. He is the Dark One. He can do anything.

Bitter and sweet, brandy tasted bitter and sweet on his lips.

Doorbell rang, and he barked furiously: "Get out! We are closed!"

And then, disregarding his order and his rage, a ray of light rushed into the room, and with it, the bound - the magical bound of their love that he thought extinct blazed back to life, stunning him.

She came back - she run back to him, stammering something, trying to justify her return, and then just threw herself into his arms, clutching him hungrily, and accused him of lying, thus bringing familiar and welcome sting of being subjected to injustice into his mind, and looked at him with love that he believed lost forever.

Shaken as he was, he did try to talk to her - to explain to her... But he only got as far as to utter a husky: "Belle..."

She never gave him a chance to continue - she shut him up with a kiss.

And it all came back - everything she denied him when he was a good man, a hero, all her passion, all her surrendering and assaulting tenderness, it all came back. Her mouth opened to let him in, her eyes were half closed and her breathing harsh, her body melted into his, and he scented her excitement, her wetness, her need for him, and his eyes went dark, and his mind went blank, and his heart was torn in two as he kissed her and screamed silently: "Darker, dearie, much darker... This is the man you fell in love with. There is nothing more. No hope. No light".

He had her then and there, on the floor - it was impossible to stop, and neither of them wanted to. Things came full circle - he was dark again, and they were in love again - inseparable, bounded. And every touch trilled, and every kiss pierced the heart, and every movement of their bodies brought their souls together.

She fell asleep in his arms and, as he cradled her, he thought: she must never know. It would kill her. It would destroy her. She must never know that all was in vain - that she could only love him when he is a monster, that she will never save him; that he will never change.

So, however much his all-powerful self wanted to transport them into the house so that they could share their bridal bed once again, for this reunion was akin to a second wedding night, he resisted the temptation.

He waited a bit, cherishing her closeness, and tickled her nose gently with a tip of his finger: "Come on, sleepy head. We cannot spend the whole night on the floor of the unlocked shop. I assume you did not lock the door behind you?.."

She looked up at him, and smiled, and her eyes where shining: "I missed that. Why weren't you your old quipping self before?"

He raised an eyebrow: "That, my beautiful Belle, is a secret. Come one, or my back would go stiff. I am an old man, remember?"

She giggled, but got up obediently, and they struggled into their clothes, which suffered from being torn from bodies hastily, but he resisted the urge to repair them or magic them new ones. They stumbled out of the shop, and got into the car, and drove slowly, because it is impossible to drive fast when you are kissing every next minute. And back at the house they banged the door shut and started kissing violently right there in the hall - as they should have had the first night after his return. And they laughed at the idea of having tea, and went upstairs into their bedroom, kissing on every step so that they nearly didn't make it to the bed. But they did, eventually.

And as she spread her body for him and he stood on his knees between her legs, running his hands across her damp and hot skin, and as she sighed and bit her lips and whispered his name and as her fingernails dug into his back, urging him closer, driving him into her, he never closed his eyes, and they seemed to sting from the light, for she was radiant to him - as she would always be radiant to him. As he repossessed her and made her his own and gave himself to her one thought invaded his mind:

"She must never, ever know..."

She came back. She loved him again. His happy ending was returned to him, magically and only now, when his heart was full of her, did he realize how empty it was before. Just as once upon a time in his castle, when his love for her bloomed, shy and daring, and he was changing and yet coming to know himself and finding his place in the world. His happiness was immense and bitter then, and it was devastatingly sad and sweet now.

Many, many things would be like then, now. Because he was what he was, and she was what she was, and they loved each other - the way they were.

Such happiness must have a price.

He would pay anything. He has nothing else but her - surely he would be able to pay any price.

She moved up so as to be closer to him, and her breasts pressed to his chest, and he shuddered inside her, suddenly remembering how he used to dream about her: naked and shy and wild monster ravishingly her - drowning in her.

They are who they are, and things are how they should be - how they always should have been.

He closed her mouth with his in a slow and deep kiss, and her lips tasted bitter and sweet.