A/N: Oh, you guys! I'm completely blown away by your kind reviews and PMs on this fic. Glad you're having as much fun reading it as I am writing it.
Just to forewarn you, there'll be some violence in this chapter.
Alex said goodbye to Belle and closed the library door behind him as he left to return to his room at Granny's. He was smiling to himself as he walked, much happier now that he had made contact with the Home Office. They had informed him that he had ben wired enough money to stay in Storybrooke for the foreseeable future and that his mission was intelligence-gathering. They also confirmed that they had been unable to find the town; it had disappeared from maps, did not show up on any GPS, and even entering the exact coordinates wouldn't take agents to where the town was. The agents were perplexed. Alex was impressed at the strength of the magic that had created such a spell, and was determined to find out who had cast it, if only so he could learn more about what they did. Brief conversations with the townsfolk and careful eavesdropping were all he had managed so far; they seemed suspicious of him. He had gleaned that the mayor Regina Mills and the pawnbroker Mr Gold had both left the town, along with David Nolan, who worked at the animal shelter, Mary Margaret Blanchard, a teacher, a man named Hook whom no-one seemed to like, and a woman named Emma Swan who had been the sheriff. He had no idea what connected these people other than that some of them were related. His contact at the Home Office acknowledged the information he sent, but he had the feeling that he wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know. As the junior researcher and tech support to his team, he was not privy to the majority of intelligence that changed hands amongst his superiors. He had seen the footage of magic that Mendell had sent, and had been allowed to read some of the files, but his knowledge was limited. Perhaps, if he proved himself in this mission, he would be trusted with more information. It was knowledge that he craved above all. A conspiracy theorist and believer in the darker side of humanity, he had obtained his current post by hacking into government sites and reading restricted files. His prying had almost gone undetected until he had come across vague references to "the Home Office", which had piqued his interest, and encouraged him to dig deeper, finding more intriguing material. By that point he was being watched by both the US government and the Home Office itself, but rather than have him arrested, they found a use for him, and made a deal with the US not to press charges against him for espionage. Alex didn't personally believe that wanting to find out the truth amounted to spying, but he was grateful for the reprieve, and interested in the work he had been doing since. At the beginning of his induction, magic, to his mind, had been a little far-fetched, but then he read the literature he was sent by his new, faceless masters, then the evidence started coming in from Storybrooke, and he had to admit that all things were indeed possible. He had now worked remotely for the Home Office for two years; this trip to Storybrooke was the first time he had met any of the co-workers with whom he had corresponded by email. His colleagues seemed to have a hatred for magic that he didn't share; he was amazed by it, excited by it, and afraid of it, but he didn't hate it. He yearned to discover more, to see a spell cast, to feel magic in the air around him, and had the sense not to reveal his curiosity to those he worked with. The internet had opened up so many channels of knowledge, so much could be transferred at the click of a mouse. Magic was surely a subject for study just as any other, but he needed to be accepted by the townsfolk before he would be permitted access to anything. He recalled the last line in the email he had received: stay where you are. Gain their trust. Further instructions will follow. He pulled open the door to the diner and Ruby smiled at him from behind the bar. He smiled back. The waitress had been pleasant towards him so far. Perhaps she was his way in.
"Still here huh?" she said cheerfully, and he shrugged shyly as he eased onto a bar stool.
"My friends made it home okay," he said truthfully. "But they thought I'd gone on ahead and didn't realise I was still here until I got in touch." He sighed. "Looks like I won't be getting a ride home any time soon."
Ruby looked sympathetic, placing a beer before him and waving away his offer of payment. "How are you going to get back?" she asked, and he shrugged.
"I still have a few weeks before I have to go back to work," he said. "I thought I'd stay here and see some of small-town America." He smiled at her, noting that her expression faltered a little at his words. He frowned slightly. "Ruby, what's the deal here? Everyone looks at me as though I'm about to start a killing spree, or something."
She gave a hollow laugh, wiping at the already spotless bar with a towel.
"We don't get many strangers here, as you may have guessed," she said, not looking at him. "But the last two that came – they caused a lot of trouble. The violent kind."
"Oh." He drank his beer. "Who were they?"
Ruby pulled a face. "Doesn't matter, they're gone now." She seemed to regret having mentioned it, and he sought to hold her interest.
"Ruby – would you consider – I mean, if you don't want to, I'd understand, you probably have a boyfriend…" She looked at him sharply, and he blushed, seeming to stumble over his words even more "…or not, I mean, maybe you're a lesbian, not that there's anything wrong with that, I mean, of course there isn't anything wrong with that, but…"
"Is this you asking me out?" interrupted Ruby dryly, putting him out of his misery. At her words, Alex's mouth snapped shut, for which he offered thanks to whatever deity governed acute embarrassment.
"Uh – yeah," he muttered awkwardly. Her face broke into a beautiful smile, and she nodded.
"I get off around eleven," she said. "Come back then, I'll take you to the Rabbit Hole." She walked away, swinging her hips invitingly, and he grinned to himself as he downed his beer. Phase one accomplished. He hoped that his mission would end more successfully than Agent Mendell's.
Gold looked down on the whimpering man, his face expressionless, then levitated him back onto the bench next to Tamara's. Greg lay on his back, blood running from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. His lips were cracked, his eyes already beginning to swell shut. Gold eased himself down on the bench opposite Tamara and regarded the two prisoners with a slight smile on his face. Tamara sat still in her bonds across from him, watching him with hate in her eyes. Oh yes, she would suffer. But first things first.
"I don't know why you two are so uptight about the use of magic," he said, in a conversational tone. "It can achieve the most marvellous things. For example…" He ran his hand over Greg, sending healing magic coursing through him. It would hurt terribly, done this fast, but so much the better. The man groaned as his split lip mended, his bruises disappeared and his bones knitted together. Dried blood flaked and fell from his face and he collapsed back on the bench with a broken gasp. Tears of relief leaked from his eyes. Gold allowed himself a brief smile, and reached to the side, pouring water from a full jug into one of the two tankards placed beside it.
"Drink this," he said gently, holding it to Greg's lips. Greg drank thirstily before lying back with a sigh and fixing him with a glare.
"If this is your version of 'good cop, bad cop', I'm not playing," he said scornfully. Gold's eyes widened, and then he suddenly laughed, a deep laugh of true amusement.
"Oh, you think Regina's the bad cop?" he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm afraid not." Greg watched as the man folded his hands over the top of his cane and fixed him with a stare. His eyes were dark, almost black in the light of the cabin, and entirely pitiless. Greg had seen eyes like those before; the eyes of a killer. He was suddenly very afraid. He tried desperately to remember what he knew about Gold, about Rumplestiltskin. He liked to make deals, to bargain, and he kept his word. The only things that Greg thought he might be interested in dealing for, however, could not be revealed without breaking the oath he had taken and resulting in his expulsion from the Home Office. Or worse.
"Do you know who I am?" asked Gold quietly, and the younger man nodded slowly. Gold bared his teeth in a grin. "Excellent," he whispered. "Then I'm sure I don't need to tell you the lengths I'll go to in order to get what I want."
Greg swallowed hard, and Tamara shifted on the bench, shaking her head at him.
"Say nothing, Greg," she warned, and Gold tsked in irritation.
"I'll get to you soon enough, dearie," he said mildly. "Don't bring yourself into the game any earlier than necessary."
"You think this is a game?" she spat, and he chuckled.
"Well, I can assure you it'll be fun for me," he said, amused. "It's been a while since I tortured someone, but – well – it's not like you forget how." He smiled as he said it, a thin, dark smile. Greg's eyes widened, and he looked desperately between Tamara and Gold.
"He's bluffing," said Tamara assuredly. "Those others, Emma and Mary Margaret, they wouldn't let him."
"You're assuming I feel the need to seek permission." Gold leant back, unruffled. "The idealism of our dear Prince and his family didn't exactly hold Regina back, now did it?"
"I won't tell you anything!" spat Greg, his lower jaw jutting forwards pugnaciously. "I'm more than willing to die for my cause!"
"Oh, you'll die, dearie, that's the most unfortunate and inevitable consequence of living," nodded Gold, as though he was truly looking forward to that fateful day. He sat back a little, watching Greg carefully, the light of amusement and mischief playing around his eyes. "The real question is: how do you and I pass the time between now, and then?" He smiled briefly, gold tooth glinting, and reached inside his jacket. There was a bloom of purple fire, and he withdrew a tiny round box in dark, unadorned wood, placing it on the bench beside him. Greg looked at it warily from the corner of his eye. Tamara sat forward slightly, trying to see more clearly.
Gold tapped the lid of the box with a long finger. "You can either tell me what I want to know," he said softly, "or I open the box." His smile was a fleeting thing, full of menace, and his eyes gleamed darkly. "Now, I realise that you bunch of misfits must have undergone some sort of training, techniques to withstand interrogation and torture et cetera, but, trust me." He shook his head slowly, resolutely. "You do not want me to open the box."
"Remember what they taught us, Greg," warned Tamara, and Greg smiled.
"Oh, it's one of those tricks!" he laughed softly. "My mind can always come up with something far worse than you can threaten, am I right?" His laugh was short, humourless, and his mouth curled into a sneer. "Go screw yourself, Gold."
"A physical impossibility, but never mind that," sniffed Gold. "You're saying this is a mind game? I can assure you, this box is far from empty." He stood slowly, folding his fingers around the handle of his cane. "Shall we begin?"
"Kiss my ass!"
Gold shook his head, disappointed. "The sooner we dispense with all this nonsense, the sooner I can get home and kiss one far prettier." He waved his hand theatrically and the air seemed to thicken around them. Greg's breathing quickened nervously.
"I've just cast a spell on this room," explained Gold pleasantly. "Any noise we make in here will not be heard by anyone out there." He smiled as the two others exchanged panicked looks. "Where's Henry?"
"Screw you!" Greg's voice shook only a little, and Gold sighed and shook his head.
"You know, you can flirt with me all you like, Mr Mendell, but I'm afraid you're really not my type," he drawled. "Where's Henry?" His voice was soft, conversational, but Greg simply glared at him wordlessly.
"You're wasting your time!" said Tamara coldly, her dark eyes scouring him. His shirt is the colour of blood, came the unexpected thought, her stomach clenching with a sharp, fleeting thrill of terror. He's made of blood, fresh-spilled blood and darkness. She squared her jaw, trying and failing to calm her hammering heart. "We know where our loyalties lie, and you won't make us do anything. You may as well give up and let us go. We'll never talk. You'll either have to let us starve to death, or kill us yourselves." She smirked at him. "Good luck getting Snow White to agree to the murder of prisoners." She sat back, her manner portraying that she was sure of herself once more, of her own strength, confident in her feeling of superiority. But her heart still banged against her chest like a tiny, frightened bird desperate to flee its cage.
Gold met her eyes, and his mouth twitched. He took a deep breath, shaking his head, and sighed slowly, regretfully. "You're forcing me to open the box," he said sadly. "I want you to know that I really hoped this could be avoided." He prised open the lid of the tiny box, withdrawing a small, kidney-shaped stone, its colour the deep orange of a glowing ember. He held it up to the light, flicking his eyes towards the prisoners.
"This is a firestone," he said calmly. "Do you know what that is?"
Greg and Tamara shook their heads in unison, and Gold smiled darkly.
"Back in the Enchanted Forest, they were used by the clerics of the Eastern Steppes," he said idly, turning the firestone left and right between his thumb and forefinger. "The clerics used them to torture those that – failed to measure up to their accepted form of religious zeal." He said the words through gritted teeth, anger in his voice. "Or indeed those who refused to give up the names of those the clerics sought. They would have loved to get their hands on me, of course." He grinned suddenly, eyes black in the light of the lantern. The flickering shadows gave his features a demonic cast, not lost on the prisoners. Greg let out a faint whimper.
"It's just a stone," said Tamara coldly. "I don't see what we're supposed to be scared of. If picking a pebble off the beach and terrifying us with it was your grand plan, you need to come up with some new material."
Gold chuckled. "Of course," he said softly. "I failed to explain. The firestone is currently in its dormant state. It's woken by magic." He took a step towards the prisoners, and Greg shrank away from him involuntarily. Tamara squared her jaw, and Gold smiled. "The clerics were the most sadistic, most wicked people I have ever had the misfortune to meet. They called the people they tortured heretics, the spawn of demons. In their rationale, you can lie to a heretic, or torture a demon, and you're doing the work of the gods, even when the so-called heretic is, let's say, a small child or a pregnant woman. I thought it fitting, in the current circumstances." He loomed over them, the light casting long shadows down his body and making his features sharper, harder. He stood a little straighter, his feet planted firmly, and spoke as though he were reciting from a text, his voice calm, easy. "The firestone enters its host through the nose or ears and spreads through the veins like an all-consuming blaze. Apparently it's as though your entire body is filled with flames you can't put out. Excruciating, I'm told. The reports I've read say that it was enough to send some mad before they could be made to talk. I'll have to be careful." He smiled briefly, then put his head to the side, eyeing Greg. "Part of the spell I used to heal you will also keep you awake. Wouldn't want you to faint and miss the fun." His smile widened, teeth gleaming. "Where's Henry?"
Greg's breathing had quickened further. He was almost panting with fear, his eyes wide and staring. He shook his head firmly, and Gold sighed.
"Very well." He put the stone to his lips and blew gently on it, a light purple mist forming briefly over it. Tamara jerked in her bonds as she saw the stone pulse and come alive, writhing in the centre of Gold's palm like a caterpillar. Greg tried to move, tugging against the ropes binding him, and Gold gently placed the firestone on his chest. Greg whimpered and thrashed as the thing immediately rose up, the tip of it waving back and forth as though sensing its destination. It then dropped down and inched its way up his neck and over his face, pushing into his right nostril and disappearing from sight. Greg let out a panicked, gargling cry.
"Greg!" shouted Tamara urgently. Gold simply stood, watching. At first nothing happened; Greg shook his head at Tamara and turned a triumphant smile on Gold. Gold returned the smile, settling his cane, feet planted to each side, the warm lamplight gleaming on his jacket and picking out silver threads in his hair. Greg suddenly jerked, arching his back, muscles stretched tight as a long howl of agony burst from him.
"Greg!" yelled Tamara, her eyes wide with horror. Veins stood out on his forehead, a faint sheen of sweat coating his skin. His eyes were wide and unseeing. He roared his pain until he ran out of breath, then gulped air and shrieked.
"Stop it!" Tamara spat, turning desperate eyes on Gold. He raised an eyebrow.
"Do you have something to offer me?" he asked mildly. "I'm always willing to make a deal, if the price is agreeable. My price is Henry's whereabouts. Such a simple thing."
"You're killing him!" There were tears in her eyes.
Gold shook his head with a faint smile. "I've killed a lot of people, dearie," he said softly. "Trust me, he won't die unless I wish it." He shifted his feet, folding his hands over his cane. "Where's Henry?"
She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, and Gold pinned her with his gaze, making her shrink back from him. He has the eyes of a dragon, her mind gibbered fearfully. The eyes of a demon. She swallowed hard, then shook her head determinedly, raising her chin with a look of utter disdain. She shook slightly as Greg let forth another scream. Why Greg? Why not me? she thought. I killed his son. What the hell is he going to do to me? She shrank back instinctively, and Gold shrugged.
"Then I'll leave you two to enjoy yourselves for a while." He stepped outside the bubble created by his spell, and Greg's screams cut off at once. Gold walked through the door and locked it behind him, pocketing the key. When he entered the captain's dining room, David was sitting at the table with a small glass of rum in his hands, the honey-brown liquid casting tiny flickers of reflected light on the dark wood. Mary Margaret had risen from her bed to sit with him, shadows beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. For some curious reason, Lily was also with them, eating an apple.
"How are our guests?" asked David. Gold shrugged, and helped himself to Hook's rum, taking a sip. The flavour was better than he'd expected, the drink tracing warm fire down his throat.
"Regina caused quite a bit of damage," he said. "I offered to heal Mendell, but he didn't appreciate it. You won't get anything from him tonight. I suggest you try tomorrow." All true.
"If they haven't talked by morning I can show you some ways to make them," offered Lily, gesturing with her apple core. "There's a nest of red ants on the shore you could tie them up next to and…"
"I don't think that'll be necessary, young lady, thank you," said Mary Margaret sternly. Lily shrugged.
Gold slid into a chair with a sigh, eyeing her curiously. "And just what is it that you're running from, little one?" he asked quietly. She gave him a shrewd look.
"My father was trying to force me to marry a man I despise," she said, in an offhand way. Mary Margaret gasped.
"But you can't be any more than fifteen!" she protested, and Lily frowned.
"I'm eighteen!" she said indignantly. Gold gave her a flat look, and she blushed a little. "Well, nearly. Seventeen then."
"You're small for seventeen," he remarked, and she scowled.
"You're not that big yourself," she snapped, and his face struggled for an expression somewhere between amusement and outrage. David hid his smile in his glass.
"So you ran away?" prompted Mary Margaret, and she nodded.
"It's – a terrible insult to my father, and to the man he chose for me," she explained, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "It was the chief from the neighbouring village, you see." Mary Margaret thought that she looked a little embarrassed. "He's almost as old as Father, not that that was a problem." David raised his eyebrows. "But he's cruel. I've seen him beat children and animals. His first wife died – some people whisper that he beat her to death, but I don't know if that's true. I didn't want to be beaten myself, so I left before the ceremony." She looked at Mary Margaret pleadingly, as though she thought the woman might carry her back to her father there and then.
"Why would your father marry you to a violent man?" asked David, feeling that he could never ask his own daughter to make such a sacrifice. Lily hung her head.
"Our villages had a blood feud for decades," she muttered. "We raided each other, killed each other – we made peace a few years ago, and the marriage was supposed to seal our new friendship. I just…the price was too high for me. I didn't want to cause any trouble for my father, but I just couldn't marry him." She looked ashamed, fidgeting in her chair and looking at her small hands. "I wouldn't be a good wife to him. I could never love him."
"Of course you couldn't," said Mary Margaret soothingly, wondering with outrage who could make this child – for child she was – wed a violent man. "You're safe here, we won't give you away."
Lily nodded, clearly relieved. "I can't go near the villages of the People," she explained. "They all know me, it would only cause trouble for you. I just need your help to find my friend and get away from this place."
"So, who's your friend?" asked Mary Margaret gently, and Lily's face suddenly became evasive.
"Need to know basis," she muttered. "Right now, you don't need to know. I'll know when I get near her. My guess is, wherever your grandson is, she's there too. We just need those two downstairs to start singing like mermaids." She pushed up from her chair. "In the meantime…" She swallowed the remnants of her apple, squeezed Gold's shoulder as she passed, and grinned at the others as she sauntered back to her cabin.
"Tomorrow," said Mary Margaret confidently, taking her husband's hand.
"I'm going to bed," sighed David, pushing himself to his feet. "It's your watch, Gold. Wake Hook in four hours."
Gold smiled widely. "With pleasure."
Four hours later, with Hook patrolling the decks and everyone else asleep, Gold made his way back to the silent, locked room. Opening the door, he could see Greg still straining and screaming. Tamara had her eyes squeezed shut with tears pouring down her face. Gold stepped inside the barrier of his spell and was assaulted by Greg's hoarse shriek as they both turned their heads to face him. There was a stench of urine hanging thickly in the room; the man had soiled himself. Greg's eyes were almost starting from his head in desperate agony, sweat pouring from his skin and the muscles corded in his neck.
"Pleeeeeaaase! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeaase!" One word amongst the harsh screams. The man would lose his voice at this rate. Gold smiled his blackest, most wicked smile. He'd forgotten how much fun this could be.
Ruby was just locking up when Alex returned to Granny's. He had managed to get himself some clean clothes, although Storybrooke didn't have a huge amount of choice in the realm of fashion. He figured that jeans and a shirt were innocuous enough to pass muster in any bar the town could boast, however. Ruby was looking very pretty in a red T-shirt and leather pants that looked as though they'd been sprayed on. She was type of girl he would normally have admired from afar and never, ever spoken to, so he guessed being a secret agent, however temporarily, had its pluses. It seemed to give him a strange sort of courage, almost as though he was a different person. This other Alex managed to smile at Ruby and not stumble over his own feet as he reached the diner. He managed to tell her she looked lovely without blushing too hard or looking at the floor. She grinned at him, told him he scrubbed up well, and linked her arm through his as she led him down the street. She smelt wonderful, of flowers and some sort of spice, and he hoped that she was planning on sticking this close to him on their date.
"The Rabbit Hole's a bit of a dive," she said brightly, as they rounded a corner and heard music emanating from a nearby building. "But it's our dive. Plus it's the only place in town that stays open after midnight."
"Why, what happens at midnight in this place?" he asked. "Everyone turn into Cinderella's mice, or something?" He chuckled. She gave him an odd look then; a shadow falling across her face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had arrived, and she pulled open the door to the bar. The inside was humid and surprisingly full considering it was a Thursday. Alex noticed several people he recognised from Granny's, all of whom seemed to be staring at the two of them. Ruby squeezed his arm reassuringly.
"I'll have a Cosmo," she announced, and he hurried to the bar obediently while she grabbed a table.
"So, you know what I do," said Ruby, when they were seated with their drinks. "Tell me about you."
Alex took a swallow of beer, and decided upon some version of the truth. "I'm in tech support," he began. "Nothing flashy, but it's what I'm good at."
"And what do you do for fun?" she asked, sipping her drink. He shrugged.
"I spend a lot of time on the computer, hence my sallow complexion and lack of physical prowess," he said self-deprecatingly, and she giggled. "I read, I write software, play games with other sad lonely men…"
"Enough with the sob-story!" chuckled Ruby. "We're on a date, you're not supposed to tell me what a loser you are."
"Understood." He grinned at her, running fingers through his dark hair. "What about you, Ruby?"
"I run," she said. "A lot. I work at Granny's, I hang out with my friends, the usual."
"Is Belle here tonight?" he asked, looking around. Ruby grimaced, taking a slurp of her drink.
"No," she said shortly. "She's – kind of going through something at the moment. Her – it still sounds weird to call him her boyfriend but I guess that's what he is – up and left town without much of a warning or – much of anything, really. My guess is she's huddled in a ball crying."
"Why is it weird to call him..."
Ruby waved a dismissive hand. "Only because he's like, a gazillion years older than her, that's all."
"Oh." There didn't seem to be much he could say to that. "Did they break up?"
"Nah," Ruby drained her glass. "True love, and all that, yadda yadda yadda."
"True love?" He looked sceptical. "Do you believe in that?"
She put her glass down on the table, and looked at him as though she pitied him.
"Yes," she said softly. "Don't you?"
He sensed he'd said the wrong thing, and shrugged uncomfortably, pushing at his glasses. "Guess I've never met anyone who's ever experienced it," he said, and Ruby smiled widely.
"Then you've come to the right place," she said.
Belle had, indeed, spent some time curled in a ball crying, but she eventually drifted off to sleep, only to be troubled by dark, disturbing dreams. They would often start out pleasantly enough, such as the dream in which she was kissing Rumple in the rose-gardens back at the Dark Castle, but then a shadow would come streaking out of the sky and snatch him away from her as she screamed. Another dream came, of Baelfire bleeding and dying on a beach, in a far-off land, alone. Rumple crying, then standing, a determined expression on his face, turning from her despite her begging him to stay, taken once again by the shadow. She awoke frightened, her heart thumping painfully, and slid from the bed, wrapping herself in his robe and padding downstairs to the study. She had hoped that Rumple would contact her as he had said, and ensured that she carried a mirror with her if there wasn't one in the room she was in. From time to time she snatched up the mirror, peering into its depths as though she could will him to make contact, but she saw nothing but her own, increasingly tired reflection. She filled some of the night with her ongoing cataloguing of spells, and part of her research had been into the portals created by the magic beans themselves. Information on these was limited, and she resolved to ask Anton when she next saw him. A part of her wondered whether she was wasting her time, given that there were no more beans. Anton was trying to coax the tiny stalks in Regina's study into life once more, but he was not confident that he would be able to, and even if he was successful, the possibility of another bean harvest was months away. Belle sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly, and flipped open another book. Her phone buzzed forlornly from the coffee table, and she picked it up curiously. Ruby. Alex asked me for a date. We're at the Rabbit Hole. He looks good, in a nerdy kind of way. Do I kiss him or not? X. Belle rolled her eyes, and tapped out a message. Kiss his face off, just don't tell him who we really are. Remember the last visitors we got. X.
Gold stood over the screaming man, head tilted to the side, expression mildly curious. Greg's eyes were pleading, wild, desperate. Gold sighed, as though the effort of lifting his hand was too much to bear, gestured briefly, and Greg collapsed, weeping, shaking, chest hitching with wet, groaning sobs. Gold waited, his face impassive, until the man had cried himself to stillness. Tamara had hung her head, whether in exhaustion or relief was unclear. Gold reached out and brushed Greg's jaw with one finger; the man immediately shrank from his touch, a look of pure terror in his eyes. Broken. Well and truly broken. Gold smiled widely.
"Mr Mendell," he breathed silkily. "I trust you are inclined to be more – receptive – to our questions at this point." He noticed that Tamara had raised her head, dark, haunted eyes watching him bitterly. "Let me explain how this is going to work. I have cast a spell that makes the firestone – sleep, for want of a better word. I will bring Snow White, her lovely husband, and their dutiful daughter into this room, and you will answer each and every question they put to you truthfully, with as much information as you can. Fail in this, or inform them of what it is I've done, and all it will take is a flick of my wrist." He demonstrated with a slight motion of his hand, and Greg flinched with an involuntary moan. Gold fixed him with a stare. "Do we understand one another, dearie?"
Greg nodded, his eyes bright with terror. Tamara glared at Gold, her expression stony. He smiled at her.
"Oh, and just in case you're thinking about withholding anything, dearie, should you decide to do so, Mr Mendell will suffer for your insubordination." He raised his hand again, fingers wiggling. Greg let out a pitiful cry of fear, eyes starting from his head.
"Tamara, please…" he begged, his voice hoarse, barely audible. "Anything, please, honey. I can't – I can't…" He shook his head. "Tell them anything." He collapsed back, exhausted, muttering almost to himself. "Anything. Everything." Tamara spat very deliberately at Gold's feet, her eyes flashing with pain and fury.
"You bastard," she said vehemently. "You've destroyed the man I loved."
Gold's mouth twitched in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'd like to say we're even, but we're not even close," he whispered, and stalked from the room.
A/N: ooh - some of that was hard to write. I hope I got the balance okay. Gold is severely pissed off, after all.
Next time - the gang goes ashore, Spencer throws his weight around, and we may find out what the title of this story was all about.
(That's the plan, anyway, I just need to write it!)
Hope you enjoyed, let me know if so xx