Ah, the next installment, that is my late offering for "Once Upon A Downton Day." I'm not sure writing crack!fic is my strong suit, so you all have to let me know. As for where this is going, I just keep writing and they tell me! Massive thanks again to broadwaybaggins for the brainstorming (and letting me play along in the crack-fest), and Lala-kate and Cls2011 for putting up with my endless queries of, "Are you sure it works?"

Her heart was pounding a frantic pace against her ribs, and the sting from where she had cracked her head as she landed was starting to mature into a dull throbbing ache.

Just keep it together, Swan. Sharing panic will only get you killed.

She swallowed back the urge to let loose another expletive, wondering what the hell had gone wrong, besides her running to see that Zelena's portal had opened in the barn. Damn it, if she had only listed to Killian and stayed away. But it was what happened in the portal itself that had her really panicking. Oh, she knew that wasn't a normal sensation, not after Killian's cuff had slipped from her grip and she'd heard his shout echo after her, her name bouncing down the vortex ahead of her. That's when it wrapped around her and tugged, a dark voice thrumming from inside her, but not her. "Savior." Something had wanted her and plucked her mid-fall, tugging her sideways, throwing her to this cobbled courtyard, at this Crawley House in bloody England of all places. And faced with a very pale man who was staring at her as if they were both mad.

She gripped his arm again, trying to grasp onto some sense of calm, some scrap to share between them. She took a deep breath.

"Right. So here is the big question you're going to have to help me with, and please just humor me and answer it. When are we?"

"When?" he echoed. The look of total confusion didn't reappear on his face, but he hesitated a second before answering her. "The date is November 18." He raised a brow slightly as if asking her why. That was something she had no idea how to explain.

Despite his shirt sleeves that had been rolled up, the tie that was loosened, this was far from casual dress he was in, and far from the latest Tom Ford. Might as well just get it out there.

"Care to share the year with me?"

His brows did raise fully this time, but with almost a level of understanding. "1918."

She cupped a hand over her mouth, unable to stop the sharp laugh of terror that escaped her. To his credit, he didn't flinch, just kept watching her.

"You said you can help us find my cousin Mary? That it was possibly your fault?"

She liked his voice. If she hadn't just been sucked through a time portal and busy trying to hold on to her wits, she would be flirting with this guy just to get him to talk a bit more so she could listen to that voice that was rich and smooth and just a little dark, like a nice 12-year old Scotch. Instead, he was asking more questions, and she was swimming for answers.

Before she could come up with something that wouldn't get her arrested as a loon, there was a noise from the doorway behind him.

"Matthew," a female voice called as the door swung open, revealing a gray-haired woman in some kind of bathrobe. "I heard voices. Oh," she hesitated moment, catching sight of Emma. "Is there news on Mary?"

Emma could tell this woman's eyes were fixed steadily on her, and not this Matthew with the really awesome voice that made her want a double Scotch. She glanced at him quickly to see his reaction, and was surprised by the sudden calm she saw in his face.

"No," he said steadily, holding Emma's gaze a second before giving her the slightest nod and turning to face this woman in the doorway. "No, Mother, no news, but Miss, um, Emma here has said she might be able to help us."

Frying pan, fire. Crafty bastard throwing her into the thick of it now. She shot him a glare, ready to back off into the shadows, but suddenly he was the one with the grip on her arm and she knew she wasn't going anywhere.

"Emma, is it?" This gray-haired woman took in Emma's attire. "I take it you've been out searching? Matthew, do hurry up and invite her in so we can hear what she has to say." She waved them both towards the doorway, though Matthew hesitated. "Isobel Crawley, dear. Would you care for some tea?"

Emma found herself passed from Matthew's grip to this Isobel's, and stumbled into the house, following blindly after the woman, frantically trying to think of some cover story. She suddenly wished she had paid attention in history class — hell any class at this point — so as to be able to come up with something that could conceivably make sense to these people. Somehow time-traveling portals between fairy-tale realms and magic didn't seem like it would go over in this rather Victorian looking drawing room.

Isobel clicked on the lights and sat on the edge of a chair, clearly ready to hear all she had to say, causing Emma to glance at Matthew who was now standing behind her, effectively blocking her exit from the room. Holy crap, if she thought that voice of his had been awesome, she was now treated to just how light blue his eyes were, and they were making her completely distracted.

His slightly boyish face revealed a perturbed expression, "Mother, I really don't think this is —"

Isobel had an almost sweet look on her face as she cut her son off. "Of course it isn't wise to invite a total stranger into our house, but it is better than having her tell her story out back where anyone could overhear now, isn't it?" Her eyes had not left Emma the entire time she spoke. "Now, Emma, if you could, your full name and actual purpose here?"

Had she answered yes to that cup of tea? Because her mouth was so dry she could really use it right now. She glanced from mother to son, taking in the different expressions, but both clearly waiting for the truth. Emma wondered if she looked that way at someone when she was trying to figure out if they were lying.

She pressed her hands against her thighs, suddenly feeling overexposed in her slim-fit jeans and boots. "Um, as I told Matthew here," she glanced at him, gauging his reaction but his face was unreadable. "My name is Emma Swan. I, um…." Shit, she had no idea how to even word this. "I, uh —"

"She's the Savior."

The soft voice behind her that uttered those words sent a shiver up her spine and robbed her of breath. She turned to see a petite woman, face framed with strawberry blonde hair and dressed in white night dress staring at her. The ruffle of white lace combined with the sheerness of the fabric gave this woman an ethereal quality, and Emma wondered if in fact she had jumped too soon to the conclusion that she hadn't jumped into a land familiar with fairies.

Isobel was on her feet immediately, she and Matthew reaching out for the young woman woman, each exclaiming the name, "Lavinia!"

Emma continued to stare into the woman's pale blue eyes, eyes that held a determination and confidence of belief that startled her. This Lavinia shook herself free of Matthew and Isobel's hands, and reached out to take Emma's shaking hands in her own.

"Her name is Emma Swan and she is the Savior. They said she's the one who is going to find Mary and save us all."