Chapter 38

As Gold and Belle are dressing, the phone rings. It's Emma, reporting the sentencing decision from Snow: at 6pm, Regina is to be bound with handcuffs laced with the last of the fairy dust, taken to an undisclosed location—for this is not to become a media circus—and executed by firing squad, with Snow's war council standing witness. Belle explains what Gold is about to do, and Emma agrees to forward the information to Snow.

"If this doesn't work," Gold grimaces, "at four o'clock I'll prepare a request for a stay of execution."

Belle is yanking on her shoes. "What grounds will you use?"

Shrugging into his suit jacket, Gold mulls the question over. "That, given their history, Snow should have recused herself. Regina's case wasn't determined by an impartial judge." He grabs his cane with one hand and Belle's hand with the other, and they hurry downstairs.

"Where would you find an impartial judge in Storybrooke? Everybody here has been victimized by her."

Gold holds the front door open for Belle. "Exactly. Snow should have called for a change of venue."

"But that's impossible," Belle sputters as she raises the garage door. "How could she do that when we can't leave Storybrooke?"

"Therein lies the conundrum."

"Yeah. So what's the solution?"

"Exactly." He guns the Caddy's engine.

Do what must be done with a docile heart.

As Belle walks into Emma's office to explain the concept, Blue and Gold approach Cell B, where Regina watches them warily. She's crouched in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth, and the closer they get to the bars, the faster she rocks. She's speaking a mix of old-realm languages. Her upper lip glitters with fairy dust. Whale is kneeling beside her, attempting unsuccessfully to take her blood pressure, but he backs away when the magic practitioners approach.

Only Blue can help her: the fairy dust in the air and on the floor cut Gold off from his magic. Blue transports herself into the cell, kneels and with comforting murmurs casts a sedative spell on her. Regina's eyes clear immediately and she stops rocking, but she remains balled up on the floor.

"Regina, can you hear me?" Gold asks. The sorceress doesn't acknowledge him. "It's time to implement our deal. Do you remember what we agreed?"

"We need a single strand of your hair," Blue adds, "for the potion that will fix all this." She conjures a pair of scissors. "I'm going to take that strand now, but I promise I won't hurt you."

"You're the Good Fairy," Regina exclaims. "Why are you good?"

"I won't hurt you." And in a single snip it's done. Blue transports herself to the other side of the bars and releases the hair sample into the vial Gold is carrying. Already inside is a strand of his own hair. As Belle and Emma rush forward, the mages watch the vial begin to glow and the strands of hair rise in the glass, twist together and set off a tiny explosive spark.

"So far, so good," Blue remarks. "Rumplestiltskin, I believe we've just bottled True Hate."

"Guess it's a good thing Regina and I are still bad asses," Gold quips. "If we'd started liking each other, we'd be potionless."

"We need to get to the well," Belle reminds everyone. She turns to Emma. "We'll call as soon as it's over."

"I'll sweep up the dust as soon as you call," the sheriff says. "Maybe then Whale can help her." She lays a hand on Gold's arm. "Whatever happens, thanks for trying."

"Don't," he hisses as he raises his glowing hand above his head and a cloud of magic appears to surround Belle, Blue and himself. Under his breath he adds, before transporting his passengers, "It's my mess to begin with."

The three of them lean over the edge of the well. Despite its age and its location, deep in the woods, far from the protection of villagers, the well has survived intact. Gold has assumed it's the restorative waters it contains that have kept the well safe.

"I can't see anything." Belle peers into the darkness. "But I can hear water slapping against rock."

"That's the River Fluma, a tributary of Lake Nostros," Blue explains.

"So it leads to the Enchanted Forest?" Belle speculates. "Is this well a portal? Could it take us to the Forest?"

Blue and Gold exchange a glance. "It may be possible," Blue says slowly, "but it would require a catalyst, like a magic bean, and a compass to direct the journey."

"And someone who actually wants to go back there." Gold examines his vial thoughtfully. "Of course, that's about to be a moot point."

"Once you. . .do that," Belle nods at the vial, "will all magic vanish from this land?"

Blue shifts from foot to foot, and Gold keeps examining the vial as though he hasn't heard the question. When it's apparent Gold doesn't intend to answer, Blue clears her throat. "Well, ah, there are reports—"

"Rumors," Gold corrects.

"Of, uh, supernatural occurrences. . . speculation that there could be, sort of, pockets of magic scattered throughout this world and people who know how to tap into the power. It's most likely very weak and unstable, if any magic exists at all."

Gold snorts. "These self-styled mages are frauds, liars, and bullied kids who've latched onto them in hope of finding some protection and status in this world."

"Fortunately, for most of them, the practice of magic is little more than a fashion statement." Blue ponders, "Although, now that we'll be free to travel, I suppose we could investigate some of these claims." There's an implied question in her voice.

Gold shakes his head firmly. "You investigate. I'm going to Soho. Belle and I are going to Soho."

Belle links her arm through his. "To visit family."

"Aye." Gold murmurs a spell and summons a white cloud of magic as he passes his free hand over the vial. The vial shimmers and glows a bright red as the entwined strands of hair dance around each other. "Well, here goes." He unstoppers the vial and releases it into the well. They lean over the edge, listening, waiting, holding their collective breath.

After a full three minutes they lean back and resume breathing, but they keep waiting.

After ten minutes Gold groans and Blue sighs. Belle frowns. "Should it take this long? What should be happening?"

Gold mutters in both disappointment and relief, "It was just a theory. Untested. And now we know."

"Maybe not," Blue suggests. "Maybe the potion and the spell are right but the emotion in which it was cast was wrong." Gold's mouth twitches; encouraged by his reaction, Blue explains to Belle, "Magic needs emotion to spark a reaction. Use the wrong combination of the two and you get nothing. It's like trying to start a campfire by throwing a Popsicle on a pile of wood."

"So Rumple was feeling the wrong emotion?"

Blue looks at Gold, but there's sympathy, rather than accusation, in her expression. "You brought the magic; it's here by your command. Suppose you. . . just stop commanding it. Wish it away."

"Wish it away," he mutters, staring into the dark well. "In the old land, I tried that but I couldn't get rid of the magic."

She looks skeptical but doesn't call him out on the fib. "I suppose you would have to be absolutely sure. Any reluctance on your part would bind the magic to you."

"And Regina? She's pulling the magic in. If she counters me–"

"Not as long as she's in jail and powerless. Besides, you're the one who summoned it; you're the magic's master. Not her, not me."

The coward in him grasps at a last straw, a final excuse for failure. "What about you? Losing your powers again–is that fair to you? You were created from magic, after all."

"Rumplestiltskin," she lays her hand on his arm, and her touch is light and pleasant. "You may find this odd, but I enjoyed my life as an ordinary human, apart from the occasional hassles with my landlord. What I liked best about my life here was that I wasn't the judge any more. I answered to a higher power. And because I couldn't just wave my wand and make troubles disappear, I had to listen to people. The curse made me human, and that's what I needed to be, in order to really help people. So, no, I won't miss the magic."

"There's always a chance my theory is wrong," he says, but none of them is persuaded by the suggestion. He gathers up his resolve like a woolen blanket, seeking comfort and confidence. He takes Belle's hand as a reminder of all that he stands to gain if he surrenders his power, and he argues with himself that the price he's paying is very small, after all.

They lean against the cool stone wall of the well again, the three of them. It's nearly noon; they have to act now, before Snow does. Gold fills his mind with faces from his pasts, Rumplestiltskin's and Gold's: people he hurt, intentionally or accidentally. He imagines their spouses, their children, their parents, their friends and neighbors. He fills his heart with regret. It's all he can give them now. And then he lets those memories go; with a small smile, he remembers the counsel of Kung Fu's wise Master Po: To feel shame for no cause is a waste. To feel shame for cause is also a waste; for you must rather spend time correcting that of which you are ashamed.

He fills his mind with moments of joy: a rare hug from Malcolm, his first kiss with Milah, his first cuddle with the newborn Bae, the first time Belle smiled at him. He fills his heart with love. Yes, this is right. This is what he truly wants. The choice isn't either himself or his loved ones: he can't be himself without his loved ones. The choice is between magic and power or Belle, Bae, Henry and Gold. Now that he can see it as it truly is, it's no choice at all. With a relieved sigh and a grin, he releases it all into the well: the shame, the regret, the anger. For a moment or two, all he can feel and all he can know as he stands with his former enemy on his right and his wife (though she doesn't know it yet) on his left, nearest his heart, is love.

A pulse radiates from the well, out and then in again. That's all, a single pulse. But the air pressure drops and the wind rises and in the trees birds relay messages. Blue catches her breath. "It's gone."

Belle looks at him inquiringly, and Blue says again, "The magic is gone. All of it, the light and the dark."

"Yes." The ever-present tingle of power in his fingertips has dissipated. He feels. . . heavier, more earth-bound, more rooted. His soul draws inside his body instead of floating out there on the waves of magic.

But his ankle doesn't hurt any more, and Belle's hand in his feels firm.

He looks out at the clean, blue sky. He can't speak, just feel–physical sensations, not emotions. Wind rippling his shirt, air filling and emptying and filling his lungs, a trickle of sweat down his back. Belle's pulse under his thumb. The women grant him this time, wait in silence. He will spend many more hours, he promises himself, watching the sky change.

But for now, they have work to do. He raises his hand to conjure the magic to transport them back to the jail, and then he reddens. "Sorry. I should've conjured the car here first. We're going to have to walk back."

Belle reaches into her tote and whips out her cell phone. "This world's magic still works." She dials Emma with the news—and a request for a ride.

Bustle is all around them as they enter the jail: Leroy, who picked them up in the squad car, hurries to the janitor's closet for a mop and bucket and follows along behind Emma, who's sweeping up the fairy dust in Cell B. Regina's been moved to Cell A, where Whale is taking her temperature and David stands by, arms folded, watching for any threat from the patient, who's regained some of her color and is sitting on the edge of the cot.

Snow and Spencer stand outside the cell, talking to Regina about rescinding the execution order.

Flanked by his comrades in arms, Gold sashays in, his cane tapping but seemingly more as an attention-getting device than a medical aid. He feels small, tired, weak and very vulnerable, but he's been a showman so long he can disguise all that, as his instincts tell him he must, if he's to be taken seriously; he must be perceived as a threat, even if he no longer is. "Your Majesty, a word, please?" He bows to Snow.

Snow's face brightens. "You did it! Blue, Mr. Gold, congratulations—and thank you." She gives Blue a hug and Gold a peck on the cheek, then leads them into Emma's office for a quieter, more private consultation.

"The magic is gone," Gold confirms.

"Regina's recovering. We'll send some of the dwarfs out to test the boundaries, but I'll need to make a public announcement first, and remind everyone that all restrictions remain in place until we've finished our testing."

Blue volunteers, "My sisters and I will help." She turns to Gold. "I'll need some previously magically altered objects for the tests. If I may borrow the keys to your shop?"

He hesitates only a moment before producing the requested keys. "Of course. Good luck, Reverend Mother."

She looks at him closely, her pleased expression adding meaning to her words of gratitude. "Thank you. Good luck to you too, Mr. Gold." From now on, between them they will use only their Storybrooke names, an acknowledgement of their humanity. As she walks away, she's speaking into her phone, calling her sisters.

Belle fishes for her own phone. "I'm going to try to call Jo." Her finger is shaking as she scrolls through her phone book.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Snow prompts Gold. "About Regina?"

Gold tears himself away from Belle's phone call. "I took the liberty of making a deal with Regina. I realize I've overstepped my bounds, but I intend to honor that deal."

"Really." Snow makes her voice chilly. "Tell me about it."

He explains the stipulations on both sides as Snow listens, frowning, her arms folded. "Four weeks a year of supervised visitation," she reiterates. "And in return, Regina never sets foot in Storybooke again."

Gold nods.

"No," Snow decides. "I can't accept those terms. You're a thorough man, Mr. Gold, but you overlooked one small but vital point: even from a distance, she can still exert influence here."

"Her minions." Gold looks embarrassed. "Yes. I did overlook them. Sidney, I believe, is no longer a problem, but a few of her former guardsmen may be."

"They will be warned and watched," Snow decides. "Any contact between Regina and any unauthorized personnel will be swiftly and severely punished."

"And with that codicil, you will honor my deal with Regina?"

"I will, and on the grounds that this will be the last time you speak for me without my authorization."

Gold hangs his head, accepting the admonishment. "Of course, Your Majesty. I apologize for my presumptuousness."

Snow now smiles. "Let's go present our terms to the prisoner. And as Blue said, thank you, Mr. Gold." But she pauses on the threshold. "What if the boundary curse isn't broken? How do we exile her then?"

Belle groans. "It has to work." She seizes Gold's sleeve. "We have to get to New York."

Gold twists his cane around and around in his hand. "Well. . . we'll cross that boundary when we get to it."

A/N. Remember the Dragon from "Selfless, Brave and True"? I keep hoping OUAT will revisit him, or at least explore the idea the writers introduced with him, that there is magic in the Land without Magic. So this chapter is dedicated in advance to anyone who will write a Dragon meets Rumple story (I know the Dragon appears to have died, but. . . .)