Chapter Eighty-Three—"Hope in Strange Places"

By the time she woke up on March 9th, Belle was refreshed and ready to find ways to bring Cora down. She already had an idea, but first she needed to fix breakfast for a hungry three and a half year old. Fortunately, although Lacey hadn't been a gourmet cook, she'd been better than Belle had been back home, and Gabi was on an oatmeal kick, anyway. Making oatmeal was easy, even if they didn't have any instant oatmeal in the house.

Rumple hates the instant stuff and won't let me buy it, she thought before she could stop herself, and almost burst into tears before she managed to take a deep breath. Gabi was deep in a coloring book at the moment, but would undoubtedly notice her mother sobbing. Biting her lip, however, did not keep the image of Rumplestiltskin's drawn face out of her mind.

He looked terrible, Belle remembered, thinking back to the day before. Tense and exhausted, and there was something wrong with the way he held his left arm. She had been able to see the strain in her husband's brown eyes, had seen the desperate and longing way in which he had looked in their direction. Worse yet, Belle knew what Cora had to be doing to him, and her imagination had cooked up plenty of horrible scenarios the first two nights after he'd given himself up. She'd been too tired to do the same last night, but now she was fully awake and unable to stop thinking about how Cora had to be hurting her husband. I've got to get to him somehow, she thought desperately, even though she knew it was foolish.

No, the voice of reason pointed out. I've got to find a way to take down Cora. And fast. Rumplestiltskin had been convinced that Cora would try to break her deal eventually, thus freeing him, but Belle was not going to wait. Waiting would endanger the town—but more importantly, every day she waited, Rumple would be hurt more. And Belle was not about to stand by and let that happen. Not for one moment more than—

"Morning."

Startled, Belle whirled around to face Bae, knowing that her eyes were wide and stupidly shocked. Frantically, she tried to bottle up her emotions and smile normally. "Good morning."

"You okay?" Bae asked, glancing Gabi's way. Fortunately, she was still engrossed in coloring, and paying no attention to the adults' conversation.

"As much as I can be," she replied, trying to smile bravely.

"He looked pretty bad," Rumple's son said quietly, wincing. "I remember days where…well, I guess that doesn't matter, now. But I need to know what's going on. I can't help if I don't understand."

"It's not really my story to tell." Biting her lip, Belle thought back on the story Rumple had shared with her, on how he had trusted her with things he'd never shared with anyone else. Then she glanced at her young daughter, who had never seen her father as anything but perfect and fearless. "And now's not a good time."

"That bad, huh?"

She looked out the window, blinking back the need to cry. "Worse."

"What can I do? I need to help," he asked, making Belle turn back to face him. "I…"

"He was so afraid you'd hate him, you know," Belle couldn't stop herself from saying. "That you would never forgive him. He hates himself so much for letting you go."

"Forgiveness is hard," Bae admitted, and she could see shame warring with centuries' worth of hurt on his face. "But I kind of get it, now. I used to think that when he became the Dark One, everything good about him vanished, but I think I was wrong. He's still in there, my papa."

"He is," she said softly, reaching out to squeeze Bae's arm. "And speaking of things he does, there's something you need to see."

"The contract?"

Goodness, he was quick; seeing Rumple's quick mind in Bae made a smile cross Belle's face. "Henry deserves to know who his father is, assuming you want him to know. And I'll show you why that'll protect him."

"She has your heart, Papa," August objected, praying that neither Cora or Zelena was listening in just now.

"No one knows that better than I," Geppetto answered, laying a hand on August's shoulder.

"I can't help them against her," he protested. August had risked too much to save his father, had betrayed too many friends. He wouldn't risk Geppetto now. Not after they'd come this far.

"Of course you can, son," his father said, giving August a look that said he was acting like a child.

"I can't. She'll hurt you, Papa. Or worse—"

"That's a risk I can take," Geppetto interrupted. "I won't hold my boy back from doing the right thing. Not this time."

"I'm not sure I can," August whispered brokenly, bowing his head.

A gnarled hand touched his cheek. "I believe in you, Pinocchio. I always will."

She'd taken her time stalking her prey. After all, the Evil Queen could tell her what to do, but she couldn't force her to do it her way. Jabber couldn't be controlled by the Vorpal Blade, much though she feared it. The sword could only trap her, and as long as Cora was distracted by the Dark One—a delicious meal, if Jabber did say so herself—Jabber was free to take her time. So, she spent two days watching the Fairest of them All, watching her sickeningly sweet love with her husband and her growing bond with her daughter and grandson.

Jabber had nothing against Snow White as a person; she seemed perfectly nice and fairly strong. But she wasn't really a person, or at least Jabber refused to think of her as one. Snow was a meal, a way to feed her own demon side and banish the gnawing hunger. So, she climbed the outside of the fancy house that misty morning, feeling the vibrations of despair and heartbreak radiating outwards from the town line, and she'd already spotted a flying monkey or two flapping their way towards their new mistress. Under other circumstances, that might have been enough to sate her, but Jabber was not foolish enough to ignore Cora for long. That would have been very bad for her health, so she crept through the window, after making sure the prince was gone.

Snow stood in front of the mirror, brushing her ridiculously short hair, but she whirled around as Jabber landed lightly on the floor. Immediately her prey's eye went wide, and Jabber smiled.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked softly, gliding forwards and reaching. As always, fears and insecurities jumped out to her, leaping into her mind like old friends. When Jabber had been younger—so very long ago—telling others' fears apart from her own thoughts had been difficult. Now, she had no such difficulties. "Are you afraid someone might…hurt you?"

Oh, this one was beautiful. She was strong, yes, but the strongest people often had the most horrible fears. Snow White blamed herself for her mother's death as well as her father's, and she had never quite gotten over the fear that those she loved would hate her—or be turned against her. It's happened so many times. The words burned into Jabber's mind, and she shivered in delight, grabbing ahold of them with her power and drinking in the sweet terror. Snow loved so very strongly, and she tried so hard to be confident in love returned to her, but with the way her stepsister had been forced to repeatedly betray her, that possibility would never leave her mind.

"I'm not afraid of you," Snow replied, probably in what she hoped was a firm voice. It wasn't. Her lip trembled and her breath was short; Jabber could feel her special magic working already, forcing Snow to feel every fear she'd ever had.

Oh, and Snow had been through a Nightmare Curse. That made this even simpler. Even as a mere child, Jabber could have destroyed her easily! Why had Cora not mentioned that? There would have been no need to watch her if Jabber had known that; those fears were so very easy to resurrect…just like the fact that she had nearly killed her own True Love while under that curse. Oh, delicious. She shivered again, coming around the bed while her prey remained frozen in her sights.

"No, you don't fear me for yourself," Jabber whispered, smiling as she read every emotion like a treasured book. "You fear what I might do to those you love. Or what I might make you do to those you love."

Snow tried to argue. "I know you can't—"

"Can't I?" So brave, Jabber thought a little drunkenly. So frightened. "I don't need to force you to do anything, Snow White. Those you love will betray you in the end without my help. They always do, after all, because you never come first, do you? For Regina, there was Daniel, who she sacrificed you to save. Or your father, who married Cora because he wasn't strong enough to resist her."

"No. No, they…" Snow trailed off, and then Jabber felt something even sweeter rear up.

"Or even your daughter," she whispered, stepping in close to whisper in Snow's ear and feeling something break inside her prey. "Your Emma. She has Henry, though, and she grew up without you. She doesn't need you. She doesn't care about you. You were just a pity case, someone who needed help and then got too clingy to shake. Now, she'll walk away. You know she will."

"Emma won't. She won't." But there were tears gathering in Snow's eyes, and Jabber could feel the power racing through her, because Snow was terrified that Emma would do just that.

"How do you know? You don't really know her," Jabber replied, putting power into the persuasive words. "You held her for five minutes after she was born. You never mattered to her. You put her in an enchanted wardrobe and sent her away. How can she not hate you for that?"

The tears were falling openly, now, and Jabber started digging deeper. Crushing Snow White would be easy. Almost disappointingly so. But at least she could enjoy herself, and feed. Someday, she thought in a distant part of her mind, I will choose who I want to harm. Not be directed like some beast by others. But now was not the time for her own thoughts. Now she would shatter the small woman before her. So, Jabber focused all of her concentration on Snow's deepest levels of fears, drinking in the despair.

"None of them care about you enough. Regina wanted Daniel more, and now Henry is the center of her life. That's something she and your husband share, isn't it? Perhaps Cora was right, and those two were meant to—"

"No," a new voice cut in, making Jabber whirl to face the now-open bedroom door. She hadn't expected an interruption; the prince was supposed to be gone!

And the one magic she couldn't bypass was filling the air, poisoning the sweet fear she'd been feeding on. The moment Prince 'Charming' strode in, Jabber's effectiveness reduced; she could feel Snow pulling back, could feel the princess returning to herself. Hissing, Jabber backed away, her eyes on the sword now in Charming's hands.

She couldn't focus on both of them, not together. Particularly not when they shared True Love. The very presence of that damn magic made Jabber want to run away, but she gritted her teeth and turned to attack Charming before Snow could recover, pulling the threads of his fears and doubts quickly.

"Have you come to fail to save someone else?" she inquired, moving to circle him, her liquid smooth motions betraying none of her distaste. "You're good at that, aren't you?"

"No." Surprisingly, this was Snow, and Jabber's head snapped around to glare at the princess who still had tears on her face. "He isn't. He's always saved me."

"We've always saved each other," Charming confirmed, and Jabber felt their fears dance out of her grasp.

Their love was too strong. It was just like the other two, only less tainted by darkness. She had been surprised to find the Dark One with a True Love—that such a thing could happen defied comprehension!—but she had known about these two. That was why she'd gone to such great pains to make sure the prince was gone before she came after the princess. Yet here he was, and she would never finish Snow off like this.

"Because that's what we do," Snow said, her voice growing stronger. The two joined hands, and wasn't that sickeningly sweet?

Still, it didn't pay to make enemies, and Jabber was nothing if not wise.

"I'm not the last who will come for you," she warned them, backing towards the window and offering a half smile. "She's the determined sort, Cora."

"Why do you help her?" Snow asked curiously.

For a moment, Jabber contemplated lying. But these two where heroes, and if she played things right, maybe she could escape. "She has the Vorpal Blade."

"The what?" Charming asked.

"Pity," Jabber sighed, wishing they knew more. Or even enough. "And there I thought you were more than just a pretty face."

She'd reached the window, and ducked out it without another word. She didn't care to bandy words about with the Charmings; no, if she couldn't feed here—and her third consecutive failure to destroy someone she'd targeted only made the burning hunger stronger—she would have to find someone else. Both shouted after her, but she swung lightly to the ground and slinked away before they could follow.

His eyes swept quickly over the contract, reading it a second time. It was clear and concise, not full of fine print like one from a used car dealership, straightforward and not at all open to interpretation. Then again, Bae supposed his father had known exactly what type of psychotic woman he was dealing with. There was obviously some history between Rumplestiltskin and Cora, and he made a mental note to ask Belle for the details. For the moment, however, he wanted to read and reread the contract to make sure Belle had been right—but she was.

Should the undersigned (Cora Mills, Queen of Hearts, Queen Cora, Mayor of Storybrooke, et al) harm anyone in the family of Rumplestiltskin (Mr. Gold), this contract shall be null and void, as shall the deal it governs. In terms of this contract, family is defined as anyone related by blood or by marriage. Harm is defined as any and all painful, disfiguring, sickening, incapacitating, and/or fatal actions by the undersigned, her employees, servants, allies, family members, or anyone encouraged, compelled, or ordered to do so by the undersigned. It also includes physical, psychological, magical, or any other methods of doing harm or altering the mental state of any individual who meets said relationship requirements. The undersigned shall also not imprison nor take the hearts of said family members, nor separate them from one another by any means.

The contract went on in excruciating detail about what Cora could or could not do, and about how she couldn't force (or ask, or in any way encourage) anyone else to do any of those things, either. It was pretty damned airtight, actually. Bae had gotten damn good at loopholes in his messed up life, and he couldn't find one there. Most importantly, there it was, right in black and white. Henry was safe.

"You're right," he said quietly, looking up at Belle as another idea formed in his head. His stepmother smiled.

"I did tell you, but I understand."

"I do have a question," Bae said, thinking fast. "Emma…her family is Cora's main targets, right? I'm still playing catchup on all the details, but Cora is Emma's evil step-grandmother, right?"

Belle chuckled softly. "Yes. In simple terms, she's the Evil Queen from Snow White."

"Yeah, August said." Thinking of the puppet made Bae want to strangle him, though, so he shoved those thoughts aside. But then something else occurred to him, the loophole that was right there in plain sight. There wasn't a loophole that Cora could exploit, but there was one he could. Had his father done that on purpose? "Emma's Henry's mom. Will this protect her?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think so," she answered slowly, biting her lip thoughtfully. "I know Rumple would have put that in there if he'd known, but he didn't." Belle cringed. "He still doesn't."

Because no one has so much as seen Papa since he gave Cora the dagger, unless you count him destroying town hall, Bae thought. More than once, he'd contemplated borrowing a gun and trying to put a bullet in Cora, but he'd always been better with crossbows than guns. And the crazy mayor had magic, which would make killing her a lot harder. I tried so hard to run away from magic, and yet here I am, right in the thick of it. But at least magic would force Cora to keep to this contract, wouldn't it? And if it didn't, then his father would be free, and that would actually be a good thing.

"So…" he said hesitantly. "If, uh, Emma and I were to get, say, married…this would protect her and her family, too?"

Belle was pretty unflappable, but her blue eyes went huge on that question, and her mouth dropped open slightly. She blinked, but answered with a firm nod. "You know, I think it would."

Great. Now he just had to convince Emma of that.

Fat chance, cowboy. You are truly screwed if you try that one.

They'd met down by the docks, mostly because Killian had to get away from the increasingly toxic atmosphere in Cora's summer house. Oh, he wasn't staying there—Killian was not barking mad—but he did wind up spending a lot of time there. His role in capturing Baelfire wasn't going to be something the heroes forgave easily, and he knew that. He hadn't meant for things to get quite so out of control, hadn't meant to wind up on Cora's side this firmly. He really had expected Bae to see reason. After all, the boy hated his father—he'd even told Killian how to kill the Dark One!—and it stood to reason that Bae would help them.

Until Baelfire had proven himself annoyingly loyal to the demon that had abandoned him, and had promptly told Emma (and half the bloody town, undoubtedly) about Killian's role in his kidnapping. That meant Killian was now persona non grata with the hero types, and he wasn't particularly eager to run across them until he had something they wanted. If I decide to help them, it'll be bearing information they can't ignore, he thought, staring out at the water and waiting for Mirabella—Tink!—to arrive. Cora's not worth betraying if she's going to win, because I am damn well going to be on the winning side this time.

Nevermind the way his conscience was nagging him, the way the things Cora was doing and planning made his stomach roll. That wasn't important. Winning was. Killian had waited long enough for his revenge, had waited long enough for a happy ending. He was damn well going to take one this time, no matter what it took.

"Hi," a familiar voice said, and he turned, feeling his heart stutter a strange little beat that Killian hardly recognized.

When was the last time he'd genuinely felt anything other than attraction for someone? Oh, he'd been attracted to Emma Swan—and to all of the women he'd slept with, honestly—but that had been a physical reaction to beauty and strong personality. This…this was something different. Something he hadn't felt since Milah, and all it took was turning around to look at Tink.

She didn't even dress like Mirabella. Mirabella had always been composed and properly coifed, like any good courtesan should be. Tink, however, wore her hair in a loose ponytail, and was dressed in a yellow shirt and a green sweater over a simple pair of jeans. But she looked beautiful.

"Hi," he managed to answer around the sudden lump in his throat, feeling utterly inadequate and foolish. Where had his suave manners gone? Killian Jones was a ladies' man, not a mumbling idiot!

"I'm glad you came," Tink said, sounding as awkward as he felt. "I wasn't sure if you'd want to, given how things are now."

"What do you mean, love?" Killian asked, blinking. Of course he would want to see her! She had to be mad to think he wouldn't; in a logical world, Tink wouldn't want to see him, given what had passed between them during the curse. She'd said that she didn't blame him, but Killian was no fool. He'd been drawn to her, yes, but he never should have kept buying her from Madam Merryweather.

"I'm a fairy," the petite woman said bluntly, looking up to fiercely meet his eyes. "You're…well, I don't know what you are. But everyone knows you're allied with Cora."

"Do they?" It was hardly unexpected, but Killian had hoped his own role would be less obvious, what with the attention Cora, Zelena, and the Dark One were getting these days.

Tink just nodded. "August—Pinocchio, I suppose, though he doesn't like being called that—came to Blue this morning to confess everything. He said that you've been working with Cora the entire time, too."

"Ah. That." Killian forced a casual shrug. "I am a pirate, you know. My allegiance to Cora was hardly unknown back home, either."

"I remember. I met you there."

I should have helped her then, Killian thought, his heart heavy. Then maybe she would never have wound up in that thrice-be-damned Basement and we might actually have a chance. Maybe I could have become a better man before it was too late. "So, does this mean you don't want to see me again?" he had to ask.

"No," she whispered, stepping forward. Suddenly there was a hand on his arm, warm and gentle, and Killian wasn't quite sure what to do with that. "I just wish…I just wish it didn't mean we were on opposite sides."

"Perhaps there's a certain spice in bedding the enemy, love." The words were automatic, as was the suggestive wagging of his eyebrows, and for a moment, it made Tink snort with laughter.

"That's not exactly the spice I'm looking for," she retorted, rolling her eyes—but they were sparkling with amusement, and Killian found himself smiling a much more natural smile before she turned serious. "But, honestly, what holds you to her? Why can't you help us beat her?"

For a moment, Killian could only stare. "I…Tink, I…"

How could he explain to her that he'd burned for vengeance for three hundred years, and Cora was the only avenue for acquiring said revenge? Not like she'll let me kill the crocodile, a traitorous voice inside him whispered. She won't even kill him herself, saying Rumplestiltskin is 'useful'. Seeing the crocodile brought so low was certainly satisfying, even if Killian intentionally avoided the details of what Cora did to him. He'd thought that he would rejoice in any amount of pain and degradation that Cora heaped upon the Dark One, yet he found that even his very rusty conscience squeaked when presented with the barest hints of how depraved Cora truly was. Because of that, his revenge had grown tainted, even if Milah's shade might have been satisfied with the abuse Cora heaped upon her ex-husband.

"I want to be on the winning side," Killian found himself saying, and almost hated himself for the stark honesty of that answer as Tink looked at him with pity. That made him scowl, and add defensively: "Cora seems to be the best chance I have at that. She's rigged the deck, love, and none of her enemies are going to get out of this alive."

"Then help us beat her."

"It's not that simple!" he protested.

Tink leaned in and kissed him gently, completely taking Killian by surprise. Her smile was soft. "Why not?"

"You saved me," Snow whispered, leaning her head against her husband's chest and finally letting out the breath she had been holding. Snow had been in a lot of dangerous situations in her life, and she'd always faced them bravely, but the Jabberwocky was like nothing she had ever faced before.

It was like that monster crept inside your soul and wouldn't let go. Snow could still feel her there, could still feel every doubt and every fear she'd ever had lining up to take over her mind. Shivering, she clung to Charming just a little bit tighter, needing his warmth and his love. His arms tightened around her as well, and Snow could sense that he needed her, too. The creature had tried to attack them both, but she'd proved unable to beat them when they united, and had fled.

"We saved each other," Charming replied, bending down to kiss her.

Somehow, his kisses always made her feel better. Most of them weren't True Love's kiss, but they didn't have to be. Those kisses were their love made real, a connection between them that no one could break. Snow could hardly remember how she'd ever lived without him; her life as Mary Margaret had always been full of a howling emptiness she could never understand. Now, however, she knew that was because Charming hadn't been with her…and Snow was never going to let him go again.

"I love you," she whispered.

"And I will always love you," he replied, cradling her cheek in his hand as Snow leaned into his touch. "No matter what tries to get between us."

"So, are you gonna tell me what you've been hiding?" Henry asked just as his father was trying to figure out how to convince his birth mother to do something crazy. Henry didn't know that, of course; he just watched Emma jerk up short from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she'd been making for lunch and stare at him with wide eyes.

"Hiding?" she squeaked, and Henry knew that he had definitely hit on something.

"Yeah," he replied, trying to sound casual. "Like about how you know Baelfire."

Henry wasn't an idiot, after all. There was obviously something between those two, and he was still curious about the conversation he'd overheard when they'd been hiding in his room. The fact that his mom had known Mr. Gold's son before coming to Storybrooke was like a giant flashing sign over Emma's head saying 'there's something important right here!', and Henry wasn't going to let her get away with not answering him. Again.

"We, uh, met when we were younger. Like, teenagers," Emma said with a twitch that looked like it was supposed to be a shrug. "I was seventeen. He was…I don't know, eighteen? We traveled together for a while."

"Why?"

Emma looked away. "Because neither of us had anyone or anywhere else to go," she whispered, and Henry felt his heart clench. He'd never thought of what kind of life his birth mom must have had before she came to Storybrooke, not really. He'd found her alone in a one bedroom apartment in Boston, and no friends had ever tried to look her up since she came here, had they? He knew from the book that Pinocchio was supposed to stick with Emma and help her, but August hadn't done that. Instead, apparently, she'd found Baelfire.

"Then why'd you go your separate ways?" Henry had to ask.

"I went to jail," was the quiet response, and somehow that made a jolt of realization run up Henry's spine. That was important, somehow, for some reason that was just beyond his reach, but Emma continued before Henry could quite figure out what. "I thought it was Neal's fault, at the time, but it turns out that it was August. But I blamed Neal for a long time."

He broke my heart, Henry suddenly remembered Emma saying. She'd promised to tell him about his father someday, never implying that whoever it was had come from anywhere but the Land Without Magic, but…what if Emma hadn't known? For a week or so before the curse broke, Henry had actually wondered if August might be his father; Pinocchio had been trying pretty hard to get Emma to date him, after all. But Emma's blasé reaction to the mysterious man with the bike hadn't given any weight to that theory, so Henry had discarded it. Baelfire, on the other hand…

"Do you still blame him?" Henry asked, just to have something to say to mask the wild way his heart was pounding.

"I don't know. He was"—she seemed to catch herself before she said too much—"I mean, we were good friends once. Now it's just weird, though."

It's got to be him, Henry thought to himself, desperately biting back a smile. Emma hadn't said as much, but Henry just knew it. She'd tell him eventually, but when she did, Henry would be ready.

Her little girl was beautiful. Cora had, at least, been true to her word and brought Lilith back to Maleficent personally, reuniting daughter and mother the day before. Maleficent wasn't terribly happy that her Lilith had been left with Fagin, of all people, but she could always roast the man later if she found any evidence of abuse. Meanwhile, she concentrated on getting reacquainted with her little girl. Much to Ursula and Cruella's annoyance, Maleficent had spent most of the last day with Lilith, holding her, playing with her, and singing to her.

"You don't pull off terrifying dragon bitch very well when you're singing to her, you know," Cruella finally said, barging into the sitting room where Maleficent cradled her sleeping daughter.

She arched an eyebrow at her friend. "Who says I want to?"

"C'mon, Mal, get it out of your system. There's an entire town of people just waiting to be terrorized," Cruella sighed, flopping onto the couch across from Maleficent's chair with a theatrical sigh.

"I'm not stopping you," she pointed out mildly.

"It's no fun if you don't come along."

"Ursula will go with you, I'm sure," Maleficent replied, looking back down at Lilith's perfect face. Her daughter slept onwards like a champion, happy to be in her mother's arms once more. Cruella, however, tended towards the bombastic, so she added: "And keep your voice down. Lilith is sleeping."

"Motherhood does not become you, darling," her friend complained. "Leave the girl with a nursemaid—well guarded with magic, of course—and come help Ursula and I make Cora miserable. Someone has to stop her before she gets all the power."

Maleficent shook her head regretfully. "I made a deal with her." One I ought not have made, but I was too worried for Lilith to think straight. And besides, when have these heroes ever cared what happened to us? They wouldn't blink if Cora killed my daughter, because I'm a villain. "I promised not to move against her."

"Then perhaps we should just work with her? Cora's not a fool, and she rewards her allies well. As long as we're strong enough to make her, anyway."

"Go ahead," she said, looking up from her daughter and holding her just a little closer. "I'm not getting involved in a war when my daughter is so vulnerable, Cruella. Certainly you understand that."

Cruella's glare said that she didn't, but at least she was a good enough friend not to say so aloud. But Maleficent could see that something else had to be said to appease Cruella's hungry inner demons, so she added:

"I will, of course, be there if you or Ursula needs me. Any time."

"Of course," Cruella grumbled, but then Ursula wandered into the room and the two started debating about which side to jump in on.

If someone had asked Robin to guess who might tell him how to rescue Regina, it would not have been the Dark One. Given his own past experiences with Rumplestiltskin in the Enchanted Forest—even if his mission of thievery with Charming had supposedly cleared the air between them—Robin possessed a healthy sense of mistrust where the Dark One was concerned, and yet he'd told Robin exactly where to find Regina. Assuming he was telling the truth, of course, but Robin didn't think that the older man had been lying. Had he been, it would have been easier.

Regina was under a sleeping curse. Everyone from the Enchanted Forest knew exactly what that meant, and what it would take to wake her. Do you love her? Rumplestiltskin had asked pointedly, and even though Robin had stuttered and prevaricated, he knew the answer. He knew that he loved Regina, no matter who she had been before the curse or who her mother was. Robin couldn't explain it, and he didn't want to. This love wasn't as simple or as easy as his love for Marian—who he would never, ever forget—but it was love all the same. Love pure and love true. He knew that he loved her like he knew his own name, and now he knew where she was and how they could save her.

But Robin also knew that he couldn't save Regina alone. Knowing where she was wasn't enough; he would have to go to the Charmings and get their help. He wasn't certain how Regina felt about him now that the curse was broken, but that didn't matter, did it? Knowing that she might not feel the same way about him didn't change Robin's heart; it only meant that he might not be able to wake her up. Yet the Dark One had proven helpful again on that front, and now Robin knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who would wake her if he failed. Regina's more important than my pride, he thought, nodding to himself. She's more important than almost anything.

"John?" he called to his roommate as he walked into the living room where Roland was playing with his action figures under Little John's watchful eye. "Let's call the Merry Men up. I think we have a job to do, and heroes to help."

After all, if he was going to creep into the lion's den, they might as well piss the Evil Queen off while they were at it.

Regina continued to dream.

Somewhere inside her existed the knowledge that this was the fifth day she had been under a sleeping curse. Yet it felt like an eternity. She floated in darkness, pacing back and forth in that lonely mirrored room, with only her own screams of frustration to keep her company.

There was no way to know what her mother was doing, no way to know what horrible things Cora was planning. Regina had tried beating on the mirrored walls in the beginning, had tried everything she could think of to break her way out, but nothing worked. No matter what she did, she remained stuck in the same damned room, stuck sleeping while her family was in danger. There was nothing she could do. Zelena had seen to that, and the one person who could have woken her up was long dead. Daniel… Pain rose at the mere thought of her True Love. She hadn't thought of him in for so long; she'd been caught up in her blossoming romance with Errol—Robin!—to remember the man who had once meant everything to her. But she hadn't forgotten him. Regina never would.

Daniel would always own a piece of her heart; he would be the love she had lost and the True Love who had been connected to her soul. A part of Regina had died with him, and she could picture his death like it had happened yesterday. She would never forget him, much though she had come to love Robin. Because Regina knew that once you loved someone like that, you would never receive a second chance. Errol loved her, but Robin probably didn't. And even if he did…there was no chance that their untried and fledgling love would be enough to wake her. Henry could, Regina knew. But there was no way her mother would let Henry near her.

"Henry…" The word slipped out as she leaned her face against the nearest mirror, tears slipping down her cheeks. For all Regina knew, he was already dead, and yet again, she could not save someone she loved.

As dawn approached on the fourth day after the curse broke, a car pulled up just short of the spray painted town line, and two people climbed out.

"You sure this is where it is, Greg?" Tamara asked, looking down at the orange line.

"Yeah. Otherwise, why would there be a line on the road in the middle of nowhere?" her real boyfriend answered, crossing his arms. "And I remember this place."

Now wasn't the time to point out to 'Greg' that he'd been a child when he'd last been in Storybrooke, or that their superiors at the Home Office often didn't even believe that the place existed at all. Tamara loved him, so she was going to help him prove that Storybrooke was real. Besides, Neal ran off to somewhere off the grid, and we were watching him because that August guy contacted him, she thought. So, Tamara just nodded and gave him a smile.

"Let's do it, then," she said, nodding back at the trailer behind her SUV.

Greg grinned back. "Yeah. It's time to destroy magic."

A/N: Thank you again to everyone who has stuck with this story for so long. I continue to be floored by the response, and it makes me giddy inside.

Next up, Chapter Eighty-Four—"The Best Laid Plans," in which Greg and Tamara enter Storybrooke, Belle and Jefferson start conspiring, Cora gathers her allies, and the heroes hold a war council. And someone dies.