Chapter 7: A Command

The map leads Bae to a rowboat tied up at the mouth of a river where it spills out into the sea. Bae unties the boat, sloppily folds the map into his pocket, and then uses the oars to row himself out toward open water. Before he gets too far, though, he turns and aims his coarse to the right, then parallels the shoreline as he cuts the most straightforward path from Pan's side of the island—or at least, his side now that he allows no one into the Pixie Woods—to the glen where Tinker Bell's home rests.

He doesn't fool himself that Pan isn't alerted instantly to the deviation, so he's not surprised in the least when, dragging the boat up the surf to sit above the tideline, he sees the Jolly Roger bearing down on him, sails flaring in the wind.

Pan's never needed help defeating the pirates before. Whatever this test was for, Bae knows he's failed it, which means he's forfeited the game—a worse crime in Pan's eyes than just losing since it means he's deprived Pan the joy of playing—and is due a punishment. Bae's not sure if facing his mother is as bad as Dark Hollow, but Pan's certainly not letting him off lightly.

Bae checks that his coconut is still secure, then plunges into the jungle. He runs whenever possible, climbs over every obstacle, throws himself down slopes, and still the sounds of pursuit gradually filter through the thick foliage.

Captain Jones won't bring any of his crew with him, not if Pan's told him that there's a way off the island. As far as Bae was able to tell during his brief sojourn aboard the Jolly Roger, the good captain's not attached to anyone on his ship and he certainly doesn't trust any of them. Well, anyone besides Milah.

And Milah would never let Killian leave her behind. Which means it will be the two of them versus Bae.

Unless he can get some of those elite warriors out of Tink's trees.

It's a race, in the end, and Bae wins by millimeters. Turning to set his back against the tree he's certain—well, almost certain—Tinker Bell dissolved inside, Bae faces down the two pirates who burst into the clearing after him.

"Baelfire," his mother says. "It's so good to see you again."

"Tell the truth," Bae says as caustically as he can manage. "Did Pan tell you who I was or did you actually recognize me?"

"You have changed," Jones drawls. "Not so much a pirate anymore as you are a…runaway."

"Well, I most be my mother's son after all."

Milah's face tightens. "Bae, that's not fair. When you're older, you'll understand what it's like being trapped in—"

Bae laughs in her face. "When I'm older?" he snarls. "You think I don't understand being trapped? While you and your pirate get to sit out on your ship with some semblance of freedom, I've spent more years than you could possibly know as Pan's prisoner. You remember Dark Hollow, right? Does that seem like a better fate than being a wife and mother?"

"Your mother was made for grander things than a hovel," Jones says, leaping to Milah's defense as he always does. "What right did your father have to try to keep her there?"

"And me?" Bae doesn't spare Jones a glance, all his attention on Milah. "Was being my mother really so awful that you had to let Papa and me believe, for years, that you were tortured and killed?"

"You're right," Milah says. Too easily. "I shouldn't have left that way. I was the coward then. I should have—"

"We're all cowards," Bae says, letting his gaze drift over her shoulder. "In some way, at some time, every single one of us is afraid of something. So afraid that we'll do anything to get away. To escape. To change our fate."

"Bae—"

Bae turns his face into the tree and whispers, fervently, "I believe in fairies. I believe in you, Tink. I believe in you."

The trees all around them—well, twenty of them anyway—begin to glow.

Jones and Milah crowd together, back to back, their swords drawn.

"What is this?" Milah asks.

"Fairies," Jones spits. "How did you bring them here?"

"Aww, I'm hurt," Tinker Bell says from behind Bae, and where bark scraped his shoulder, now her hand lightly rests, warm and friendly and everything he nearly forgot existed. "Did our time together really mean nothing to you, Killian?"

Jones's face pales, though he covers it with a flirtatious smirk. "You. You're still here."

"Pan doesn't exactly let anyone out for good behavior," she says.

As the glow fades, Bae sees warriors winking back into being. Something about being surrounded by them, seeing Mulan's calm demeanor and Shang's easy confidence, eases a tension in Bae's gut. He's not alone here. And he's not exactly helpless either. Or stuck—Jefferson's bright coat stands out against his former hiding place.

"Our orders are to bring you to Pan," Milah says. She looks past the warriors, past Tinker Bell, straight to Bae. "He said you people have a way out of Neverland. If we deliver you to him, then Killian and I get to use that escape."

"You're selling me to him again?" Bae demands. He shouldn't be surprised. He shouldn't even be hurt. This is just history repeating itself. Once before, he thought the pirates could help him—thought his mother would help him—and they'd let him have too brief a time pretending that they could all be together, a family, happy. Jones had taught him to read the stars and Milah gave him sword lessons, and in the end, when he learned that all they wanted was to know about the Dark One's dagger, they gave him over to Pan in exchange for a period of truce.

"Bae, please, understand," Milah begs. "Pan will never let you go. But us…he doesn't need us anymore. Do you really want us to be trapped here with you? Isn't that selfish, son?"

"You," he says coldly, "are not my mother. And I'm not leaving Neverland without Papa."

Her eyes turn steely gray. "So be it."

And before he can pull his hand from his pocket, she lunges at him.

They go down in a tangle of limbs. It takes him aback to realize that he's just as tall as her now, and much broader, bulkier. He slams her wrist down against the ground, but though she loses her sword, she draws back her other fist and punches him. Bae shakes the pain off and rolls over on top of her.

"What made you like this?" he asks as he uses all his weight to keep her shoulders pressed to the ground.

"Why don't you ask that coward you call a father?" she spits, and she hooks her leg around his knees, does something with her hand that plants bruises over his left ribs, and spins free of him.

"Stop blaming Papa for everything!" he cries as he scrambles to his feet. "This is you! You made choices! You decided to leave us! You're still choosing all this…piracy…over me! This is on you, Milah!"

At his side, he curls his hand around the dreamshade thorns. His heart is beating wildly in his chest. His lungs are collapsing. His mind races.

She's not my mother, he thinks—

And he slashes wildly outward at her with the thorns.

Killian slides between them, his sword raised to counter the weapon he thinks Bae has.

A line of red blooms across his left hand. The pirate curses and sweeps his sword in a cutting motion toward Bae, who falls backward to avoid the blade. An instant later, Mulan's there, her sword clashing with Jones's, and she drives him back.

Jones curses again and shakes his hand. Bae watches droplets of blood spray out to hit the ground. The only thing he can hear is his own breath, loud and ragged and echoing in his ears. He's dropped the thorns somewhere. He shouldn't have done that. Anyone could step on them. Fall on them.

Die on them.

"What did you do to me?" Jones asks. When he looks up, when his eyes lock on Bae's, there's a slow realization playing out there that Bae can't look away from.

"I'm sorry," Bae says. Or he thinks he does. He means to. He doesn't hear any words, though, just the sound of his mother screaming as Jones collapses backward.

"Dreamshade," Jones whispers. "Just like Liam."

"Killian? Killian!"

The fighting's stopped. Shang gestures his warriors back. Mulan stays positioned between the Darlings and the two pirates on the ground.

"What did you do?" Tinker Bell whispers behind him.

"I…I didn't mean to," he tries to say, but he's tired of lies and he can't force the words out.

"Don't leave me, my love," Milah whispers.

And some part of Bae, deeply buried, wonders what life might have been like if Milah hadn't left. If she'd stayed. If she'd tried to love Papa. If she cared about Bae at all.

"I…I love you," Killian whispers, his bloody hand caressing her face, and then he goes silent. Forever.

Milah's eyes move, glacially slow, up from her dead lover—to Bae.

"What—have—you—done?" she grits.

Belle is dreaming of daylight—bright sunlight, emerald green leaves, peaches ripe on the trees, and a brook that sparkles and murmurs a soothing lullaby—and of a picnic on lush grass, soft blanket, with laughter spilling from her lips. She's not alone, there's someone sitting next to her, and when she turns to hold a berry to his lips, she feels a burst of joy to find that it is Rumplestiltskin who's with her. Somewhere around, she knows in that way of dreams, Baelfire is here too, happy and safe and coming to throw himself down across from them, his arm over his eyes as he naps, his snores making Belle and Rumplestiltskin giggle quietly.

The feel of Rumplestiltskin sliding out from beneath her shatters the dream. Once more, she's in Neverland. It's night as it always is. The jungle is too close, the ocean too far, and the only thing she's had to eat for too long are whatever scraps the Lost Boys save for her.

Belle's just about to sit up and see why Rumplestiltskin is awake when she hears Pan speak.

"There's good, stop, don't move."

Closing her eyes, Belle breathes as evenly as possible and strains her hearing.

"Well, laddie, what do you say to one more joint outing for the pair of us. Just like old times, ey? Only, this time, I think you should play my part. What do you say?"

"I'm going to kill you," Rumplestiltskin hisses in the lowest, darkest tone Belle's ever heard. "I'm going to drain you dry of every drop of magic and watch you wither with age, shorten and stoop and turn decrepit. And then I'm going to make time move, second by second like sludge, so that you feel every bit of aging and dying, one breath at a time. I'm going to—"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you want to." Pan sounds bored. "But we both know that even if it were possible, you're not going to do any of those things. You love me too much."

"I hate you."

"Not this old tired song. Haven't we been through this before?" Pan's voice goes sing-song. "You don't hate me. You loooove me. Children always love their parents, don't they?"

There's silence except for the sound of Belle's blood rushing through her ears.

"Oh. Oops." Pan laughs. "I guess for cowards, maybe things are a little different. Your son came dangerously close to hating you once before. If you'd just held onto this dagger a little tighter, he would have hated you. But I think we can get him there today."

The dagger. Belle bites her lip, covers her mouth with her hand, holds her breath—anything to ensure she doesn't miss a thing. Pan has the dagger, as she guessed, but more than that, he's holding it right now.

What did Baelfire tell her, over and over again until she nearly grew sick of hearing it?

If you believe in something in Neverland, you make it true.

Belle wishes. No, no wishing, that's not enough. She believes with every particle of her being, every cell of her body, every fiber of her soul, every thought and breath she forms.

But her hand remains empty. Pan still has the dagger. And when they leave the hill, she is left alone and disillusioned.

Rumplestiltskin is torn in two. Half of him—the good half, he's sure, so maybe a smaller fraction than half—wishes more than anything that Pan is too late, that Bae is already gone, that his son has left Neverland with no plans to ever return. But the rest of him—the part that lifted a hammer, plunged a dagger into a man's chest, nearly let go of his son's hand—longs to see his son again.

Maybe Pan will let him touch Bae this time. Not to kill him, no, Pan needs him, so he won't kill him. But…maybe he'll get to brush his fingers across the back of his hand. Or, if he can dare to dream big, maybe Bae will reach out and take his hand in both of his, the way he used to do when he wanted Rumplestiltskin to really listen to him. He would kill for the chance to card his fingers through his son's hair. Or cup his cheek and feel that fuzz that proves he's turning into a man.

More than likely, he won't be allowed to touch at all.

Nausea burns at the back of Rumplestiltskin's throat as Pan's commands rise once more to the forefront.

Choose magic over him. Choose Neverland over him. Choose me over him. You know how it's done.

In the entire history of the Dark One, none of them have ever been able to resist the command of the dagger. Not one has even managed to delay in obeying the compulsion laid on them by their cursed talisman.

Rumplestiltskin intends to be the first.

Power burns in his hands, the magic begging to be unleashed after so long a time of restraint. Rumplestiltskin spreads his fingers wide and resists. If he were here of his own free will, he'd have loosed a sleeping spell through the clearing ahead of him to knock out everyone but the one blood-related to him. But since Pan is his master, he doesn't even suggest it. Instead, he strolls at Pan's side and hopes every single warrior here falls on the child-demon with squid ink and steel.

They don't.

In fact, it takes them an embarrassingly long moment to even realize that Pan and Rumplestiltskin are there. All of them are fixated on the sight of two people curled up together in the middle of the glen. Rumplestiltskin doesn't need enhanced sight or the shine of the moon to recognize the profile of the one sitting with a body in her lap—he saw it often enough in their small home, both of them sitting up to take care of their infant boy by the glow of embers.

Which means the body she's cradling must be her pirate lover. She certainly never shed tears over him.

It also means that Rumplestiltskin's believed a lie for far too long. Even if he did guess it often enough late at night when sleep won't come.

"I did try to offer you a deal," Pan says, all regret and concern and friendliness.

The effect on everyone there is electrifying. As commanded, Rumplestiltskin melts every sword to useless steel and repels anyone from getting too near him and Pan. It's child's play for him, which means he has plenty of time to drink in the sight of his boy.

Bae. Standing over his mother and the pirate. There's a thorny branch at his feet—dreamshade, Rumplestiltskin recognizes it, and suddenly can guess what's happened here—a tremor to Bae's face, and some new darkness in his eyes.

Oh, no, my boy, he thinks with a bolt of sorrow. I never wanted this for you. I should have been the one to kill him, not you.

He had his chance already, though, and failed to take it. Which means this is his fault. He was a coward and let the pirate live, let him take Milah and sail away, and now it is his son who's been forced to do the right thing and fight for what he loves.

"You're the one who sent them after me," Bae tells Pan. Despite the tears glittering there in his eyes, he sounds nothing but strong. Defiant. Uncowed.

His boy is so brave. So good. Nothing at all like him.

"Well, games always come with a bit of danger to them." Pan spreads his arms wide. "Else what's the point of playing them?"

When Bae looks back down to Milah, Pan lets his eyes roam across the others in the clearing. He sees something that seems to interest him, but Rumplestiltskin doesn't bother looking for himself. He refuses to look at anything but Bae. He's so close. Only two, possibly three, steps away. Rumplestiltskin could cross it in one and a half strides, could open his arms wide, could pull his boy into the protection of his embrace and hold him while he weeps. He'd let his boy be a child again, just for a while, just long enough so his papa could take care of things for him. He wouldn't let go until Bae was ready, would just hug him tightly enough that he'd never doubt how much he is loved.

If only.

The Dark One's dagger is stashed somewhere on Pan's person, and so Rumplestiltskin does nothing but stand there beside Pan and stop anyone from getting too close.

"Ah, Wendy, tire of the cage, did you? You're sure you wouldn't be happier kept where it's safe?"

"I'd be happier back at home," a little girl's voice says. For all its boldness, Rumplestiltskin can hear the tremble threaded through.

"But you begged me to take you to Neverland," Pan mocks. "You insisted. It was your dearest wish to escape the boring grown-up world of frocks and rules and manners, wasn't it?"

"Leave her alone," Bae orders him, sliding between Pan and the girl.

The movement brings him even closer to Rumplestiltskin, who rubs his thumb against his finger, yearning to reach out and catch up his son's hand in his own.

Once, long ago, in a better place and time, Bae insisted on holding his papa's hand every time they crossed the stream to reach the lowly pasture where their sheep would graze. Rumplestiltskin had been so afraid of his boy falling into the water, dashing his head against a stone, drowning beneath the current, that he'd insisted. But Bae can be stubborn and it wasn't until Rumplestiltskin told him that he needed his son's support that Bae chose to take his hand—eagerly, quickly, so willing to be a help to his papa. And afterward, he'd never once failed to stop and wait for his papa's hand.

Rumplestiltskin wishes he could speak to tell his boy that, once again, he needs his son's hand in his. It would even be the truth this time. He feels that if he cannot reach out, cannot make sure that his boy is really there, alive, in front of him, that he will die. Even the Dark One's immortality cannot wholly protect against the effects of a broken heart.

"Why did you bring Papa?"

For some reason, it startles Rumplestiltskin to hear Bae refer to him. It's been so long. Too long. His eyes fly up to Bae's, but Bae is staring at Pan.

"Well, he wanted to come," Pan lies. Or, well, it's not a complete lie. Rumplestiltskin did want to come see his son, but Pan didn't exactly give him the choice. "Was I supposed to lock him up or something?"

Bae narrows his eyes, his jaw tight. "Where's his dagger?"

A shock of cold fear slithers through Rumplestiltskin's veins.

"Didn't you have it?" Pan asks. "I tried to give it to you how many times? You're not saying…you didn't lose it. Did you?"

It's quick, masked almost instantly, but Rumplestiltskin notices the sliver of doubt, of unease, that worms through Bae's eyes.

Pan tsks. "You should learn how to hold onto the things that matter most, Baelfire."

"Enough," someone says. From behind the warriors, a man straightens up from his lounging posture against a tree. There's a tall hat in his hands that catches Rumplestiltskin's attention. Magic is woven through every thread of that hat. It all but glows to Rumplestiltskin's eyes, nearly blinding him to Bae.

His son. Stepping forward. Reaching his hand out toward Rumplestiltskin.

And Rumplestiltskin had looked away. The first time since seeing Bae again, for just an instant, but he missed it, that step and that reach, and by the time he catches it, it's too late.

The dark-haired man tosses his hat down to the ground with a flick of his hand and starts waving wildly toward it. "Everyone in, now!" he yells over the scream of the opening portal. "If you want out of Neverland, now is your chance."

"Papa!" Bae calls, and Rumplestiltskin's reaching back—

Too late.

Pan slides between them. "So you're off again, are you?" he asks. "You think I'll let you leave Neverland a second time?"

"I don't think you have a choice," Bae says, and he rips a coconut from his belt. It's hinged, latched in some way, but the instant he splits it open, a Shadow roars outward. Rumplestiltskin catches only a glimpse of its face, but the eyes are scarlet and violent, its mouth open in a ravening snarl. It looks feral in a way he's never seen any other Shadow.

"Shadows don't like being locked up," Bae says. Pan jerks backward, but he's not quite quick enough. The Shadow engulfs him in inkiness and lifts him into the sky.

"Papa," Bae says again, and Rumplestiltskin's eyes instantly latch onto his son.

He's going to be sick. There's bile in his throat, tears stinging in the backs of his eyes—and Bae's hand in his.

"Papa, it's time," Bae says. "We can leave. We can finally get out of here."

"Belle—" he tries to say, though his mouth is so dry that it emerges as a nearly unintelligible rasp.

"She's coming too," Bae says. He tugs at Rumplestiltskin's hand, drawing him back toward the portal where three children and five warriors have disappeared. "Come on, Papa, we have to go. This is our chance. I told you I'd save you. Come on."

"Bae." And Rumplestiltskin can't help himself. He lifts his free hand and runs it back through Bae's hair. It feels slightly different than he remembers, a bit thicker, not quite as soft, but still the most amazing feeling in any world. "Oh, Bae, my son. I miss you."

"I've missed you too, Papa, but we've got to go. There'll be time for this later. Come on, hurry, we have to go through the portal!"

Ten warriors are gone now, eleven, twelve—the realm-hopper is gesturing wildly to Milah, yelling at her to leave the body, there's no room for him—Milah is refusing—a female warrior starts toward her, ready to drag her into the portal—

"Papa, come on! This is our chance! Hurry!"

Rumplestiltskin tries to memorize every detail of his son's hand in his. The color of his eyes. The slant of his mouth. The way his fingers hold onto Rumplestiltskin's palm.

"I love you, son," he says. He's not sure Bae hears him over the roar of the whirling portal with the hat at its center. He's sure Bae doesn't see the flick of Rumplestiltskin's fingers that start dragging the pirate's body toward the realm-hopper. The female warrior throws Milah through, then gestures the final warriors through.

"It's now or never!" Jefferson shouts. "Come on, Baelfire!"

And Rumplestiltskin plants his feet and stops moving. The portal yawns open only a foot from Bae's feet.

The dagger's commands are a scream inside his mind. A noose around his heart. He resists. He throws all his will against it.

It's useless. He cannot break them.

"What are you doing?" Bae screams. "This is the only way!" He whirls on Rumplestiltskin and begins tugging, pulling, straining with all his might, but Rumplestiltskin doesn't budge.

Whatever it takes, Pan commanded him, the dagger right up against Rumplestiltskin's throat, you do not go through the portal.

"I'm sorry, Bae," Rumplestiltskin says. If there are tears on his face, the portal wicks them dry before Bae can see them. "I can't."

Bae stops moving. He goes utterly, frighteningly still.

"It's a trick," Rumplestiltskin says. "It'll tear us apart. I'll lose everything."

And he sees it, the instant Bae recognizes these words. This moment. This choice.

"You coward!" Bae spits. "You're too afraid to go through a portal? How can you choose to stay with Pan? Papa, I promise, you'll be safe. It'll be okay. I promise. Come with me, now!"

Rumplestiltskin moves his arm, just a bit, but enough so their clasped hands nudge his son closer to the portal. Behind him, Jones's body finishes its slow slide and plunges into the portal. The realm-hopper's eyes dart up to meet Rumplestiltskin's.

He understands. He knows what Rumplestiltskin intends.

"Papa, you have to believe me!" Bae yells. "Please, we can finally be together!" His cloak whips wildly in the wind, his hair all mussed, and more than almost anything, Rumplestiltskin wants to smooth his hair down. Kiss his cheek or his hand. Tell him he loves him.

He can do only one of those things.

"I love you, Bae," he says.

"Then come with me! Let me save you!"

Rumplestiltskin drinks in this final sight of his beautiful boy.

"I can't," he says.

And he lets go.

The realm-hopper wraps his arms around Bae's torso and pulls backward.

"Let go of me, Jefferson!" Bae screams, kicking and elbowing. "I can't leave! I'm not leaving without him. Papa!"

"You have to!" Jefferson shouts. "The hat will only take two more."

Rumplestiltskin thinks about turning so he doesn't have to see the instant Bae realizes what happened to the pirate's body, but that would mean giving up even a second of seeing his son. So he stays rooted in place, and watches as his son learns to hate him.

"Papa!"

And then the realm-hopper firms his grip on Rumplestiltskin's son and falls backward into the hat.

The portal winks out, taking the hat with it. Rumplestiltskin is left alone in a clearing, while above his head, a Shadow cradles Pan safely in his ebony arms. Pan's laughter swallows the echo of Bae's last scream.

Rumplestiltskin stays perfectly still so that he won't shatter into a million broken pieces.

The dagger's hold remains inviolate.

Belle is sitting on the very peak of the hill when Pan allows Rumplestiltskin back. She stands as soon as she sees him walking toward her. Pan is nowhere in sight—the dagger is enough to compel the Dark One here, she supposes—but there is something different, something brittle, in the way Rumplestiltskin is moving.

"Rumple?" she says.

He doesn't look at her. He doesn't even seem to hear her. As soon as his feet hit the peak, fulfilling whatever command Pan used, he stops in place, and then just…stands there.

"Rumple?" she says again. Drifting closer, she lets her hand tentatively rest on his arm. The shudder that rolls through him is like a quake that scrapes the tectonic plates of his soul. It shatters the blank stare on his face and Belle barely catches him in time as he keels over into her arms. Sobs are torn from his throat, so choked, so gasping and ugly, that Belle feels terror pushing her toward outright panic.

"Rumple! What is it? What happened to Bae?"

"He's gone," Rumplestiltskin keens, though it takes long minutes for her to be able to interpret the words through his harsh sobs. "He's gone forever. I pushed him away. It's my fault. It's my fault."

"No." Belle lowers them both to their knees and paws at his shoulders, his chest, trying to reach all the way around him so she can hold all of him in her arms. His face falls into her collarbone, smearing her throat with his heated tears, her skin chilled beneath the force of his ragged inhales. "No, no, no, none of this is your fault, Rumple."

"He's my son," he moans. "My son. And I let him go. I let him go. I couldn't fight for him."

"You had no choice." She presses her mouth into his hair, into his skull, trying to impress these words beneath flesh and bone, into mind and soul. "The dagger made you."

"I should have been able to resist it. I should have—"

"Shh. No. No, Rumple, this isn't your fault."

"He's gone." It's a whimper and a cry and a scream all at once, and it shakes Belle down to the very depths of her being. "I'll never see him again. He's gone forever. And he hates me."

"No." It's all she can say. It's all she knows to do, just to hold onto him as tightly as she can, rocking him gently back and forth, trying—and failing—to soothe him. "No. No, that's not true. You will see him again."

Baelfire is safe. He's free.

And now that he's gone, Belle can finally think about the fact that there's a tiny pouch hidden inside her shirt. Within that pouch, she's certain, even though she's never dared look, there is a tiny reserve of pixie dust. The last of Baelfire's hoard. The amount he kept back just to make sure he could return to Neverland if he needed to.

And if it would have brought him here, then it can take her and Rumplestiltskin back.

But not without his dagger.

"You will see him again," she whispers fiercely. "I promise."

Rumplestiltskin cannot hear her. He is lost to the depths of his grief. "My boy," he whispers, over and over again until Belle knows she will hear this tortured sound in her nightmares for the rest of her life. "My boy. My beautiful boy."

"Shh," Belle murmurs. She presses her cheek against his head, lets his hair soak up her own salty tears, and learns that it is actually possible for her to hate someone. She will never forgive Pan for this. She will never forget it, and she will not rest until he pays for inflicting this torment on a father and his beloved son.

"My boy, my boy…"

I love you, she thinks as Rumplestiltskin weeps, his sobs impressed past her breastbone and straight into her heart. I love you.

It's true, she realizes. She does love him. And so in the same moment that she learns hate, she also learns a love so fierce it births a bravery she will never let die.

"I'm here, Rumple," she whispers, and knows that eventually, he will hear her.