A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S1E21—An Apple as Red as Blood, S1E22—A Land without Magic. Regina was the first daughter born to Lady Cora. While the quote Emma recalls was first uttered by Sherlock Holmes, Emma strikes me as someone more likely to have watched Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (Paramount, 1991) than to have read The Sign of the Four (Lippincott's Monthly Magazine, 1890).

Chapter 55

Neal wasn't sure what to do next. Emma was probably long gone by now. He rather thought that something would draw her back—the Curse, her destiny, he didn't know. He remembered that she'd told him she'd crashed into a sign the first time she'd tried to leave, so maybe she was still here. On the other hand, she'd been able to leave to pack up her stuff. Maybe the Curse knew if you were planning to come back and only kept you here if you weren't?

He couldn't afford to rely on that theory.

His head was spinning; it had been a long night. Upon reaching the cabin, he'd collapsed on the bed from sheer exhaustion, but looking at the sun outside now, he didn't think he'd slept for more than a couple of hours, and he'd left the sandwiches behind at the sheriff's station. A quick search of the cupboards in the kitchenette area of the main room yielded several cans of beans—some water-packed, some baked, and two refried—a box of Ener-G egg replacer, cooking oil, some Jell-O and pudding mixes, a box of saltines, and a few basic seasonings. He'd had worse breakfast options.

There were pots and pans in one of the lower cabinets. Neal took out a small saucepan and grabbed one of the cans of baked beans. He wished he had an onion, and maybe some carrots and mushrooms to add to it, but this would do. He'd never seen a can of beans with a pull-tab before, he thought with a smile. Saved him the trouble of scrounging for a can opener. A minute later, the beans were heating on the stove. He reached up for the saltines.

Once he had some food in him, he'd start planning his next move. Which was, he suspected, to try to find the right words so that when he did catch up with Emma again, he'd be able to get her to listen!

Any other time, Emma would have relished catching the mayor off-guard, but not today. "This…" she cast about desperately for the right words. "What we're doing is a problem, and I'm going to go," she repeated quickly, "but I have conditions. I still get to see Henry. I get to visit and spend time, whatever."

Regina shook her head. "And you get to see him." To Emma's ears, it sounded like an accusation. "You're still in his life."

Emma exhaled. "Look," she said, "in any deal, both parties are a little unhappy. But, let's be honest – we both know the world where I'm not in his life no longer exists, and there's no one who can do anything about that."

The beeping of a kitchen timer startled her and cut off whatever Regina had been about to say. The mayor regarded her for a moment, her face inscrutable. Then, she gave a slight nod. "You're right," she admitted. She gestured toward the kitchen. "Would you mind following me for a moment?"

Emma obeyed. Something definitely smelled amazing. She watched as Regina opened the oven and removed a baking tray with a single turnover in its center. What kind of recipe only made one turnover?

"So," Regina said, "what are you proposing?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "We'll just… figure it out as we go." Unless she could find a lawyer who thought she had a better case than Gold or Archie, anyway.

Regina nodded. "But he's my son," she said.

It sounded like a challenge, but Emma didn't rise to the bait. "Yeah." She turned to go, but Regina called her back.

"Oh, Miss Swan?" She smiled. "Maybe a little something for the road?" She held up a Tupperware container and gestured to the turnover.

Emma smiled back. She might have been suspicious had Regina turned up on her doorstep with the pastry, but it had been in the oven before she'd even got here. She'd watched enough sit-coms to know about potential dirty tricks: hot peppers in the filling, laxatives in the dough... And yes, if Regina had meant the turnover for her all along, those were possibilities. But Regina wasn't some adolescent 'mean girl'. And now that Emma was leaving town, even if she had been, there was no need for such tactics. The mayor had won and she knew it. This was a peace offering. She nodded her appreciation. "Thanks."

Regina shrugged. "If we're going to be in each other's lives, it's time we start being cordial. My famous turnovers. Old recipe. But delicious." She slid the turnover into the container and handed it to Emma.

Emma thanked her again.

"I do hope you like apples," Regina said, and for a moment, Emma's thoughts flashed on her first morning with Henry, when he'd grabbed one of Regina's apples out of her hand and tossed it away. Kids, she thought with wry affection, as she tucked the container under her arm and made her exit.

The easy part was over. Now, she had to break the news to Henry.

He had to talk to his father. Papa was awake. According to Henry's book, he'd demanded to know the name of the Savior who would break the Dark Curse when Snow White and Prince David—or 'Charming' if that was what you preferred, though Neal didn't—had gone to him for help. He had to know that Emma was so freaked out that she was planning on leaving town.

What made him think Papa didn't already know? Papa was always quietly observing, looking for some advantage, some angle…

Yeah, but if Emma were to leave then the Curse would never be broken, and Papa wanted it broken—

—To find me. Papa got the Evil Queen to cast the Curse so that he could cross to this realm to find me. So, what happens, when I walk through his front door, tell him the Curse will never be broken if the Savior cuts and runs, and he asks me just how I know about any of it. And once I tell him, assuming he's calmed down from the other night and he lets me talk long enough to establish my bona fides, once he knows who I am, will he even care if Emma breaks the Curse or not?

He had to think this over carefully. Papa might have the answers he needed, but approaching him might cause more problems than it solved. He had to figure out the right way to do this. And he had to do it before Emma left Storybrooke for good.

Assuming she hadn't already done so.

Emma held the walkie in one hand, its weight feeling heavier than it had a right to. She didn't have to do this. She could just… drive away. She could leave a note with Archie or Mary Margaret. Or Regina, now that they were on good terms. No, Emma thought. Maybe she was judging unfairly, but she couldn't help suspecting that Regina would shred any correspondence between her and Henry and let him think that Emma had left without a word. Archie might think it 'wasn't in Henry's best interests' somehow. Mary Margaret might forget. Worse, she might give Emma another lecture, this time about abandoning the son she'd spent years hoping to find. She could almost hear her friend's voice swooping and rising in agitation once more.

No, she had to tell Henry herself. Before she could change her mind, she stabbed the push-to-talk switch. "Code red," she said tensely. "Code red."

"Emma?" Henry spoke up almost at once. "You're lucky it's recess; it would've been really weird if you'd called when I was in class."

"Sorry about that," Emma said. "Uh… how soon can you come over? I need to talk to you."

"Uh… can it wait till after school?"

Emma swallowed hard. "Not really."

"Um… okay. Lunch is at twelve-thirty. I'll come over then. As long as I can make it back in time to see Archie, Mom probably won't find out."

"No problem," Emma replied. "It won't take that long. But I really want to see you as soon as possible."

"Okay," said Henry. "I'll see you at lunch." Then, hurriedly, "There's the bell. I gotta go."

The communication ended abruptly. In her kitchen, Emma nodded sadly as she looked at the walkie in her hand.

Rumpelstiltskin had been polishing the same Regency period bronze hound sculpture since Regina's visit nearly an hour ago. He would have been lying had he said he wasn't concerned. He shouldn't be. He knew he shouldn't be. Destiny was destiny, after all, and Emma Swan's destiny was to break the Dark Curse. It would be done.

Then again, the Savior had proved remarkably recalcitrant, thus far.

And yet, the Curse was cracking, slowly but surely.

Regina had sounded so smug when she'd informed him of her victory.

But one oughtn't to sell one's apples before they ripened. Emma was hardly cursed, yet.

Was she?

For a moment, Rumple's blood ran cold, as he considered the possibility. Then he dismissed it. Had Ms Swan already succumbed to a sleeping curse, Regina wouldn't have just sailed into his shop to inform him of what she'd done. No, she would have invited him on some pretext, so that he might see the results for himself. Oh, he had no doubt she'd crafted such a curse; why would she lie about it? But until Ms. Swan lay as one dead before him, he would not despair.

He'd just keep polishing this hound as though nothing was amiss. Because clearly, nothing was.

Once the Curse broke, the first thing he was going to do after restoring magic was craft himself a wheel. In his opinion, spinning was a far more relaxing pastime than polishing!

When her doorbell rang, Emma hesitated for a moment before she wiped her hands on her jeans, steeled herself toward the task at hand, and opened the door to admit her son. "Hey, Emma," Henry greeted her. "Everything okay? You sounded strange over the walkie."

Emma tried to smile and mean it. "Oh, um…" She shook her head. "No, I'm okay. Just, um… Yesterday, when I tried to take you away, you were right. I can't take you out of Storybrooke. But I can't stay either."

Henry blinked. "What?"

It had been easier saying it to Regina. "I have to go."

"Go?" Henry repeated. "You mean leave Storybrooke?"

Emma nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. "Yeah. I spoke to Regina, and we made a deal. I'm still going to be able to see you, just not… every day."

Henry was shaking his head desperately. "No!" he cried. "No, you can't trust her!"

She wanted to tell him everything, but she didn't dare. If they could get to Neal, they could get to Henry. Suppose he let something slip to Archie in one of his sessions? He was a kid; he might be able to keep a secret, but subtlety wasn't his strong point. For now, all he could know was that she was leaving because it was best for him. Of course, he wasn't buying it.

"You're just scared," Henry persisted. "This happens to all heroes. It's just the low moment before you fight back."

"Henry!" Emma exclaimed. "This isn't a story. This is reality. And things have to change. You can't skip school, you can't run away, and… You can't believe in curses." He had to act like a normal ten-year-old until she could bring the help that would give him the opportunity to be one for real.

Eyes wide, Henry stammered, "Y-you really don't believe?"

She didn't, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him that she'd been lying and playing along with his fantasies all these months. This was already hard enough. "I… This is how it has to be right now. I made a deal, and I used my superpower. She's telling the truth. She's going to take really good care of you."

"Yes," Henry said, "but she wants you dead. What about Dad?"

Emma swallowed hard. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean," Emma said, "we had a fight and I haven't seen him since. He might be sticking around, or he might follow me back to Boston. I just… don't know."

"But he might be staying."

"Yeah."

For a moment, hope flared in her son's eyes. Then he shook his head. "It won't be enough to break the curse," he said. "You're the only one who can."

Emma fought not to cry, but stress and frustration were doing a number on her. "Come on, Henry!"

"You're the only one that can stop her," Henry insisted stubbornly.

"Stop her from what?" Emma cried. "All she's ever done is fight for you. When I fought back, it just… got out of hand and you got caught in the middle. I never wanted to do that to you, and I'm sorry."

Henry's eyes were watering, but he managed a jerky nod. Then he flung himself at Emma and she hugged him back. And then, Henry exclaimed in a very different tone of voice, "Where did you get that?"

Emma blinked. Her son was staring at the Tupperware container on the table. "Regina gave it to me," she said.

Henry charged over to it and lifted the lid. "Apple!" he cried excitedly

Emma tilted her head to one side. "So?"

"You can't eat that," Henry told her. "It's poison."

Okay, this was really getting out of hand. "What?"

"Don't you see?" Henry implored. "The deal… It was all a trick to get you to eat that, to get rid of the Savior."

"Henry," Emma tried to put herself in her son's shoes and reminded herself that he was trying to find the words that would make her stay, "come on. Why would she do that when I just told her I was going to go?"

"Because as long as you're alive," Henry informed her, "you're a threat to the curse."

If anyone heard him talking like this, before or after she left town… She remembered the incident several months ago when Archie had threatened Henry with institutionalization. He'd dropped the idea, but if Henry persisted in talking about curses and poison and… "Henry, you've got to stop thinking like this."

"But it's the truth!" Henry cried. "And you leaving isn't going to change that."

Emma sighed and picked up the turnover. "I'll prove it to you," she said, raising the pastry to her lips.

Henry's eyes widened. "No!" he shrieked, snatching it from her hand.

"Henry…" Emma said, "What are you doing?"

Henry stood before her, nervous but determined, as he replied, "I'm sorry it had to come to this. You may not believe in the curse… or in me. But I believe in you." And he bit into the turnover.

Despite her skepticism, Emma's eyes widened as, for just an instant, she wondered whether Henry was right. Then she rolled her eyes. "See?" she asked him wearily. "You want to have some ice cream with that? And then we can go back to talking about…"

Henry suddenly collapsed.

Emma sprang forward, still hoping that he was fooling her. "Henry?" Her son didn't move. "Henry?" She slapped at his face lightly. No reaction. "Henry!"

Rumpelstiltskin paused from his polishing as the yellow Volkswagen sped past his shop. His first thought was that Ms. Swan was driving far faster than the speed limit permitted. One lip curled scornfully. So. Grant anyone a measure of power or authority and watch it turn their head, no matter how noble or virtuous they might have been without it.

His second thought was that there had been an emergency light blinking on the roof of the car as it tore down Main Street. Well. That was a bit worrisome. Perhaps, Regina had successfully placed the Savior under a sleeping curse, and Mr. Cassidy was even now conveying her to the hospital. Catastrophic if true but, he reminded himself forcefully, there was no point in jumping to conclusions before one had confirmed all the facts.

Destiny was destiny. No matter how one might twist and turn and try to evade it, it would bear out. Because of his actions on the battlefield, Bae had ultimately grown up fatherless. The Lady Cora's firstborn daughter had cast the Dark Curse. And the Savior would break it. Perhaps it wouldn't happen in the way he'd expected, but happen it would. There was no doubt in his mind. None.

He was going to need to make up another batch of brass polish at this rate.

It was a good thing that there were no cars on the road. As much as Emma tried to concentrate on her driving, her gaze kept straying to the pale unmoving boy beside her, his eyes closed, his breathing faint, his hand—when she brushed it—cold and clammy to her touch.

Her eyes flicked to her rearview mirror, to reassure her that Henry's knapsack was still there. So was the turnover, now in a plastic bag. She should've left it in the container; it wouldn't run the risk of getting crushed, but she'd been moving on autopilot once Henry collapsed. Get him to the hospital. Get his stuff in case you can't come back for it. Take the turnover; it's evidence. Evidence goes in an evidence bag. She'd even used salad tongs to pick it up; no fingerprints of hers to confuse matters. Now, she was wondering how she could have been both so smart and so stupid at the same time.

How the hell had she thought she could trust Regina? Why hadn't she believed her son? How did she keep trusting all the wrong people?

It was easier to beat herself up with these questions than ask the most important one.

Is Henry going to be okay?

She stole another glance at her son and drove faster.

His breathing was growing ever fainter, as she carried him into the hospital, but after a frantic shout to the triage nurse, a team of medical staff quickly gathered about them. In less than a moment, Henry was on a gurney, and Whale was bending over him, pulling back an eyelid to check pupil response.

Emma fought to stay by him. "Henry, can you hear me?" She couldn't go through this again. She'd thought it had been rough when Graham had died in front of her. This was her son! "Come on, Henry," she begged, "wake up, please. Come on, Henry. Come on. You can do it." She had no clue if he could hear her, but she knew that coma patients sometimes responded to what was going on around them. Henry had taught her that. Or at least, he'd believed it, and then David— She wasn't going to think about David now. Henry needed her.

A nurse took her arm and started to pull her away. "Ma'am, let me take you to—"

Emma shook her off. "No, I am not going anywhere!"

Dr. Whale looked up, his expression serious as he motioned to the nurse to leave her. "There's no pupil response," he informed Emma. "What happened? Did he fall? Hit his head?"

Emma brandished the plastic bag. "He ate this," she told him. "I think it's poisoned."

Whale's eyes grew slightly wider, but he shook his head. "His airway's clear," he said. "Did he vomit? Any convulsion or disorientation?"

He was trying to help her son. Emma knew he had to ask these questions, but Henry seemed to be slipping away before her, so pale and so still, under the breathing mask now fixed over his nose and mouth. Fear lent fury to her voice, as she shook the bag for emphasis. "He took a bite of this, and then he just collapsed. So, run the tests for arsenic, or bleach, or Drano, or whatever could've done this to him!"

"The boy is showing no symptoms that would suggest neurotoxins," Whale told her, his own calm fraying a bit as he went on. "So, whatever's going on, this is not the culprit."

Emma blinked. "Well, what else could it be?" she asked, not rhetorically, but curiously.

"I don't know," Whale admitted, marginally calmer. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"He's going to be okay, though, right?" Emma asked.

From the way Whale looked at her, Emma felt her heart sink clear down to her stomach. "Right now," he said, "we just need to stabilize him, 'cause he's slipping away. Is there anything else that you can remember? Any little detail?"

Emma shook her head as her panic rose to the forefront once more. "I already told you everything. Do something!" She spun on her heel, knowing that she had to get back and let the doctor get to work instead of trying to placate her, but she couldn't just stand on the sidelines and do nothing! Yes, she could, and she had to. If anything happened to Henry because Whale was too busy trying to fend her off, then… She picked up Henry's knapsack and opened it, dumping its contents onto an unoccupied cot, just on the off-chance that there might be something inside that would give her some clue. An epi-pen, or an anti-venin kit, or… maybe something that the hospital wouldn't have in stacks in some supply closet…

Whale took a couple of steps toward her. "Look," he said, and she could hear the strain in his voice as he fought to keep his tone even, "I understand you're frustrated, Miss Swan, I do. But I need something to treat. And, right now, there is no explanation. It's like…"

Emma's jaw dropped slightly, as she saw Henry's storybook lying among his binders and textbook. "Like magic," she finished.

Last week, she and Neal had spent a chunk of Sunday afternoon watching Star Trek VI on TV. Now, Spock's words sprang sharply into her head. "When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Scarcely knowing what she was doing, Emma lifted the storybook with both hands and gasped.

Images and voices assaulted her senses, each more vivid than the next. She absorbed them all. She believed. She knew.

Her life would never be the same again.