In Storybrooke, Mr. Gold strives to be the man Bae used to love--until Belle is kidnapped to Neverland. If he resumes his Dark One powers to save her, can he control them? In the Enchanted Forest, Emma battles ogres, zombies and her ex to get back h...
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Henry: So, I'm a prisoner because you love me. (We Are Both).
Mr. Gold studied the fringed checkered scarf laid out on his work table. The colors were fortunate—black like the night and silver like the moon. The trick was to concoct the right potion to infuse it with the power to prevent Ruby from turning until she'd regained her confidence in controlling the changes herself. Happily, his store of magical herbs—like the citizens of Storybrooke—had not aged during the long years of the curse. He was certain he had some wolf's bane somewhere.
Twisting to the shelf behind him, he summoned the ancient, rat-chewed volume he'd mentioned to Dr. Hopper: The Ins and Outs of Transformation.
He cast his gaze down the table of contents. He'd never enchanted an object to arrest a transformation before. It would have helped if Ruby had known whether her family's shape shifting was an inherent trait or a perpetuated curse. For that matter, she could be descended from a long line of sapient wolves. In that case, the human guise she carried off, so beautifully for all but a few moonlit hours per month could be the aberrant state. For all he knew, her natural form could be the wolf.
* * * * *
By late morning, Peter Pan still hadn't given the Fire Swamp camp a plan. In fact, he hadn't emerged from the vine-draped lean-to where he'd spent the night. When Slightly had walked in with his breakfast, he'd walked out with it uneaten.
Emma wouldn't eat, either, Snow thought. But at least she'd surrendered her marathon on watch duty and was now asleep. Was Peter sleeping, too?
Snow folded her arms. Time for explanations. Putting on her most authoritative fourth grade teacher face, she strode up to the littlest Lost Boy Alfie who was playing sentry. She snapped out a salute and—before he could object—swept back the snarled vines and entered Peter's sanctum.
He was sitting cross-legged on his grass mat, clasping his head, looking more lost than the boys outside.
"So," she began, "my grandson's father is Peter Pan. I've read about you."
He raised his head. "Good or bad?"
"A little of both."
He gave her a lopsided smile. "And you're Snow White. Back in the Earth dimension, you have a rep, too. But you don't look like the pushover everyone says."
"Thanks." Snow brushed off the other mat and sat. "If you're talking about the cursed apple, the Evil Queen didn't fool me into eating it. I took a bite, so she'd spare Charming's life."
"The Evil Queen." Peter groaned. "That's who Emma said adopted our son."
"Not as bad as it sounds. Henry's the one person she'd never harm. She truly loves him."
Peter sagged. "She's probably not a worse parent than I would have been."
Snow studied him. The dimples that had flared from the corners of his brown eyes when he'd zoomed up the day before were gone. Instead, dejection lined his forehead as it had when Emma had stomped off. "Now I know how you differ from your storybook version. You're not conceited."
