Their Way By Moonlight: The Curse (Chapter 12)
In which the morning brings some surprising revelations, we see a bit more of Snowing and Henry has a theory about the curse.
a/n: Just to say again that although I am rubbish at replying to comments and reviews I cherish every one and all of you reading this story. Thank you.
Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)
Rating: A hard M
Tagging: @teamhook @kmomof @resident-of-storybrooke @thejollyroger-writer @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @lfh1962 @laschatzi @katie-dub @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @winterbaby89 @thisonesatellite
Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please do say so.
Read it on AO3
The Curse:
Mary Margaret Nolan had her routine, and she liked it. The steady progression of one day following on from another in exactly the same manner reassured her, gave her a sense control that was all the more crucial for being wholly illusory.
Of course Mary Margaret knew it was illusory. She knew all too well how little choice she had in her life, how little choice she had ever had. For as long as she could remember people had been making choices for her, starting with her father, on to her husband, and then finally to her boss. She’d had no say in the person she married, the place she lived, or the work she did, but there were still some things she could choose, and Mary Margaret clung to those things as a lifeline of her identity.
She chose to rise early each day and have a few peaceful hours to herself in the office before Zelena arrived trailing chaos in her wake and grinding Mary Margaret’s confidence to a nub. She chose to enjoy a healthy breakfast every morning, fresh vegetables and protein to refuel her body and keep it strong. She chose to ignore the husband who had no aims in life save to squander her inheritance on cars and booze, and whenever the emptiness became too much to bear she chose to seek refuge in alcohol herself.
That happened more often than she cared to admit.
She wished she could hate David for it, for the ruination of all the sweet and shining hopes she’d had before she married him, hopes of love and family and true partnership with her spouse. But that would require feeling something for him and she simply… didn’t. He left her cold, and she had no more interest in trying to change him than she did in getting to know him. He was what he was; a weak and shallow man whose failings weren’t his fault any more than her discontent was hers. They had the life that fate had dealt them and there was nothing either could do to change it.
Change was not a thing that happened in Storybrooke.
Until, one morning, it did.
Mary Margaret awoke as she always did, alone in her overlarge bed. The expensive sheets were smooth and silky around her, the pillows and mattress soft, but they did not tempt her to linger. She arose and showered briskly, not idling beneath the warm spray any more than she had between the warm sheets. She was eager to be on her way, preferring to spend her morning in the quiet solitude of her office where she could think.
She dressed in the outfit she had set out the night before, another of her crisply professional suits in the retro style she favoured. The suits were another part of her routine; pre-packaged outfits with shoes and accessories already perfectly paired, absolving her of the need to put any thought into how she adorned her body.
It didn’t matter what she wore, there was no one in her life who cared enough to notice.
A swipe of the mascara brush and a dab of the lipstick tube and she was ready for the day. With the briefest glance in the mirror to ensure that her hair was tidy and all her ends tucked in, she headed to the kitchen for breakfast.
Halfway down the stairs she became aware of something… something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, only that it was Not Right. Just a tickle in the back of her mind, of the sort that makes you doubt you’ve turned off the stove or locked the front door, once it’s too late to do anything about it. Something wasn’t as it should be, and Mary Margaret’s pace slowed as she tried to figure out what was off. A few more hesitant steps and she’d identified it.
She couldn’t smell coffee.
Mary Margaret stopped, her feet on different stairs as her hand gripped the bannister. She didn’t drink coffee herself but the smell of it was part of her routine. Every morning Regina made a pot, freshly brewed for David. Every morning, without fail.
Her brow crinkled with a frown and she hurried down the rest of the stairs, bursting through the kitchen door to find the room empty, cold and austere in the early morning light.
Mary Margaret reeled. Every day, for as long as she could remember, she’d come downstairs at six thirty to find Regina preparing her breakfast, the coffee already brewed and waiting for David to arrive and drink his single cup. Every. Day. Yet somehow it seemed that every day was not this day, and Mary Margaret leaned heavily against the countertop as she struggled to process this turn of events, groping for the proper reaction, for any kind of emotional response. Should she be angry? Indignant? Concerned for Regina? None of those reactions seemed quite right.
“Regina!” she called, and the word echoed through the bright and immaculate emptiness of the room. Of the house.
There was no response.
Mary Margaret turned and ran back up the stairs, all the way up to the attic where Regina slept. She knew the other woman wasn’t there, as people always know when a normally occupied house is empty, but she had to check anyway, to see for herself.
The room was indeed unoccupied, and though the bed was unmade it didn’t look as though it had been properly slept in. Mary Margaret looked around but nothing else in the small, plain room seemed at all amiss. Regina kept it admirably tidy.
Mary Margaret walked slowly back downstairs, trying to remember the last time she’d seen Regina. The housemaid was also a part of her routine, someone who existed to keep her life ordered and tidy and give her some small satisfaction in knowing that at least one person in Storybrooke was more miserable than she. But she paid little attention to Regina’s comings and goings unless there was a problem, and she had to rack her brains to recall their last interaction. Mary Margaret had come home from work yesterday afternoon feeling awful; Zelena had been in a terrible mood and had shouted at her before storming out of the office. She hadn’t returned, Mary Margaret recalled, but the damage had been done and upon returning home Mary Margaret had gone straight for the drinks trolley, numbing herself until none of it mattered anymore. She’d rung for Regina but the maid hadn’t appeared, and eventually she had forgotten what she’d even wanted as the cloud of alcohol had settled over her.
She returned to the kitchen and sat down at the table, rubbing her temples as she tried to think. The sound of the front door opening startled her, and she looked up just as David appeared in the doorway, dishevelled and stinking of booze but with a brightness in his eyes she couldn’t recall ever seeing in them before.
“Hey,” he said, looking around the room. “Is everything okay?”
Mary Margaret bit back a sharp retort. Did he think everything looked okay? “No,” she said. “It isn’t. Regina’s not here. I can’t find her anywhere.”
“Huh,” David frowned. “That’s not like her.”
“No. No it definitely is not. Considering it’s her job to be here.”
“Um,” David rubbed his own temples, clearly trying to think through his hangover. “Do you think we should, I don’t know. Contact the authorities or something?”
Mary Margaret shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know how long she’s been missing though, do we need to wait twenty-four hours?”
“I don’t know.” He gave a pained chuckle. “Maybe we should go see the sheriff.”
Mary Margaret nodded. “I can go before work. It’s on my way.”
“No.” David went to the sink and poured himself a large glass of water, gulping it down in one go as his wife gaped at him.
“What?” she hissed.
“I want to go too. To the station.” He turned to look at her and she noticed that the brightness in his eyes seemed to have spread to the rest of his features. He looked younger, somehow eager. Interested. Engaged. After years of blank apathy, enthusiasm stood out on his face like a flare in a dark night.
“Um,” said Mary Margaret, unsure of how to respond. “Okay. I guess. Er, do you want to go now? It’s already later than I usually leave.”
David looked down at himself, his mouth twisting wryly at his appearance. “Can you give me twenty minutes to shower and change?”
“I suppose.” There was no real reason she had to be in the office so early, she just liked to have the time to herself. And something in David’s eyes wouldn’t let her say no.
He grinned, and she gasped as something fluttered in her belly. “Great. I’ll be as quick as I can.” He strode from the room, leaving her staring after him wondering just what the hell was going on.
To distract herself Mary Margaret made coffee. And toast. With real bread, not the gluten free. She spread it thickly with butter and jam then poured two cups of coffee, leaving David’s black but adding cream and sugar to hers.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had coffee, or butter on her toast. Had she ever?
David returned, fresh and still slightly damp from his shower and Mary Margaret’s chest became oddly tight, the flutter in her belly growing stronger.
“I made breakfast,” she told him, gesturing at the plates. “Such as it is.”
He smiled. “Looks great.”
His smile made his eyes twinkle and Mary Margaret felt a very unexpected jolt of something low in her belly; something hot and twisty that caught at her breath and made her heart beat faster and her head spin with confusion. How was it possible that they had been married all these years and she’d never noticed how beautiful his eyes were? The sharp cut of his jaw? The lopsided grin that made those crystalline eyes glow with warmth and humour?
How had she failed to notice that her husband was gorgeous?
She stared at him as he took a drink of coffee, watching his throat work as he swallowed, watching his hand clasp the piece of toast and his arm flex as he lifted it to his mouth. He had nice arms, she thought, and broad shoulders, and how had she never noticed any of this before? It felt like she was seeing him for the first time.
He made a small noise in the back of his throat as he chewed his toast, and the twisty feeling in her belly became a tight clench. Mary Margaret gulped her coffee in an attempt to hide her turmoil, looking away from him. She picked up her own toast, taking a large bite, and when she looked up again David was watching her.
“Good?” he asked, indicating her toast with a nod of his head. His voice had a rasp that hadn’t been there earlier.
She nodded, her mouth to full for speech. “Mmmmm,” she said.
“So’s mine,” he replied, his eyes on her mouth as she swallowed. “Thanks for making it.”
“It’s just toast and jam.”
“I know. But thanks.”
Their gazes met and held and tension thickened the air between them, drawing out unbearably over minutes that seemed endless until Mary Margaret began to wish for a lightning strike or a meteor to hit just so something would happen. Then David leaned forward, just slightly, his eyes dropping to her mouth again, and the spell was broken. Mary Margaret stepped back far enough that she could breathe and downed her coffee quickly, setting the rest of her toast aside. She’d lost her appetite.
“You ready to go?” she asked, not looking at David.
“Yeah.” His voice held disappointment, and relief.
He finished his own coffee and set his cup in the sink next to hers. She kept her eyes down and her breathing steady, ignoring the heat of his body behind her and the smell of his soap in her nostrils until he moved away, grabbing his jacket and keys and heading for the door. With a pounding heart and shaking hands she picked up her purse and followed him.
---
Regina sat at Emma’s desk watching Henry as he slept, curled up on the small sofa in the corner of the office, his face pressed into the armrest and his mouth open. She hadn’t slept at all herself, not an unusual state of affairs for her under this curse, but at least this time it was her choice. She wished to keep an eye on Zelena —and feast her eyes on Henry— far more than she wished to rest.
Henry had spent most of the previous night filling her in on everything that had happened to him since he and Emma left Storybrooke, from his life in New York to getting his memories back, to Emma’s departure and the year he’d spent with Ho— with Killian, researching, gathering information, preparing to come to Storybrooke themselves.
“Dad wanted to go right away,” he said, but then Mom told him in a dream —did they tell you that they have the same dreams?”
“They did,” confirmed Regina.
She still hadn’t recovered from hearing it. If Killian and Emma really did share dreams then that meant they were soulmates of a sort she’d only read about —and she had read a lot about soulmates— and recalling how she had mocked Killian about their hasty-seeming marriage made her wish that it weren’t so undignified to squirm. This conscience she had apparently grown over the past year was extremely inconvenient.
“Cool,” said Henry, oblivious to the turmoil of her thoughts. “So anyway, Dad wanted to come to Storybrooke immediately, but Mom told him in a dream to wait. She said we needed to be better prepared than she had been, and Dad said that was for bloody sure because she always attacked first and thought later and she needed to learn to strategise—” Regina nodded in reluctant agreement at this, “— and so that’s what we did.”
Henry paused to take a sip of the soda she’d bought him from the vending machine before continuing. “Dad has this friend, he knew him in Neverland, he’s like some elf or fairy or something, Dad was always really vague about it, but anyway he has this amazing bookstore in Queens with sooo many books on magic, like everything you could ever want to know. He taught Mom how to use her magic, actually, before she came to Storybrooke, and then after she left he let us use his books to do research —we called it Operation Scorpion, cuz Mom was undercover and you know, the sting in the tail, like a secret weapon— and he gave Dad a job so he could go to night school and learn about things like running a business and just sort of general stuff about how our world works.” He took another drink, and crunched a potato chip.
“So Captain Hook was working at a bookstore,” Regina prompted, needy for details, and for the sound of his voice. Henry grinned.
“Yeah, seems weird right? Dad had, like, loads of doubloons hidden in his pirate coat and he found a dealer he could sell them to but he didn’t want to sell them all at once cuz he said it would attract unwelcome attention, so he needed a normal job to have an income, but you know, no one normal’s gonna hire a three hundred year old fictional pirate who doesn’t have any ID and can’t use a cell phone, so…”
Henry chattered for hours, leaving no detail unmentioned. Regina soaked them up eagerly, desperately, grateful for every last one, and yet she couldn’t help noticing how prominently Killian featured in Henry’s tales, the obvious hero worship and —she grimaced around an unpleasant twinge of that damned conscience— love he felt for the pirate.
For the man he called “Dad” so naturally that he didn’t even notice he was doing it.
Killian hadn’t had to look after Henry so well, she knew. All he’d really had to do was keep the boy alive, see that his basic needs were met until he could be unloaded back into Emma’s care. But Killian had actually parented Henry, made him do his homework and eat his vegetables and go to bed at a decent hour while also involving him in every stage of Operation Scorpion, listening to him and respecting his input, making him feel wanted and valued. He had been the father figure her son had never known, and far more than that. Regina could read a great deal between the lines of Henry’s innocently childish tales; she could see everything Killian had done to protect Henry, to keep him safe from Zelena’s lurking henchmen and too distracted by the excitement of research and rescue missions to even notice he was being protected.
Regina knew he’d not done it for her sake but for Emma’s, and for Henry’s, and possibly even for Neal’s. But that did nothing to alter the debt she owed him for her precious son’s life, and she did not like the idea of being in Killian Jones’s debt.
She scowled at that thought as Henry muttered in his sleep and the early morning silence was broken by the sound of the door opening, and a voice calling “Sheriff? Hello?”
It was Mary Margaret’s voice.
Curse it all, thought Regina, wishing she actually did have a curse to hand. Of course she had known she would have to reckon with Mary Margaret eventually, but she hadn’t thought it would be quite so soon. Could the woman not make her own breakfast just once?
Sighing, Regina got up from Emma’s chair, reaching out for magic, the traces of both Emma’s and Zelena’s that still lingered in the air, and glamoured herself some clean, unwrinkled clothes before stepping out of the sheriff’s office to face her erstwhile employer.
“Good morning, Mrs Nolan,” she said coolly.
Mary Margaret’s eyes bugged and her mouth dropped open, and behind her David frowned. “Uh— Regina,” said Mary Margaret. “What are you doing here?”
“That’s none of your concern,” replied Regina, in her mayor voice.
Mary Margaret heard the challenge in the tone and gasped. “How dare you—”
“I don’t dare anything, because I don’t work for you anymore,” spat Regina. “I quit.”
“You can’t quit!” snapped Mary Margaret.
“I can, and I just have.”
“But— but—” Mary Margaret’s mouth opened and closed helplessly as she groped for words. Before she could locate any, David spoke.
“Is that the mayor?” he asked incredulously. “In that jail cell?”
Regina turned to see Zelena awake and watching the exchange with bitter amusement. “It is,” she confirmed, and at that Mary Margaret found her voice.
“Regina what the hell is this?” she shrieked. “You weren’t at the house this morning, and your bed had not been slept in and now you’re here at the sheriff’s station with the mayor in a cell? What is going on?”
“It’s very simple,” said Regina calmly. “I quit, Zelena’s been arrested, and you are going to shut up and leave before I throw you out.”
“Now look here—” said David.
“Where is the sheriff?” snapped Mary Margaret.
“She’s taking the morning off.”
“I demand to see her!”
“I’m afraid I don’t have her number.”
“I’ll text Dad,” said Henry’s voice from behind Regina. They all turned to look at him standing in the office doorway, rubbing sleepy eyes, clearly awoken by the commotion.
“Who the hell is this?” bellowed David, and Henry winced.
“It’s my son.”
Mary Margaret was beginning to look like one more shock might do her in. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She frowned at Henry. “You don’t have a son.”
Regina’s fingers itched, reached out for the magic in the room. Just one tiny little memory spell, she thought, just so they forget I was ever their maid… She glanced at Henry, typing rapidly on his phone, his small brow wrinkled in distress and hurt at his grandparents’ words. Henry wouldn’t want her to manipulate them, even with something so small. Henry would want her to have hope, to trust that they could break the curse and return everything to normal.
Damn, but this redemption business was hard work.
She turned back to face the Charmings, breathing deeply to calm herself. “Sheriff Swan will be here soon,” she said. “She’ll explain everything. In the meantime, I think we should all sit down and stop shouting at each other. At least not in front of my son.”
Mary Margaret cast an apprehensive glance at Zelena who was still smirking from the far corner of her cot, who had still not spoken a word since Emma had locked her in the cell the night before, then nodded. She then glanced at David, who nodded as well.
“All right,” said Mary Margaret.
Well, thought Regina, watching unspoken communication flash between two people who the day before had barely been able to stand five minutes in each other’s company. Isn’t that interesting.
---
Killian drifted into consciousness slowly and somewhat warily, wondering at first if he could still be in a dream. An unusual dream, to be sure, one in which he found himself waking up with Emma there in bed with him, snuggled close to his side and drooling on his chest.
The drool seemed a touch too realistic, even for their particular brand of dreams.
He let his eyes flutter open as memories of the day before began to trickle back. The farmhouse, Walsh, Zelena, Emma’s memories returned, the battle. Their reunion. Emma waking him in the middle of the night to make love again because she needed reassurance that he was real, that this wasn’t just an especially elaborate dream.
He smiled at that memory and pulled her closer, feeling a bittersweet twinge in his heart at the snuffling noise she made in the puddle of drool on his chest. This was what he had missed more than anything, he thought, not the drool specifically but the intimacy that made it possible. The trust that allowed Emma to fall so soundly asleep in his arms.
Now that her memories were restored Killian could allow himself to feel how truly terrified he’d been that they never would be, that his efforts to get her back would be for naught and his love lost to him forever. That the fates would rip her away after showing him just enough of what life with her was like for him to fully understand the depth of that loss. They certainly did seem to enjoy taking away the people he loved.
Before he could sink too deeply into his melancholy thoughts, his phone buzzed from the nightstand. Careful not to disturb his slumbering wife he reached back and picked it up, swearing under his breath at the message on the screen.
Henry: Trouble at the station. Come quick.
Damn and blast it all, thought Killian. Of course there was trouble, there always was in Storybrooke. He sighed. As soon as all this was over, he promised himself, as soon as Zelena was fully dealt with and the curse broken he was taking Emma away somewhere, just the two of them, somewhere they could be completely alone and spend entire days in bed if they wished, no crises, no sheriff, no Saviour. Perhaps he could acquire a ship and take Emma sailing, explore this realm with her. Just for a week or two. Then they could return to their normal life of demons and curses and endless things conspiring to interrupt their private moments and keep them apart.
But until that time… he sighed and nudged Emma gently. “Swan,” he said. “Love, you need to wake up.” When she didn’t stir, he nudged her harder. “Swan!”
“Wha—” Emma jerked awake, blinking, and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. “What’s happening?”
“Text from Henry. We need to get to the station, posthaste.”
“Posthaste,” she repeated in a cringingly poor imitation of his accent, mischief brightening her sleepy eyes. “I’ve missed your ancient words.”
He kissed her. “I’ve missed your poking fun at them,” he said, and for a moment they lay curled together, foreheads touching, just enjoying each other. Finally Emma sighed.
“What’s going on at the station?” she asked.
“Henry doesn’t say. Just ‘come quick’.”
“Well, okay, but first I need a shower.”
“Aye, love, as do I.”
Her eyes lit and she nuzzled her lips along his jaw to his ear. “We could…” she whispered.
“I’d love to.” He squeezed her ass, breath quickening as she kissed down his neck. “But Henry did stress the need for urgency.”
“Yeah.” She pulled back but her hand remained cupping his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Okay, if I get in first, can you make some coffee?”
“I can.”
They didn’t move. Killian’s phone buzzed again.
“All right, all right,” sighed Emma, “I’m going.” She untangled herself from Killian and with a final wistful glance at where he lay in the tangled bedsheets she headed for the shower. Killian looked at his phone.
Henry: Any year now.
Killian rolled his eyes. What’s happening, lad? he texted.
Henry: My grandparents just showed up. They’re shouting at Mom. I think we were right about the curse. What’s your ETA?
Killian smiled as he replied. Give us half an hour to shower and dress and we’ll be there. He rolled from the bed and made it quickly before going to the kitchen to put the coffee on. As he waited for it to brew he heard a familiar sound, one he’d feared he may never hear again. Emma in the shower, singing at the top of her lungs, her voice sweet and lilting and slightly off-key.
She sounded so happy.
The Prince and his wife shouting at the Queen couldn’t be that much of an emergency, he reflected, despite Hery’s dramatics. And Emma had an unfortunate tendency to appropriate all the hot water… hot water that turned her skin so soft and rosy pink… He grabbed his phone.
Killian: Make that forty-five minutes.
---
An hour later they arrived at the station, clean and caffeinated if still a bit flushed. Henry glared at them and raised an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Killian. “Took you long enough,” he muttered.
“It’s been a whole year, lad,” Killian muttered back.
“Yeah, I really don’t want the details of that.”
“And I am more than happy to spare you them, if you tell me what’s been happening here instead.”
Henry grabbed his arm and pulled him aside, recounting the morning’s events in an excited whisper as Emma went to face down her parents.
“Mr Nolan, Deputy Mayor,” she said in her I’m-a-goddamn-professional tone and firmly tamping down on the urge to hug them. “Is there a problem?”
“Sheriff.” Mary Margaret came forward, her step confident but her eyes apprehensive. “Did you… arrest the mayor?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Mary Margaret nodded, and the uncertainty in her expression grew stronger. She seemed to have been expecting Emma to cave. “Er… why?”
Emma thought fast. “I, uh, found out that she has been misappropriating, um, town resources,” she said. It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Magic was a sort of resource, and Zelena had definitely been misappropriating that.
“Oh.” Mary Margaret looked flummoxed.
“I’m going to hold her here until she’s ready to stand trial,” said Emma, scrabbling for whatever she could remember of the police procedurals they used to watch in New York. “Until then, Mrs Nolan, you’ll have to take over as mayor.” That should keep Mary Margaret busy for a while.
“Oh!” Mary Margaret turned and looked at David, who came to stand at her side. Emma could see Killian and Henry from the corner of her eye, watching the scene unfold and whispering frantically to each other. Mary Margaret reached for David’s hand without seeming to think about what she was doing and grasped it firmly. Henry pumped his fist in the air. “Um. I suppose I can do that.”
Emma smiled tightly. “It’s just for a few weeks until the trial, then once we know the verdict we’ll know if we need to hold an election.” She had no idea if that was the actual procedure, but she figured all she needed to do was sound confident and get her parents out of the station so Killian and Henry could tell her what was making them so giddy over in the corner.
“Okay.” Mary Margaret smiled, rather shakily. “I’ll— uh, be in my, er that is the mayor’s office. If you need me.” She began to move then stopped abruptly and looked down at her hand, clasped tightly in her husband’s. She flushed bright pink and her eyes flew to David’s. He was looking somewhat rosy as well, Emma noted. They let go of each other with incoherent embarrassed mutterings, David to shove his hands in his pockets and Mary Margaret to fiddle with the strap of her purse. Emma swallowed the urge to laugh.
“I’ll call you if I need anything,” she said, and ushered her flustered parents out of the room. When she returned, Killian and Henry were looking triumphant, Regina irate.
“Would anyone care to tell me what the hell that was all about?” Emma demanded.
Killian nudged Henry forward. “You should do the honours, lad,” he said. “It was your theory.”
Henry glowed with pride. “Okay,” he said. “So the thing is, I’ve had an idea this whole time about the Dark Curse and the relationships between the people held under it. Under the first curse, everyone was miserable. They were separated from the people they loved, and they didn’t even know they loved them so they couldn’t do anything about it. Then Mom —Emma— came to Storybrooke and all that started to change. The curse started to weaken and as a result people started to remember they were in love. Not just my grandparents but other people too, like Sean and Ashley and even Leroy and Sister Astrid. And Mom and me,” he said, smiling at Emma. “As the curse got weaker, the relationships got stronger, until Mom broke it with a True Love’s Kiss on me.”
Emma blinked her misty eyes. “But Zelena said True Love’s Kiss won’t work with this curse,” she said.
“Yeah, I thought about that,” said Henry. “After I saw what it had done to Grandma and Grandpa. It didn’t separate them like the first curse did, it just made them not care about each other. Like, at all. Like their love was just gone.”
“Which is something that puzzled me,” Killian chimed in. “Zelena told Regina that she had designed and cast the curse primarily to punish her, so I found it odd that she would devise so clever and vicious a punishment for the prince and princess as well, for no apparent reason. It was possible of course that she merely wished to be wicked, but it seemed like such an odd tack to take, not to mention a difficult one; actually removing the love from a True Love couple is no small feat. I did some research into True Love magic in some of the books I have in my shop, and the magic required to drain it away is both powerful and extremely dark. And for what? To make miserable two people she had never met before? The difficulty seemed excessive for the petty result it achieved, and particularly when it would hurt Regina far more to see Snow and Charming happy together.”
“That is true,” Regina conceded, looking intrigued despite herself.
“So I wondered,” Killian continued, “Why would she bother?”
“Because,” Henry took up the story again, “She didn’t want the curse to be broken. She intended to keep on torturing Mom indefinitely, so of course she couldn’t have people running around falling in love, and she knew from the first curse that trying to keep True Loves apart doesn’t work that well in the long run.”
“And the True Love magic wasn’t part of the original curse,” said Regina. “Rumple added a drop of a potion he distilled from Snow and Charming’s love to the scroll, to ensure that Miss Swan here could break it.”
“Exactly,” said Killian. “He needed the curse to be broken so he could have his memories restored and go in search of Baelfire. But Zelena had no such need and therefore no desire to include any True Love magic in her curse. Quite the opposite, actually, as True Love would only destroy what she had built.”
“So what did she do?” asked Emma.
“We’re not sure exactly,” said Henry, “Because we don’t know just how she cast the curse. But we think,” he looked at Killian, “Dad and I think that she just took all the love away. There’s no love in Storybrooke at all.”
Regina frowned. “But Miss Sw— er, Emma and Killian, they’re—” she grimaced “In love. Aren’t they?”
“Oh yeah,” said Henry. “Kinda grossly so, to be honest.” He smirked as Killian poked him in the back with his hook. “But they’re also not cursed. I don’t think Mom was ever fully under the curse, and of course Dad was never under it at all.”
“That’s why they needed that powder,” said Emma. “To keep blurring my memories. Walsh would— wait, where’s Walsh? Don’t we need to—”
“Ah, yes. That’s something I failed to mention.” Killian rubbed behind his ear. “Walsh isn’t here. It was Zelena the whole time, pretending to be him.”
“The whole time?”
“Well, since you left New York, anyway. I believe it was actually Walsh you dealt with there.”
“Wow,” said Emma, blinking as she processed this. “That… kinda makes sense, actually. It explains why a guy who tried so hard to fu— er,” she glanced sheepishly at Henry, “To get close to me in New York wanted nothing to do with me here.”
“Thank the gods for small mercies,” Killian snarled through gritted teeth, and Emma reached for his hand.
“Returning to the point,” said Regina, “True Love’s Kiss can’t break this curse because there’s no love here, so no one touched by the curse can ever have True Love.”
“Yep, basically,” said Henry.
“So how are we going to break it?”
“Well,” said Henry, grinning hugely, all but rubbing his hands together in delight. “You may have noticed that my grandparents just now were not exactly indifferent to each other.”
Regina snorted. “If Snow had blushed any harder she’d have burst a blood vessel.” She looked sharply at Henry. “But that means—”
“Yes!” Henry cried. “Mom remembering, us beating Zelena, Mom and Dad being together, I think all of that has started to weaken the curse. Grandma and Grandpa are seeing each other again. They didn’t seem to see each other before.”
“That is true,” Regina confirmed. “They hardly even looked at each other.”
“So we think,” said Killian, “That the way to shatter the curse for good is to bring love back to Storybrooke.”
“How romantic,” sneered Regina.
“We need to get my grandparents to fall in love again,” said Henry. “But just them isn’t gonna be enough. I think we need to get everyone to fall in love again. And that’s where I come in.”