Chapter 16

Baelfire.

Baelfire, Baelfire, Baelfire...

"No." She heard her own voice project flatly.

He laughed softly in surprise, cocking his head to the side and bringing his face a little closer to hers, as though he thought she were having some difficulty recognizing those features, as if that were even a possibility. "No?" He chuckled again, warmly. "What do you mean 'no?'"

"You're not him." She clenched and squared her jaw. With every overflowing ounce of stubbornness present within herself, she dug deep into denial of what she saw before her, and what it would mean. "Bae is dead. I saw it. You can't be him."

Those dark eyes sucked her into them in a way she had tried so hard to forget. She felt her tortured muscles slacken as his thumb gently rubbed against her cheekbone. The touch was unmistakably familiar and so discernibly distinct. Waves of goosebumps flowed over her skin as his fingerprint unlocked something inside her. Her eyes burned and her vision blurred with the threat of tears.

"I assure you," he whispered tenderly, "I am. It's me. I've missed you, Emma."

She swallowed the unwelcome lump in her throat, trying to use it as fuel for the fire of anger that was starting to churn in the pit of her stomach. "I watched Baelfire die. I had to watch the man that I loved die." Without any thought of how exposed she was, she pushed herself to a seated position, retreating from the man.

The smile dropped, and he had the gall to look hurt. "Emma," he pleaded.

"I had to stand there and watch when his father murdered him. I had to watch his body go limp, and the light dim from his eyes. Rumpelstiltskin made me look, and he giggled. Baelfire is dead." The fire in her was roaring now, the furious heat of adrenaline preparing her to fight despite her weakened body. This man, who said he was Baelfire, was working with Bae's father. At least, that's what he'd told Mr. Clark. And then he'd killed Clark. The resulting blood was still pooling at her ankles. Her certainty was shaking. "You are not him." She insisted, somewhat believing it.

He sat back on his heels, his shoulders slumping. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I never wanted you to get involved; I never wanted any of it. That's why I didn't even want to tell you he was my father in the first place. I was trying to keep you as far away from him as I could because I thought it would help keep you safe. I was trying to get away from him too."

"Well it didn't work." She snapped.

"Clearly." He sighed and ran a hand through his short brown hair, leaving it wildly disheveled. "I'm sorry. Really. Look, if I could go back and do it all over again but different, I would. I've been trying to find you. I've been looking everywhere. Ever since he brought me back-"

"He brought you back?"

"Yeah, it was my dad that did it. He uh, I guess he regretted what he did pretty quick. I'm his only son, you know?" He shrugged. "So he pulled some strings and he brought me back. Now, here I am."

"'Pulled some strings?'" She narrowed her eyes at him. "That's all you're going to tell me? Everyone knows that magic can't bring back the dead, but your dad just 'pulled some strings?'"

"Well, you've met my dad. Yeah. It's kind of complicated, but I'll tell you everything I know. Come on, let's just get out of here first." He nodded over toward Clark's body. "Sorry about making the corpse, by the way. He knew who you were, so I couldn't let him go run his mouth. It didn't seem like he was a friend of yours, selling you off like that. We don't have to stay here with him. I've got a cart all hitched up already."

When he reached out for her hand, she swiftly and reflexively recoiled. Baelfire had been gone from her life for more than three years now. It was too much time for her to have spent reflecting on their time together, repeatedly torturing herself with the intense examination of every minute detail. Even if this person before her were truly him, he could not tap into the nearly infinite well of trust she had once shared with Bae. That was not a mistake she would ever make again.

"You lied to me," she seethed, coldly dismissing any acknowledgments or excuses for Clark's death. "You said you were like me. That's what was supposed to make us work. Two peas in a pod, or whatever. But you were his son the whole time!"

"Emma, it's not like that. I lied about my father, yes. But the rest of it was true. Everything else was real, I promise. It was just the one lie."

"That's one hell of a big lie."

"Yes, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it. I'm sorry for every way that I've hurt you." He shifted onto his knees and crept forward slightly over the straw-strewn floorboards. "Let me make it up to you. Please, Emma." He held his hands up in front of him, palms pressed together. He was actually begging her.

"You can't." She choked on the words, and the catch in her throat shook free a single tear that rolled down her cheek. "You don't even know the whole story."

Baelfire stood, scratching the back of his head. After stepping away a few paces, he took a steadying breath before facing her once more. "I know a lot more about it than you think I do. In fact, I think I know more than you do now." His eyes dropped away and his hands fidgeted anxiously. "He uh, he told me eventually. About the baby."

The word crashed over her like a twenty-foot arctic wave, knocking her breathless, turning her bones to ice, and sending her tumbling head over heels, disoriented. Her stomach flipped and her heart clenched. Baelfire stayed silent while she remembered how to draw air into her lungs. "What did he tell you?" She finally mustered wind enough for the words.

With yet another burdened sigh, he returned to her side and squatted down to meet her at eye level. "There's more to the story, Emma. A lot more. I promise I'll tell you all of it, but let's get you out of here first." He extended his hand again as an offer to help her to her feet and escort her elsewhere. "I know you're going to want some clothes, and we should really get you cleaned up. You're a mess. Did that guy hurt you bringing you here?"

"What did your father tell you?" Emma asked again, not allowing him to divert from the subject at hand.

He didn't answer her immediately. During the brutal pause, his brows knit together as he studied her face. Worry lines creased his forehead and he swallowed hard. Every throb of her heart tore painfully at the inner walls of her chest while the moment stretched on.

"Tell me," she demanded.

He visibly deflated, unwilling to test her obstinance. He knew better than that. "The baby's not dead either," he exhaled finally, then scoffed lightly. "Seems that dear ol' Dad likes the idea of having a bloodline." When he lifted his eyes to meet hers, he made no effort to hide his vulnerability. "Our baby is alive out there, Emma."

Emma didn't react, but her body did. It clasped her hand around Baelfire's and pulled her up to her feet. It followed him to the cart he'd mentioned and climbed up into it, then huddled into the cloak he draped around her to conceal her form. What he said didn't seem like it could be possible. Then again, he didn't seem possible either, but there he was. The likelihood didn't matter; she had to know. At all costs, she had to know. With both hope and horror, she wondered.

Had her baby actually been born?