Belle stared at the fire burning in the grate. The house was empty but for her, and colder than any dungeon. Belle did not feel the cold or notice the dark. She felt only that constant pain of loneliness.

Her dear Rumpelstiltskin had been here last year, sat beside her as they watched the fire grow lower and shared a smile when the clock struck midnight. Last year, before she knew what 'cancer' was. Before she had seen her husband lose his hair and become an emaciated shell of the man she loved. Before Belle had thrown dirt on the casket. A tear trembled as it slipped down her face and Belle tried so hard not to sob. But why not, she thought. There was no one in the house to hear her. No children they had tried so hard for. No friends, no family. Just Belle and the ever-present pain. She laid her head on the arm of the chair and closed her eyes, tears still glistening on her lashes. Maybe things would be better in the morning.

When Belle next opened her eyes, the fire had been replaced by burning embers. The room was chilled and the white moon glittered on the dusting of snow outside. Belle stretched her muscles and stood with a yawn. As she moved, however, her senses quickly registered something off. Something unseen was different and it gave Belle gooseflesh. She jumped up and spun to find a figure in the leather chair beside hers. Rumpelstiltskin's chair. Rumpelstiltskin, five months dead, sat in his chair. Belle screamed and ran toward the stairs. He followed her up the stairs to their bedroom. Belle only just managed to lock the door before he ran in. She collapsed on the bed, heart racing. Rumpelstiltskin knocked on the door,

"Belle? Are you Belle?" He said on the other side. Belle stood on shaking legs and stepped up to the door. Leaning her forehead on it, she murmured,

"Y-yes. Rum?"

"Rum? I'm not Rumpelstiltskin." Said the man, confused.

"You aren't?" Belle slowly opened the door, just a crack to see his face. It looked like her Rum. But something was just a little different. The man smiled kindly,

"I'm Baelfire. Rumpelstiltskin's son." The door swung open as Belle pressed a hand to her mouth. She stared at Bae. The face, the hair…everything looked like a younger Rumpelstiltskin. Perhaps the nose was just a bit different and the man a little taller, but everything else was the same. Except for the eyes. They were a strange blue-green, not the warm brown she was so used to. Belle slowly stepped out of the room and extended her hand,

"Belle Gold." Bae shook her hand,

"You know my father?" he asked. Belle swallowed the lump in her throat,

"Knew. We were married. He's dead."

Bae's smile fled. His eyes looked dully hollow, like he wasn't in this place or time. He clutched at the doorframe as his knees grew weak.

"Dead? But...how? Who?" His strength returned as Bae's expression hardened, "I'll kill 'em. Who was it?" Bae said, grabbing Belle's elbows. He had a fire in his eyes reminiscent of Rumpelstiltskin's. Even in the shock of the moment, Belle noted that.

"No one," she murmured, "No one killed your father." Bae looked confused,

"But, someone-He didn't-Oh gods." said Bae as a hand flew to his mouth. Yet to Belle, he looked more disappointed than surprised. The coward's way out, she thought. Belle cleared her throat,

"No, not suicide. Cancer. Do you know what that is?" The ultimate pain in Bae's eyes told her he did. He looked down at her, looking for all the world like a wounded animal. Belle wrapped her arm around Bae's back and his arm fell to her shoulders as they walked wordlessly to the kitchen. The entire house was quiet; not even their footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor could stop the oppressive silence. Belle turned on the light and settled Bae in a chair before putting the kettle on for tea. She sat beside Bae and put her hand on his arm,

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" he said, his voice oddly thick. Belle couldn't meet his eyes,

"Everything."

"Not your fault. I should have come around a long time ago." he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Belle handed Bae a napkin and he swiped it across his nose, "Thanks." They sat at the table in silence, neither drinking the tea Belle had prepared. Distantly, Bae wondered why Bellr was using a mismatched cup. Bae could only stare into the murky depths of his own cup as thoughts swirled around his brain.

Papa was gone. His papa was dead. The Dark One was vanquished. Rumpelstiltskin was no more. No matter how it was phrased the square thought didn't fit the round holes in Bae's mind. Papa had always been there. Mama was never there, but that was to expected. Papa had always been there, steady as the staff he'd carried. Bae had relied on him when the man was a poor spinner and still leaned on him when the man became a monster. Even when Bae had been sent to this world of automobiles and microwave ovens, he had still known Papa was out there somewhere. But now, now that unshakable certainty was gone. Bae was an orphan, if such a term was still applicable to a twenty-seven year old man. That idea shook him to the core and it hurt. Bae pushed his chair from the table and stood up,

"Thank you for the tea. I need to go. I'll call tomorrow." And he left. Belle watched him go, a small smile on her face. Like father, like son. As the front door shut, Belle gathered the mugs and poured the cold tea down the drain before turning out the lights and climbing the steps to her cold bed. She wrapped the sheets and quilt tight around her and whispered to the waiting night,

"Good-night, Rum." And Belle knew somewhere, whether it be Heaven or Hell, he was whispering back,

"Good-night, sweetheart."

The next morning, Bae arrived at the shop around eleven. The bell rang as he stepped in and he gasped. There were so many things that must have come from the old world. Horrified dolls, ancient pick-axes. So many things that brought back childhood. An old weathered staff standing in a corner made Bae's throat constrict but no tears fell. Belle stepped out of the back,

"Can I help you?" Her smile was convincing, bet perhaps a little too wide and a little too tight. Bae nodded,

"I want to see where he is. My father." Belle's smile faded but she nodded. She stepped around the counter and followed Bae out the door, flipping the sign and locking the door behind her. Bae walked by her side as they made their way to the other side of town. Belle kept her coat wrapped tight around her and never looked up, staring at the sidewalk as they took a path she knew by heart. People saw Belle passing but never met Widow Gold's eyes. She had been sad, almost bitter since her husband's passing. She had easily stepped up to fill his shoes and was a little more lenient on exactly when the rent was due, but Belle still received a wide berth. It had been decided that the town would let her grieve and hope she returned to something more closely approximating the Belle she'd been before her husband had died.

By the time they reached the outskirts of town, the sun had reached its zenith. Beside the road out of Storybrooke was a dirt path slightly overgrown with weeds. Strangely, there was a rosebush planted on each side of the path. It was this thorny path Belle led Bae down, ignoring the thorns that snagged her dress. Bae followed behind her, making no noise but for the crunching of dead frosty leaves beneath his feet. They continued on the path for a time until they were deep in the forest. There was never a fork in the road. The path was set before them, though Bae wasn't sure what he'd meet at the end.

At last, they came to a tiny oasis of a clearing. This place was different. It was a small circle of summer in the middle of the autumn forest. The grass was green and the single tree that grew there was tall and full, its leaves a bright green. A sturdy bench was beneath the tree and beside the black marble headstone. As soon as Bae's foot touched the green grass, he felt warmth like sunlight seep into his body, like putting a warm sweater. From the way Belle's shoulders were less hunched and her eyes a little less hollow, Bae knew she felt it too. Belle reached for his hand and suddenly Bae was a small child, reaching for the comfort of his mother's hand in the middle of a crowded marketplace. Bae let her take his hand in hers and Belle smiled softly at him.

"How is this possible?" he whispered. Something in him sensed that speaking loudly would disrupt the peace in this place. Belle smiled a little wider,

"Magic. When Rum...passed on, the Dark One in him passed on as well. But Rum had so much goodness in him beneath that evil parasite, the goodness bonded with the magic and it spread to create this." Belle brought Bae over in front of the headstone. The dark marble stone to him seemed an odd choice. To him, his father had been first a coward, then a ruthless monster. Never had his papa seemed the kind of man who'd be buried beneath such a dignified thing. Bae dropped Belle's hand and she went and sat on the bench. As he looked at her, truly looked at the woman who had loved his father, he surprised to notice her age. Indeed, in this place so full of youth, it was strange to see the streaks of grey in her hair and the deepening lines around her eyes. Belle had given her life to her husband, her youth and her love. It surprised and frightened Bae, to see how his father must have changed from the man who abandoned his son for power to the man who had been worthy of Belle's everything. Though he knew it held no answers, Bae brought his eyes to the headstone and read the inscription:

Rumpelstiltskin Gold

Old as time

Loving husband, beloved father and friend

"I don't think he knew that." he whispered, tracing the word 'father' with dirty hands.

"Knew what?" asked Belle from her seat.

"That he was a beloved father." whispered Bae. And it was true. The last memory Rumpelstiltskin would have had of his son must have been those hateful words Bae had flung before being swallowed into this world. Words like 'coward' that Bae had never apologized for but always regretted. Who could have ever forgiven such things when Papa had had centuries to be bitter over those words? Truly, Bae wondered numbly, what had he expected? For Papa to welcome him back with open arms? To slam the door in his face? I'll never know, he realized. And his father would never know how much Bae loved him. Both would remain forever unknowing. Bae looked up at Belle to see her smiling gently,

"I think he knew."

"But how? How could he have forgiven me?" asked Bae, tears gathering. Belle slid off the bench and knelt beside Bae. Her lightly veined hand came up to cup his cheek,

"Because that's part of being a parent. You forgive your child and yourself for whatever mistakes you made and learn from the past." Her voice was thick and Bae didn't have to ask where her pain came from. Bae leaned his head on her shoulder and Belle wrapped her thin arms around him. Soon Bae found himself enveloped in the warmest hug he'd had in thirty years. He rested his chin on Belle's shoulder, but he did not cry. There may have been a few raindrops in their paradise is all. Just salty rain falling down his face. At last, when the rain was over, Bae stood and helped Belle from the ground, pretending not to hear the crack in her knees as they straightened.

"Will you tell me about him?" Bae asked quietly. Belle pulled her coat closer around her as the left the magical oasis,

"Someday. I'll tell you one thing today, but no more. Please." Bae could hear the reluctance in Belle's voice at his request.

"Why did you love him? What made you love him?" The smile that opened Belle's face felt like a fire in the winter as she said,

"Some nailed drapes and a chipped cup."