And The World Waited On Baited Breath

by Bandita-Dieci

In a world where timelines cross, Belle must work with Cora to save Rumplestiltskin. This story is a response to spacetimeladies prompt for the Rumbelle Secret Santa (2013).

And The World Waited On Baited Breath

a Rumbelle fanfic

for spacetimeladies, who prompted "time travel wizards"

After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.

- Albus Dumbledore

No matter what she did, she couldn't save him.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to try.

The tiny girl, barely past infanthood, stood behind her papa, holding onto one of his pants' legs. Long hair – not quite a chocolate color but more like cinnamon hot chocolate right after it becomes hot, the froth on the top – this is the color of her hair and, to be honest, this is the way it frames her face – frothy, tangled, waving outside of the tight tail she'd tried to put it in that morning. She'd wanted to do it herself, to surprise her mother, but she hadn't seen her at all today – and she suspected that had to do with the large man standing in front of her papa.

"If you knew who you were dealing with, dearie, you would know better than to threaten her." Her father's voice came out as a low growl, none of the impish charm she'd come to associate with him. He raked a hand through her hair with a touch softer than she'd known from him before in a state like this. No, that gives the wrong image – she'd never seen him like this before, with the fury hiding unconcealed behind his thin lips.

Anna knew what her papa looked like when he was mad – the way his golden eyes narrowed to pinpricks even as he smiled and glittered and shone. She knew the thin line between joy and anger and when to be afraid of him. Not that she ever needed to fear...but sometimes she did.

She looked up to her papa's face and right now she felt very afraid.

The man in front of her papa grinned like her papa did when her mama smiled and he swept into his little bow, lifting his head up. "Oh, I know!" He giggled once then broke into a singsong, high-pitched and whiny. "You need your queen to get the bean to find your son. But when you're done, she'll be right here – no need to fear!" He whirled, a crimson cape spinning about him.

Anna let go of her papa's leg, clapping her hands. The man was pretty! And when he heard her clap, he bowed low to the ground, his pointed black hat brushing the floor, then held out one hand to her. "Always a pleasure to meet a beautiful lady!"

When Anna reached out to grab his hand, her papa moved into her way. "You will not touch her." Her papa picked her up, and she hid her face into his crocodile leather vest.

"Never dream of it!" The man stood back up again, straightening his back with a smart pop. His grin took a more menacing turn, his teeth almost bared like a rabid dog, and the heels of his shiny black shoes clicked smartly on the tiled floor. "Now, you will be doing what I ask of you?"

Her papa gave a sharp nod, eyes not slits but something close to it. With a crimson ploof of smoke, the man disappeared, and Anna could feel her papa relax. She reached one hand up and touched his scaly cheek. "What do, Papa?"

He looked down at her with warm golden eyes and kissed her forehead. "I rescue your mother. That's what I do."

"You will take care of her while I'm gone?"

Anna looked up at the golden man in front of her, one chubby little hand clasped into her uncle's strong one. She didn't see her strong uncle nod, could only watch as her papa walked away from her in leather and bare skin, a thick curved dagger in his hand. It never left his side; this was the first time she'd seen it in his hands. The carving of his name sparkled dark in the moonlight. She tried to run after him, but the strong man held her hand tight. "Papa! Papa!"

Her papa turned back with one more smile – not a grin, and that scared her. "I'll be back soon, dearie."

But, of course, soon is relative.

"Rumplestiltskin."

Belle breathed his name, hoping that just hearing it aloud would improve her situation, that even just the rhythm of it would calm her troubled soul. Another prison – she'd grown restless too quickly and found herself trapped here. She brushed a strand of her auburn brown hair out of her face and used a leather cord to tie her hair back into the tail she most often associated with her need to do something. Then she patted down her dress and short skirt until she found what she was looking for – a long, thin twig that her true love gave her when their daughter was born six years earlier. It bent beneath her hands.

"In a world far from ours, these contain magic – a magic with far more rules and guidelines than ours." Rumplestiltskin twirled a long, pliant branch of cedar wood between his fingers before handing it over to his love. "And I have seen no price to pay for it, other than deep study and learning." He grinned and moved aside to reveal stacks and stacks of bound books.

His golden eyes sparkled when they met hers.

The twirling – she'd never needed to do that, nor had she wanted to. With a branch such as this, it was careless, thoughtless. But the Dark One need never fear magic from anyone or anything, so why should the dangers of this branch bother him?

Of course, after six years of reading up on the magic of this wand, teaching herself in its ways, and practicing even the most complex of its spells until they bent under her stubborn mind, Belle had little to fear from it either. Still, in her mind, it wasn't really a wand. It was a thin tree branch with some mystical powers that, somehow, in some way, allowed her to use it. The books of wandlore said that a wand chose its user, but it never said why. Perhaps it was sentimental. She'd never know.

Belle pointed the thinnest tip of the twig at the lock on her prison door, took a deep breath to still her shaking nerves, and whispered, "Alohomora." Then she grasped the handle of the door and twisted it once. The door slid open easily, and she stepped out into a hallway, a door quite like the one she'd just come through right across from her. She turned her head left and right, and the hall stretched out endlessly either way, more doors mirrored on each end.

Well, then.

It was not the wisest decision, perhaps, but standing in a hallway with no end in sight, Belle decided it was worth trying one of the doors. Whatever was on the other side might give her some idea about her captor – other than the flowing crimson robe, the pointed black hat, and the knowing smirk he always wore on that long, thin face of his. She directed her wand at the other door, whispered the spell again (because if hers was locked, why wouldn't this one be?), and opened the door.

Ah.

Inside the padded room sat another woman, shivering, a faded and threadbare cream robe tucked tight against her skin to conserve a little warmth. She glanced up as the door opened, her bright blue eyes blinking at the light, and she tucked a curl of auburn brown hair behind one ear. "Hello?" Their eyes met, and the other woman's widened. She scooted back in shock, making an 'x' with her pointer fingers and holding them out against the woman. "Get back! Get back!"

Belle scooted back, shutting the door in front of her and taking another deep breath, quick. Looking at that woman – it was like looking into a mirror. Rumplestiltskin told her that there were multiple worlds, and she believed him. He'd even taken her to a couple of them. But...was it possible that, in the many worlds that existed, there were multiples of their own? Multiples of her? And, where there were multiples of her...

She glanced down the hallway again, at the what seemed infinite amount of doors. What if, behind every single one of those doors, there was another her, another Belle, just waiting on her true love to come and rescue her, or trying and failing to escape? But surely she wouldn't be the only one to—

Just then, one of the doors exploded open – three doors to her left and across the hall – and forest green smoke billowed through the iron mantle. She raised one hand to her face, coughing, and stepped back. A shadow appeared in the smoke, waved one hand, and the smoke dissipated, revealing a slender woman with dark red hair in a tight little bun on the back of her head. The woman glanced to her right, patting the dust off her crimson dress, and then glanced in Belle's direction. One eyebrow raised as she took in Belle's brown leggings, dark red tunic, and leather gloves, then she stifled a laugh with one black satin gloved hand. "And just who do you think you are, darling, with a stick like that?"

Belle lifted her wand, switching into a defensive stance. "My name is Belle, and I belong to Rumplestiltskin – first as his maid and then as his wife and mother of his child." She glanced to the twig in her right hand, and a smile crossed her face. "And this isn't just a stick."

At her words, the woman's smile vanished, and she clasped her hands together in front of her dress. "What world are you from, child?"

"The Enchanted Forest." Belle lowered her wand a fraction of an inch. "And who are you, to be asking me these questions?"

A familiar, wolfish grin broke on the woman's face – both knowing and patronizing at the same time. "I am Cora, the daughter of an often drunk miller," she said as she stepped forward, her hands still clasped in front of her, "and although I do not belong to your Rumplestiltskin, I have lived with him for more years than I can count as his Dark Lady." She lifted one hand and twisted it until her wrist popped. "He's even granted me immortality and his own special brand of magic, which I can see you do not have."

"His magic always comes with a price," Belle whispered, soft, "but the kind he's given me has none. Do you have that?" She met Cora's deep brown eyes and found not even a hint of light within. Then she shook her head, closing her eyes. "This is pointless, fighting over Rumple." She gestured to the door across from her. "All of these rooms are probably going to have someone connected to him, some person that can be used to control him."

"They think they can use me to control him?" Cora laughed again, but it was harsh, without merriment. She crossed to the other door and opened it, peeking inside at the other Belle. There was a hissing sound, almost a catlike howling, and Cora stepped back, shutting the door with a smirk. "That one certainly knows of me."

"I suppose so," Belle muttered, then glanced down the long hallway again. "We should release the rest of them."

"No." Cora glanced down at her black hands and snapped once. A garden gnome appeared in a plume of the same green smoke as before. It blinked a couple of times, and Cora bent down until her eyes met its. "Tell Rumplestiltskin that I have some business to take care of. I'll be home shortly." The gnome nodded once then disappeared, sucking the green smoke back with it. Then Cora turned to Belle with barely concealed disgust. "You release the others. I'll kill the captor. That should be enough to do it."

"Do what?"

"Send us all back home."

Cora started off down the hallway, black heels clicking against the metal floor, but Belle, frozen for but a moment, raced after her, catching her arm. She whirled around, her brown eyes blazing hot fire. "Let me go, girl, or you will rue the day you so much as met me."

"I'm coming with you," Belle said, tightening her grip on Cora's bare upper arm. The other woman opened her mouth to speak, but Belle raised her wand. "Two are often better than one. There has to be a reason we two, and just we two, out of all the others here, were able to get out of our prisons. We need to work together."

She dropped Cora's arm, and the woman pulled away, gritting her teeth together. Then Cora curtseyed, her face suddenly composed and all smiles. "As you wish, my lady." But when her eyes met Belle's, they were dark once more, perhaps darker than they had been, all light and hope and joy extinguished from them.

Belle glanced back and forth down the hallway again. "How are you so certain that this direction is right? Couldn't it also be the other way?"

Cora raised one hand, and a dark green aura appeared over her palm. It pulsed and as she continued down the hallway, the flickering light quickened. "I caught a trace of the wizard's magic earlier. This should lead us right to him." She turned to Belle with a wink, and Belle's heart skipped a beat – not because Cora winked but because that action, the way of her face with it, the glow of the magic, unearthly on her pale face – it reminded her so much of the man from whom she'd been stolen, the man who even now she knew must be desperately searching for her. And as she was reminded of her Rumplestiltskin, she couldn't help but be reminded of the countless other Dark Ones fighting for their loved ones – Belles, Coras, perhaps even Baelfires – trapped in this immense dungeon.

She followed Cora because if she didn't, the woman would leave her behind and she would become lost. That did not mean she didn't keep stock of every door they passed and, as she stepped past one in particular – she wasn't sure how she knew which one to choose, but it felt right somehow – she pointed her wand to it and whispered "Alohomora" once more. She wouldn't open the door this time but maybe, just maybe, the Belle or Cora or Baelfire within would. Maybe whoever it was would figure out what was going on. Maybe they could release the others.

A widespread mob could definitely work in their favor.

Leaves crunched under Rumplestiltskin's leather boots as he walked through the forest. Autumn colors surrounded him – dark reds, bright golds, and dying browns. He took a deep breath of brisk, cold air, and the scent of fire tingled in his nostrils. To him, fall wasn't complete without the smell of wood smoke underlying everything. It brought back nights of sitting in his little hovel with Baelfire while Milah drank her weight at the pub. She often came home in a stupor, stumbling through the doorway and passing out on the floor; at first, he'd moved her into the bed and tucked her in like he had their child, then he'd simply covered her with a thick blanket or two, and, finally, he'd given up entirely. Milah never liked him helping her, and he hadn't want Baelfire to notice her upset.

In the end, it hadn't really mattered.

Rumple's skin glittered in the sunlight, a different, darker kind of gold than that seen on the trees around him, and he tugged on his jacket, trying to hide himself within it. He'd taken great pains to avoid the road, but he couldn't avoid everyone. There were bandits, thieves, and robbers in the woods, and although there was no reason for him to be afraid, he had no reason to hurt any of them today. They weren't in his way, not yet, and the crimson-caped man had specifically instructed him not to kill anyone. He was only to walk to the nearest castle, then sit tight and watch for an opportunity. The man hadn't said exactly what kind of opportunity Rumple should watch out for, only that he would know it as soon as it appeared.

When he became the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin thought that only his dagger could control him, but as his life went on, he'd found that was a lie. Whoever controlled or kidnapped his loved ones also controlled him – like blackmail. It was less of an exact science than the dagger, but it held the same power.

He let one hand drop to his right thigh, fingers grazing the dagger's handle. It was still there. No need to worry.

Whenever Rumple glanced up, the castle loomed large, taller than the trees, almost. Once, the castle belonged to a certain gray fairy with pointed horns, but when she became trapped in her dragon form and slaughtered by a prince seeking to free his princess, the castle was abandoned and left empty. Rumplestiltskin had no previous reason to visit the building, but he suspected the only people who ever entered it now were the same robbers and thieves he was avoiding in the forest.

Rumplestiltskin wandered upon the castle's first courtyard, a clearing where the view of mountains rising on every side could be seen clearly. His golden eyes gazed up and around, focusing on the beauty of the trees in all their dying glory, and let himself smile. Belle will love this.

Just the thought shook him and hardened his resolve. Tightening his jacket once more, he stepped further into the courtyard, through a gated fence – the doors of the gates swinging on rusted and broken hinges – and into the main square, where the massive black iron doors of the castle stood, open and beckoning.

He was not to go inside. The caped man was very certain of that. He was to stay just outside of the doors and wait. So Rumple crept behind one of the trees, magically bending the boughs to his will, and sat down on the ground, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath. When he'd chosen to stay with Belle, he'd believed that none of this would ever bother him again, simply because he wished it to be so. Six years had passed with no event or pain, and he had expected that would last forever.

That had been foolish.

When he was done with this and had Belle back in his arms again, he would make sure that no one would ever take her away from him again. The caped man would pay – not with his life, no, that was much too simple. There were other ways to torture such a creature, and Rumple had all the time in the world to think of them until his "opportunity" arrived.

Unless this was it.

Only moments after he arrived, a band of men in forest green cloaks snuck into the second yard. The men around the back held bows and arrows at the ready, while those in the middle kept their hands on daggers or swords. Their leader, a ruggedly handsome man with a scruffy red beard, walked towards the castle doors with confidence, lifted one woolen gloved hand, and rapped on the left door three times with one knuckle. The sound wasn't loud enough for Rumple to hear it, but whoever now lived in the castle did. A slot in the door opened up and two eyes peered through, glancing at the man with the beard once before slamming the slot closed again without another word. The leader turned to his men with a wary smile as the door behind him cracked open, just enough for him to squeeze through. He pushed it open wider and bowed to his men, letting them enter ahead of him. When the last one went through, he whirled around and pulled the door shut behind him.

So, not his opportunity. Not yet, at least. But soon.

Ow.

With closed eyes, Belle reached up and rubbed a knot on the top of her temple. It throbbed once as she touched it, and she winced. Why did they always have to hit her on the head? Sure, every now and again, they'd just tie her up and let her scream, but not this time. She let out a groan as she opened her eyes, the bright light in her cell only bringing more pain. But she needed to see – to make sure of her surroundings, to note any way to escape.

Overhead a circular glass object gave off light – she'd never seen anything like it in the forest before, so she suspected it was a kind of magic different from Rumple's, perhaps more tailored to the man who'd kidnapped her. Belle glanced around, but there was nothing of any note in her little cell. Four metal walls, a hole for what she supposed were outhouse-related purposes, and the bed on which she now sat – a thin mattress with white sheets and a lumpy pillow. The door to her prison was across from her, and she stood, walking on slippered feet to it.

There was no reason to suspect the door would be unlocked, but it was worth a try. Guards were just as human as anyone else, and they made mistakes, too. Not these kinds of stupid mistakes, but when a girl has a headache, sometimes she does crazy things.

When the door opened with only a slight twist, Belle suspected it was a trap. She jumped back from the door, her blue dress fluttering around her ankles, and dropped to the floor, scuttling under the bed. Her dress crinkled against her skin, and she pulled loose folds of the fabric back with her, hiding. A few moments she huddled there, until she realized that no one was coming after her. No one was punishing her. She crept back out from under her bed, taking careful care not to hit her still sore head, before going to stand once more in her cell's doorway. There didn't seem to be any tricks guarding her cell, no trip wires, no guards – and as she gazed out into the hallway, there appeared to be no end in sight, only rows and rows of doors.

Well, Belle might be called a lot of things, but cautious was not one of them. She stepped out of the cell and into the hallway then went to the door across from her and tried to open the door, only to find it locked. Then she went to the next door and jostled the handle. No change. As she tested the other doors, she hit the same problem – all of them were locked.

Good. Belle pushed one hand through her auburn brown hair with a smile, making sure to avoid touching the bump on her head. She reached between the folds of her blue dress and pulled out a lock-picking kit. I'd hoped this skill wouldn't be useless. Then she stuck one of the long pieces of metal between her teeth, bent down, and began her work on the door in front of her.

It didn't take long for the handle to turn – not because Belle was particularly good at picking locks, but because this one seemed specially tailored for the skills she had, like the ones Rumple procured for her as practice while she learned. A grin appeared on her face – fresh and excited – and she opened the door triumphantly.

Whatever she had expected, it had not been another cell or a woman who looked vaguely familiar sitting quite near the door. The woman looked up at her, bright blue eyes blinking once in acknowledgment, and stood, brushing loose strands of short auburn hair out of her face. A grin burst onto her face as she stuck out one hand. "My name's Isabelle, but all my friends call me—"

"Belle?"

The two spoke in unison, and the other Belle – Isabelle – laughed a little uneasily, scratching the back of her neck. "Yeah, how'd you know?" She shoved her hands into the pockets of her pants – a dark blue material Belle had never seen before – and leaned back. When Belle said nothing, the girl – so like her, but with little bitty freckles across her nose and cheeks – chuckled again, shaking her head, and said, "You get captured, too?"

"You could say that." Belle stepped back, and Isabelle walked out of her cell and looked down the hallway.

Isabelle's bright blue eyes widened at all of the doors, and she turned back to Belle, meeting her eyes. "Do you think each of these doors leads to—?" Her voice dropped off, and she pressed her lips together, looking down and away. "Do you think there are more of us?"

Belle let out a sigh. "There's only one way to find out." She took a couple of metal files out of her lock-picking kit and handed them to the strangely dressed girl. "Do you know how to use these?"

"No," Isabelle said, even as her eyes lit up, "but I can learn."

It was hours before anyone else entered the castle, and even then, it was only a little snot of a boy with curly hair and an impish face. He glanced around the yard in the quickly coming night and pounded on the door so loud that Rumplestiltskin could hear it from where he sat. That time, the slot hadn't even opened; the door sprang open at the boy's incessant knocking. There'd been a lot of shouting, mostly words so mumbled that Rumple couldn't understand what they were saying. Nothing particularly good, at least. Then the doors shut for the night – not opening again until dawn the next morning.

When the sun arose, stretching rosy tendrils across the periwinkle blue sky, Rumplestiltskin's golden eyes snapped open. One hand pulled a thin brown cloak closer around him, conserving the little warmth he'd gather against the cold night air, and his eyes wandered, taking in every detail as he tried to remember where, exactly, he was. The old castle. Watching and waiting. The crimson-caped man stole Belle away. He needed him here. When he released Belle, he would pay.

The anger rekindled in his soul. His eyes refocused on the doors as one of them cracked open. One breath caught in his throat as the rugged man with the scraggly red beard – the leader – stepped through, quite alone, and shut the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his dark leather vest, woolen gloves now replaced with thick black leather ones and walked out into the square, stopping just off the stairs to the doorway, boots crunching the dying yellow grass. The man let out a deeply held breath before whispering, "She would have loved this."

This was his opportunity.

Rumple couldn't say how he knew, exactly, only that he did. There was something broken in this man, some unfulfilled longing, some hidden desperation – all of which he could readily identify with. His heart prompted him, and he stepped out of his magical hiding place, strolled towards the man, whistling.

At first, the man froze, one hand reaching for a sword, but when he saw that Rumple had no intent of attack, he let his hand rest on the handle, blue eyes steeled on the golden man. "Who are you, and what do you want here?"

"Rumplestiltskin," the imp said, bowing with a flourish of his hands. "At your service." He lifted his head to glance at the man in front of him, a mischievous smirk on his face. "And you are?"

The man didn't move or react in any way whatsoever, despite the Dark One bowing in front of him. He only seemed to steel himself further, his jaw tightening. "Robin Hood," he spat out, eyes tightening. "And you didn't answer my question. What do you want here?"

"I'm at your service, of course, dearie." Rumple stood, one hand lifted next to his face as if holding an expensive goblet, even though it was empty. "I have nothing I need in this castle or its compartments, otherwise I should have been here long before you and your little band of scavengers."

"Then I would have you leave, before whatever binds you would hurt my men."

There was no hesitation, just the cold reply coming from a stern and solemn man. Robin moved his hand from the handle of his sword, crossing his arms once more, and Rumple was reminded of himself when Baelfire was still around, wanting nothing more than to be left alone and protect his not-small-anymore child. "You need no magic to assist you?"

Robin shook his head and his jaw worked as though he were trying to avoid a laugh. "All magic comes with a price, sir, and I suspect you know that better than anyone." He relaxed then and stepped forward, closer to Rumplestiltskin. "But if you wish to join me and my men for a short amount of time, I would not say no to such a request."

There it was again, the hint of opportunity roiling around in the pit of his stomach. He lifted one eyebrow almost reluctantly then stepped back amid a fit of hasty giggling. "Join you? Why would I ever want to do that?"

"How should I know? Perhaps you want a break from all of your magic and deals." Robin didn't shrug, only pulled his forest green cloak tighter around his shoulders, as though to shield him from the coming winter. When Rumple hesitated, Robin reached out one hand to him, and, against his better judgment, Rumple took it. Robins' face broke into something that was neither a smile nor a grin but a word altogether different, although the form was the same. It was stern and accepting and forgiving – all words Rumple might once have wanted from his papa but now never thought he wanted at all.

Rumple pulled his hand out of Robin's and the grin returned, a mask to protect him. He didn't say anything, because he didn't need it, and Robin didn't say anything either, just turned to the door and opened it so that Rumple could go inside. Again, Rumplestiltskin hesitated before stepping across the threshold into the large stone castle. Something in him didn't want to be stuck in a stone building again – even if his own castle was built of stone and gold, there was a fear in entering someone else's abode. They had the home advantage, even if he had magic.

Then he entered, and Robin shut the door, lowering a large wooden plank across it. He waited for Robin to pass him, and when he did, he followed him down the stone corridor. Further in, and there was a large room – perhaps it was once a ballroom, although it was hard to tell with the tapestries rotting and unravelling where they hung – with a handful of men sitting or sleeping, a fire freshly lit on the stones, smoke rising to the dark ceiling. With one hand, Robin gestured to the group, a firm half-smile on his face.

"Welcome to my Merry Men."

Belle didn't know what she expected as she followed Cora down the hallway, boots making soft clunking noises that echoed oddly with the click-clacking of Cora's little black heels. Certainly not that they would walk for what seemed like days in unending silence, Cora continuously checking the emerald green smoke globe in her hand as it flashed only fractions of a second faster with every step they took. She couldn't even tell that it was growing quicker at first; it was only in retrospect that she could realize it was faster at all.

One hand gripped her cedar wood wand even tighter. Countless doors behind them and countless doors ahead and still no end in sight. Finally, the silence and awkwardness of the partnership got to her, and she tapped one of Cora's bare shoulders lightly. The woman in red ignored her, not saying anything as she continued down the hall, the light of her magic giving her face an eerie green glow.

"Cora," Belle said, breath escaping in a short huff. "Can we talk?"

"About what?" Her voice was low, dark, and seductive.

Belle pursed her lips together, thinking. She almost didn't care what they talked about, just as long as it was something. "Ourselves? Rumple? How did you two meet?"

Cora froze, pushing a single strand of scarlet hair out of her face. She smiled, but even that didn't seem right somehow, like she was the kind of person who could have these wolfish grins and the look of a cackle, but a smile – wholesome, bright, beautiful? It didn't fit. Even this – it wasn't really a smile, more of a fond smirk as she once more continued to walk down the hall. "We met when he decided it would be a good idea to buy my daughter from me." She let out a huff of breath, a half-laugh. "And you?"

"When he rescued my kingdom from certain destruction," Belle said, voice soft, crossing her arms across her red leather tunic. "My father refused to sell me, but I chose to go anyway."

"Hm." With a turn, Cora let her dark eyes run down Belle's form, taking it all in again in a different way than before. Her eyes recognized the gold thread running through Belle's gloves before turning their attention to the wand in her hand. "Did he give you that from one of his fairies? Their magic can be quite unpredictable, you know."

At her words, Belle lifted the amber-colored stick, frowning. Her eyebrows furrowed. "No, I don't think it's from the fairies." She twisted it this way and that in her hand again so that she could see it from every angle. Then she let her hand fall back to her side, ever ready. "He said it was from another world and gave me books with it, to study how it worked. It's been years, but I think I've gotten the hang of it."

Cora nodded. "So we both have magic, then. Which do you think is more powerful?"

"I don't think the power matters much, as long as it is enough to protect us."

The other woman's lips pursed together, and her eyes narrowed. "And if something is more powerful than that stick? It wouldn't be enough. You would need more, or you could lose everything dear to you."

"If I only pursued power, I would lose everything anyway," Belle said, her voice a mere whisper. She glanced to the orb in Cora's hands, which now flickered rapidly, each second switching back and forth, bright and dark. "The orb is flickering."

"That means we're close." Cora licked her lips once and nodded to the doors on either side of them. "He probably went through one of these doors, and since we can both—"

Belle held up one hand. "No." She gave Cora a winced look, her lips turned up as she shook her head. "I will open both doors because my magic is a lot less explosive than yours, thank you very much." When the other woman just looked at her as though she'd grown horns out of her head, Belle rolled her eyes, raised her wand, and tapped one of the handles. "Alohomora."

After a moment's hesitation – and an unhappy look that reminded her too much of Rumple when she denied him extra helpings of food – Cora tested the handle, finding the door unlocked as expected. She frowned. "Fine. Open the other one."

While she pulled the door open, Belle unlocked the other door, stepped forward, and opened it. Another hallway lay on the other side – this one with stone walls and floors instead of the metal they'd been walking around on. "Cora, I think this is the right way." She turned around to see what was taking her companion so long, then her bright eyes widened. She covered her mouth with one hand and might have dropped to her knees if Cora hadn't glared at her.

"Help me with him." Cora struggled to lift a shaken, broken Rumplestiltskin, a worried expression on her face. She brushed his long hair out of his face, where his eyes were closed. His limp body lay in her arms, and she pulled him close to her. "Wake up, darling. Wake up."

He was here. Rumplestiltskin was here. Here and locked up just like they had been.

Belle rushed over to him, her eyes examining the face that no longer had its golden sheen. His powers were gone or, maybe, for this Rumple they had never truly begun. She helped to lift him up until he was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall. Her eyes met Cora's. "We can't leave him here."

Cora nodded once in agreement, her eyes returning to Rumplestiltskin's face. "Do you know any spells to awaken him?"

"One."

"Will it hurt?"

The wand felt limp between her fingers as she lifted it, pointing it at the spinner's chest. "I hope not." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and whispered, "Rennervate."

A red light pulsed from her wand into his chest, and his body shook for a second before color returned to his cheeks. He opened his eyes – not golden, as she was accustomed to, but a brilliant brown, tawny and light as a fawn's skin – and looked from Belle to Cora, a frown on his face. "Where am I? Where's Milah? Or Baelfire? What's going on?" Rumple struggled to stand, but without his cane, his leg wouldn't support his weight. Once more he sat down on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Belle rubbed his back with one hand then met Cora's eyes with another glance. She didn't know how to answer him, but perhaps this woman, given so much of his magic, could.

With trepidation, Cora knelt down in front of the spinner they had found and raised his head with one hand, so that he was looking straight into her dark eyes. "You've been captured, but we're going to get you home." Her voice sounded tender, unlike the harsh mannerisms she'd used with Belle. She twisted her hand in a strange gesture, and an ebony cane appeared, which she handed to the spinner. "Do you think you'll be able to walk?"

"Yes," Rumplestiltskin said with a nod, his tone full of fear. Belle held his hand, stabilizing him as he stood, putting his weight on the slender cane. His hand grasped an ornate golden piece on top, and almost immediately he seemed calmer, much more like the Rumple she knew best. "Where to?"

"To find the person responsible for bringing us all here," Belle said. Her eyes glanced back and forth between the woman in red and the spinner, who looked back to Belle with worry in his eyes.

Cora grinned, her dark eyes still focused on the spinner, ignoring Belle's very presence. "To slay the beast, of course."

To Rumplestiltskin's surprise, none of Robin Hood's Merry Men much seemed to care that he was there. He walked around the group for a while, just to get an overview of the kinds of people he was with. Vagrants and vagabonds, sure – he could tell which ones were there just for the fire's warmth by the thinning wisps of potato sack cloaks on their backs – but there were also men who might once have been noble, wearing deep wine-colored tunics under their forest green coverings. One even seemed to be wearing silver armor – most likely taken from one of the old dragon's stockpiles. Rumple might never have wanted dealings with Maleficent, but that didn't mean he hadn't visited her castle from time to time before meeting Belle.

The only one who even seemed remotely shocked by his golden skin was the boy he'd seen pounding on the castle doors late last night. When the boy caught a glimpse of him, his hazel eyes widened in excitement and he ran to Robin, pulling eagerly on his cloak. "Papa, papa! That man has gold in his skin! He must be rich!"

Robin tousled the boy's curly mess of black hair and chuckled in a deep voice. "We don't judge people based on the color of their skin, Roland, even if it does sparkle and glitter in the sun." He wrapped his arms around the boy – his son – and then pushed him towards Rumplestiltskin. "You should go say hi. It looks like he could use a friend."

The boy Roland looked up at his papa with bright, eager eyes, nodded once, then scampered over to where Rumple sat next to the fire. He kneeled next to the Dark One, opened his mouth to speak, giggled to himself, and then just sat silently, staring into the fire. Rumple took this moment to glance over to where Robin stood, raising one eyebrow, and Robin just shrugged, as though to say, "What I can do? Just humor him."

It wasn't really in Rumple's nature to humor anyone other than himself, or perhaps Belle on those long nights in their castle when the last embers of the fire grew low. Once, maybe, he might have humored Baelfire with thoughts of going to another world, but he still didn't like to think about that. His daughter, Anna – she wasn't a replacement; he still thought about Baelfire every day, perhaps more than he should – knew only of her papa's love and sternness, not quite old enough to need "humoring", yet, but still young enough to need constant attention and care – mostly at Belle's hands.

When he'd found Bae, the now adult hadn't wanted anything to do with him, but at Belle's request, he gave him small amounts of his time. His son never got over his abandonment and could never quite forgive his papa. That didn't mean he couldn't be friends with Belle or Anna; in fact, that's who was watching over Anna now. She called Bae "uncle", even if that wasn't quite what he was, but he'd never asked to be called anything different. After their centuries of age and separation, perhaps he didn't want to think of Rumple as his father anymore – just a man no wiser than him. who, with a habit of self-preservation, wanted nothing more than to live down an old mistake.

"So, what's your name?" the boy asked, still gazing at the fire, trying so hard to be an adult like the other Merry Men, instead of the boy he still was.

Hold onto your youth, Rumple wanted to say to him. It goes so quickly.

But he said none of that, instead turning to the child with an impish grin on his face. "Rumplestiltskin," he said with the usual flourish in his voice, the soft roll on the first of his name. "And who might you be, dearie?"

"I'm Roland!" With a smile, the boy turned to Rumple, his eyes bright and lit by the firelight. He still hadn't lost all of his baby fat, and dimples showed in the corners of his smile. Then, repulsed by his own excitement, Roland's eyes widened and he turned back to the fire, staring at it intently once more. "What are you doing here?"

Rumplestiltskin shoved back a giggle at the young boy's mannerisms and, at his question, let his own gaze wander into the fire. The flames danced with each other, devouring the simple chunks of wood, burning bright orange with yellow at their tips and the evanescent blue at their very core. "I'm not quite sure," he said, and that was the truest thing of all that he'd said in the time he was there. The crimson-caped man told him to be here, to take advantage of an opportunity – and he knew that the one he'd taken was the right one, that he was meant to be here somehow – but he still didn't know why or what for.

What did the caped man want in this castle, with Robin or his Merry Men? Surely they had done nothing more wrong than anyone else in this forsaken world. But, then, he was once in the business of fixing all the perceived wrongs of the world – mainly by deal-making in his own favor – and he'd come to the realization that what many people saw as right might be seen by others as wrong. So where he might not see anything wrong with these men, that didn't mean that someone else mightn't see it as wrong – or that they didn't have something hidden deeper within them. At their core, every man was evil; Rumplestiltskin believed that much. But that didn't mean that every single one of them didn't, at some point in time, try to change for the better.

He was trying to change for the better.

A fond smile crept across his face, and Rumple began to wring his hands together – not anxiously, as some were wrought to do, but playfully, as though he couldn't quite keep them still. "There's something I have to do, someone I need to save."

"Ah!" Roland turned to him again, his eyes bright once more. Did they ever lose that spark? "I know someone who can help you with that!" He took one of Rumplestiltskin's hands and tugged on it. "My papa always wants to save people! You just tell him what to do, and he'll be able to come up with a plan to help, right quick!"

"It doesn't always work like that," the golden man whispered as the firelight lit his skin so that it glowed. "The best laid plans don't necessarily bring about what you want."

"But that doesn't mean we can't try!"

Rumple glanced back to Robin, who stood with one of his band – a tall man in dark browns and greens with a tan cap on top of his head, a large wooden staff in one hand. They seemed deep in conversation, then Robin looked away to check on his boy – as any father might, save Rumple's own. He gave him a fond smile then brought his eyes up to look at the man with him. With a nod towards the tall man, he stepped away to join Roland and Rumple's conversation, perhaps to save the new addition to his wandering band from too much childish enthusiasm. He dropped down next to Roland and placed one hand on his son's back – still so small. "Can't try what, Roland?"

"Helping Rumplestiltskin do whatever he needs to do to save whoever it is he needs to save!" Roland stumbled over his name the same way she had the first time she summoned him so many years ago. But even those few years were nothing as compared with the centuries he'd spent arranging and rearranging the world to get what he wanted. Or was that fate using him to create its own stories? Sometimes he wasn't sure anymore.

"Ah." Robin rubbed the edge of his rusty red beard with one hand, his fingers shivering outside of the gloves' warmth. "And what does he need to do?"

Roland squinted his eyes with a pout. "I don't know. He won't tell me."

"And who does he need to save?" Here Robin made sure to look at Rumplestiltskin, not at his young child, because he knew there was no way his boy could know the answer.

But Rumple looked away into the fire, twisting and turning his hands on themselves once more. He giggled, but his heart wasn't in the impish jester look he tried so hard to put on. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, dearie!" he said, but he could feel the steel of Robin's eyes on him. He hated that feeling, the one that said no matter who he was, as long as he was under someone else's leadership there would be no secrets, not when he needed help.

Forgive me, but I don't want your pity.

Robin just nodded in understanding. "C'mon, Roland. Time to get yourself up and ready for the day." He shoved his little boy playfully, and Roland just swatted him back before scampering away. Then he turned to Rumplestiltskin, a wary smile on his face. "I'm sorry if he's a bother to you at all. He can be quite a handful." As he spoke, he twisted a simple ring of gold around his wedding finger – thin enough that it probably wouldn't be noticed by most people.

But Rumplestiltskin wasn't most people.

"Where's your lovely wife?" he asked, the normal mannerisms and tones in his voice, although perhaps a little bit less of them than usual.

"Dead. Nine years ago." Robin's face hardened. "Roland doesn't remember her at all." He glanced back to his son, who seemed to be talking with the tall man from before, and smiled. "Do you have anyone special, Rumplestiltskin?"

The Dark One closed his eyes, shutting them against the fire even though the light still cast different colors into his mind. His first thoughts were not of Belle, but of Baelfire, the boy he'd spent centuries trying to get back, the one he'd promised himself to never abandon and yet, unwittingly, did. In every other situation like this, Bae would be the first name on the tip of his tongue, the first word he would say, if he said anything at all. Other times, he might have said other things afterwards – Cora, at one point, although he could hardly bear to think of her now, or even Milah, who he'd just as soon pretend never existed, other than to give him Bae. But now, when he answered, his mind was not on Baelfire nor on the small child staying with him, but on the woman who stuck with him and loved him despite all of his flaws, the woman who still had hope in him even in the darkest night, the woman who fought for him, for them, even when he appeared to be far gone.

When he said, "Yes," his mind was on Belle because, in his heart, there was never anyone more special than her.

Rumple opened his eyes, gazing where the flames grew hottest, and decided for once in his life to be honest to a complete stranger, to take a risk on this Robin Hood, because he knew in his heart that was what Belle would do. He let out a sigh. "My wife, Belle."

"And where is she?"

"Taken from me by a man in a crimson cape for reasons I still do not know."

The leader of the Merry Men clasped one of Rumple's hands in a way reminiscent of that Charming idiot, but when he looked at him with stern focus, he didn't seem quite as naive. He'd seen more, perhaps, than David Nolan could ever dream of in his wildest imaginings. But, then again, they all had.

"We will help you find her. Just point the way, and we will go."

Rumble giggled once, but it was half-hearted. "If I only knew the way!" His voice came out in a sing-song, taunting, even if that tease was aimed purely at himself. There was still much he didn't know, and if there was one thing Rumplestiltskin hated, it was being in the dark.

Perhaps it was time to try scrying the future once more.

The next door Belle and Isabelle opened took far longer than it should have. This is probably accounted for by the fact that Belle was trying to teach her other self little tricks she'd picked up when it came to locks, and Isabelle, like any Belle, watched her intently, asking questions, and occasionally even trying out a move herself, just to get her hands on it, to practice under the guidance of a master before attempting it on her own later. Belle didn't unlock the door completely, instead leaving it so that Isabelle could try.

When the lock clicked open, after far too many tries but not enough frustration, Isabelle let out a happy sigh, wiping imagined sweat from her brow. "That's hard!"

"But don't you get a thrill the first time?" Belle remarked, a grin on her face. She patted her blue dress down then gestured to the door. "Would you like to open it?"

Isabelle's bright blue eyes widened, and her face lit up, showcasing the spattering of freckles across her nose. "Of course!" With a determined look on her face, she grabbed the handle, twisted it once, and pulled the door open.

Inside lay a young girl, barely a teenager, with bright red hair and wearing peasant's clothes. She stood up from her crumpled position on the floor, patting slender strands of straw from her dull clothes the color of potato sacks, and didn't quite glare at Belle and Isabelle but definitely gave them a look that could easily be mistaken that way. "What do you want with me?" she asked, in a voice both low and proud.

Some people were born queen without having a single drop of royalty.

The problem with such a statement was that there were many kinds of rulers. Isabelle, for instance, if she was anything like her other Belle counterparts, would grow to become a fine young woman. She might not rule, but if she did, it would be with compassion and grace. Even in her home with Rumplestiltskin, Belle carried an air of refinement – not snobbish or rude, necessarily, but a certain poise and beauty, a certain virtue that made people want to trust her – and, if that was used in the right way, to follow her. But she never took advantage of them in such a way simply because she had no desire to rule – and that was for the best.

The teenage peasant girl standing in front of them now would not have been that kind of ruler. She had the makings of royalty, but none of the good marks. In her defiant stance, there was pride, rebellion, and years of hatred. Given the right power, she'd be an effective ruler, perhaps, but not a well-loved one. If anything, she had all the trappings of a budding tyrant.

"We're just trying to help!" Isabelle said, impulsive, reactive. She stepped forward, but Belle reached around her and held her back. The girl might not have said anything offensive, nor in any way offensive, but there was just this air of offensiveness about her that just – there weren't words in Belle's repertoire for it.

Well, there were words, but none of them were good.

"Help? Me?" She burst out in a cackle of laughter before sneering at them both. "No one helps a lowly peasant girl, not unless they have something else in mind." Then she raised one eyebrow. "You two don't have anything horrible like that in mind, do you? Because I'd rather be stuck in this prison cell than do anything of that sort." Her eyes swept up and down Belle's form, and a grin appeared on her face. "Well, I could make an exception for you, I suppose."

For a moment, Isabelle just looked from the girl to Belle in shock then kneaded her forehead. "She did not. Please tell me she did not."

Belle shuddered, although she knew that was probably the worst possible response that could come from this interaction. Then she stepped in front of Isabelle, her slippers making a soft shuffling sound on the cold concrete. "We're here to rescue you, and I assure you we have nothing like that in mind at all."

As she grew closer, she could see the purple and yellow bruises on the girl's skin. Most of them were concealed by her clothes, but every now and then, a shifting of her position would reveal the tiniest hint of one. "My name's Belle, and this is Isabelle," she said, holding out a hand to the girl. "What's yours?"

The girl hesitated, gazing at Belle's empty hand before taking it in a light shake. "My mother calls me Cornelia, but everyone else calls me Cora."

Isabelle raised one eyebrow, looking to Belle with a strange look on her face. "How do they get 'Cora' from that?" she whispered. "'Cornie' or 'Cory' I can see, but 'Cora'? That's a bit of a strange, don't you think?"

"Not at all." Belle let her hand tighten on Cora's and shook it, despite the fact that it was a cold as ice. "Which you would prefer us to call you?" she asked, her voice firm and accepting.

Her dark eyes widened – a deep hazelnut brown, with little flecks of light tracing out from their center. It lasted for only a second, and then the mask was back in place, the mask of a queen, a royal who cannot let her people know her pain, who has to remain above, even if there was no need for it.

Belle knew masks well, not because she had one, but because Rumple sometimes wore one of his own, in their early days together. There were layers of hurt underneath, and even now she was afraid there were still things that he kept broken because he knew no other way of dealing with it. Sometimes it was easier to force things back and ignore it, but—

"Cornelia," the girl breathed, her voice little more than a whisper. "I'd like to be Cornelia."

With a hint of a smile, Belle curtseyed before the girl, noting how Cornelia's bones stuck out beneath her thin skin. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Cornelia." She elbowed Isabelle, and her counterpart hastily bowed.

"Likewise," Cornelia said, mimicking their gesture without the slightest hint of a wince, the turn of a smile on her face. She stood from the bow, glancing towards the open door of her cell. "Do you know why we're here?"

"Not a clue," Isabelle said, shaking her head, "although we suspect there's a lot more of us locked up." She turned to Belle with a bright smile. "She taught me how to pick locks, so I guess we're planning on freeing everybody?"

Belle nodded once. "Yes, until we're sure that there are no more captives here. I figure, once we're all together, we'll have some idea of what's going on. You can tell a lot about a man by the people he locks up." Then she blushed, running a hand through her long, wavy auburn brown hair.

Cornelia nodded, making sure to meet Belle's eyes. "I can help with that, my lady. I have some knowledge in picking locks." She smiled, a hesitant one, before returning to the smooth face of a proud woman seeking honor in whatever way she can get it. Or, no, not honor – recognition.

Love.

Belle reflected her smile and reached forward to touch Cornelia's face with one bare hand. Cornelia winced away from her, flinched, and in that moment, Belle's heart broke a little bit. This was not right, what had been done to this girl.

"She's not going to hurt you, you know." Isabelle let her eyes shift from Belle to Cornelia and back again. "You can trust her."

"You know very little of trust, girl," Cornelia whispered.

The action was meant to comfort, but if it only inspired fear, best not to act on it now. Belle's hand lingered in the air, then she let it drop, forcing the smile back onto her face. Even if she hated them for the most part, she, too, had masks just like this. "It's alright, Isabelle. We'll just go back to setting the captives free, then."

Isabelle nodded once, shoving her hands into the pockets of her deep navy blue pants – pants, a girl in pants, not tights, did she know how people would react to that? – and exiting the room to find another door. Once more Belle met the warm brown eyes of the woman across from her, and she imagined that Rumplestiltskin's eyes must have once looked like that. She had to get out, to get back to him, to make sure that the fear and pain she saw in this girl was never on his face again.

Belle just hoped that he'd forgive her for taking time to free the others.

At some point in time, Rumplestiltskin had to break free of the group of Merry Men sitting around the fire, not because he didn't enjoy being there – oddly enough, he found that he did – but because he was, by nature, quite an introvert. Most people who saw him might not believe that; with his flourish, mannerisms, and flamboyishness, he could easily be pegged as one who would rather spend his time among people, entertaining them and drawing energy from them, but that wasn't the case. As a magical creature, he needed time to be alone, to sit, to recharge.

On normal days, he did this by spinning – whether he used wool or chose to spin straw into gold, as he'd done less and less recently – and he had no reason to not do so now. Even if the dragon woman never span a day in her life, most castle inhabitants had someone nearby to spin for them so that they might have fresh yarn or thread as they needed it. And, although the castle had been empty and picked clean, very few people would deign to steal a spinning wheel, especially not one owned by the woman who used one to cast a spell on her enemy. What all horrible designs might be on her personal wheel?

Before taking off, he'd let Robin know that he was going to explore the castle, not due to any particular kinship, but because, as a newly minted member of his band, his leader might need to have a general idea of where he was, should the group leave the castle anytime soon. Robin'd simply nodded, his arms crossed across his chest, then patted the Dark One once on the back as he left.

Thinking on that, Rumple'd have to do something about it later. He hated those kind of familiar touches from anyone but Belle. And a pat on the back...that's like something his own father would do, had the scoundrel ever loved him.

It was on his explorations through the building, searching for the spinning wheel, that Rumplestiltskin found the globe. He'd originally had no need to expect anything in particular in this mostly abandoned building and entered the room with a casual air, a torch in one hand so that he might see anything and everything of interest to him. He peeked into the room, glanced about for a spinning wheel, as he had in each of the other rooms he passed, and when he didn't see one, turned to leave.

Then a faint white glow caught the corner of his eye.

Magic.

To be quite honest, Rumplestiltskin knew better than to interfere with another woman's magic, especially one who was long dead and gone. However, a part of him, small as it might be, felt a need to collect it and add it to his collection of magical items. He stepped back into the room and raised his torch, golden eyes scanning for the white glow once more. It gleamed from the nearest corner of the room, not flashing or bright, just this ever present warm aura, beckoning him nearer. Against his better judgment, he crept nearer and opened the cabinet from which the glow emanated.

A pure white globe sat in the cabinet, its color muted and opaque. The glow faded as he opened the cabinet, and Rumple suspected that the crimson-caped man had enchanted it previously so that he would find it. Either that or the globe itself knew that he was searching for someone – for Belle – but this was less likely. Magic items could take in the aura or emotions of the people using them and reflect or expand on them, but only after an extended period of time. He'd only heard of this globe and its capabilities for finding people, never actually used it – he'd always known Baelfire was in the world without magic, and so he hadn't needed it to find him until he got there.

And then...well, Bae found him.

Rumplestiltskin reached forward, carefully taking the globe out of the cabinet. There was not a spark or any magical repercussions, which meant either the former owner didn't know enough of its value to booby trap it or, somehow, just by merely being as magical and powerful as he was, the magic had no effect on him. In his case, it was probably a little of both. There were plenty of traps that couldn't harm him, too concerned with killing the person caught within – and he could only be killed by the dagger he still wore strapped to his right leg. Since the owner appeared to be only focused on killing magic, she hadn't used curses designed to torture or enslave the thief, and so he could escape quite relatively unharmed.

He cradled the globe in his arms and walked back to the open room where Robin and his men lounged. Thoughts entered his head, plans, schemes. This was what he was good at, although it often took him far longer to piece everything together. An idea took shape in his mind, a way to get Belle back without having to obey the crimson-caped man – or, really, a way to obey him but with enough loopholes that he could never quite say he disobeyed.

The Dark One, after all, took pride in his control of words. In fact, he needed it, if anyone ever took his dagger to try and control him. Then again, he'd been preparing for that sort of incident for centuries and never once had any need to act on it. Still, it helped in situations like these.

A menacing grin took place on his face. He was going to get Belle back, perhaps with the help of the men in these castle, and all because the crimson-caped man was foolish enough to think he could overpower the man who'd had centuries to hone the dark magic infused in his very being.

And when he was done, Rumple would make sure that no one ever challenged him or Belle ever again.

Cora's heels click-clacked against the floor. Cora's heels always click-clacked against the floor. Belle was beginning to hat how Cora's heels click-clacked against the floor. No, what she really hated was how Rumplestiltskin's cane tapped the stone ground in time with the click-clacking of Cora's heels while her own boots continued their little thumping noises as she followed the witch in red. Just walking together, the witch and the spinner made music. She just scuffed the ground.

"So, who are you, exactly?" the spinner asked, one hand holding tight to the gold tip of the smooth cane, his doe eyes glancing from Belle to Cora and back again. "I do not recall ever seeing your faces before."

His words threw a jilt into the music of the witch's steps, causing a pause and sharp little clickety-clatter to hide her misstep. "It doesn't matter who we are," Cora said, firm and final. "It only matters who you are and that we keep you safe."

"Ah." The tapping of Rumplestiltskin's cane didn't slow, but his steps grew shorter, distancing himself from the magical woman in front of him. His eyes narrowed in focus on the cane, the straightness of it, and he let out a little sigh.

It was easy for Belle to catch up to him, to pat his left shoulder if only just to touch him again. Rumple winced at the touch, shaking the straw from his simple tan tunic and cloak, and Belle withdrew her hand. "I'm Belle," she whispered to him, and, with a nod toward Cora, said, "and that's Cora. She can be a heartless wench, but I'm pretty sure she loves you just as much as I do."

"You two love me?" Rumple asked, and he sounded so shocked that it didn't surprise her when he stumbled, not keeping a safe grip on his cane.

Almost at once Cora turned – no hesitation in the clicking of her heels this time – and grabbed Belle's arm, hustling her further up the hallway. She glanced to the spinner with such anger – perhaps it was not meant for him, but it made him afraid to follow her all the same – then directed her emotions at Belle, fire dancing in the darks of her eyes. "Don't you dare say anything to him about us."

Belle could feign innocence or ignorance, as needed, but at the moment she was completely lost. She blinked once and forced herself to stay in this moment with Cora, to not turn to the spinner to make sure that he was not too hurt by Cora's anger. Her bright blue eyes met Cora's dark ones with confidence. "And why not? He asked. I think he, of all people, should know who we are."

"You foolish girl."

There were echoes in that phrase, tones and emotions and love and a past – or a future, mistaken, left behind – that Belle couldn't understand, couldn't follow, but somehow understood all the same. In those words, she could hear a mother chastising her child, disappointment and love all rolled up into this one line that summed up everything. This was how Cora saw herself – the antithesis of this – not that this woman was wise at all, but that her whole life was spent decidedly not being a "foolish girl". Her mind was one of plans within plans, broken only by the strong emotions that were suppressed right now.

Those emotions slipped through her teeth so. "In his world, he doesn't know us. If he goes back searching for us, then we will have ruined him."

Belle glanced back this time, giving in to her desire to look at the spinner Rumple. In this form he was human, unchanged by the curse that twisted his tawny eyes and skin into that obscene golden color (she'd grown used to it, loved it now, but when she'd first seen him – the color, the sun – it was so harsh). Staying this way – what could be wrong with that? How would that ruin him?

When she glanced back to Cora, there was a scowl on the woman's face, lines creased into her forehead and etched at the corners of her mouth. "You don't get it, do you?" she whispered, and there was a sadness in that voice, a brokenness. "He needs to stay with Milah, with Baelfire. In that world, whichever one he came from, he's happy. Would you take that away from him?"

"What do you call 'happy', Cora? How do you define it? Because it seems to me wincing like an abused puppy whenever someone touches you isn't very 'happy' at all."

She could only keep her voice calm and toned down because she knew that Rumple was behind her. For some reason, Belle didn't want him to hear any of it. Her eyes shut as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "Maybe you're right. Maybe he's happy. Maybe I don't get it. But he's worth so much more than that."

"I know," Cora said, "but sometimes we don't deserve what we're worth." She glanced over to the spinner, finally taking her eyes off Belle, and her glare softened into a familiar fondness. "And sometimes trying for a greater happiness only ends in greater heartache." When she turned back to Belle, her brown eyes didn't seem so dark, instead glimmering an almost hazelnut color before steeling themselves into the abyss once more. "Let him make his own choices, and don't you dare get in his way."

Belle nodded once, an admittance of something, and then asked, because the words were on and through her lips before she dared stop them, "Why do you love him?"

"I don't."

"You do." She paused, afraid, then reached forward, touching the bare skin on Cora's upper arm once more. There was no anger there, no desire to control, just an attempt to comfort, and she smiled sadly. "Why?"

But Cora tore her arm out of Belle's grasp and turned away. The green orb returned in her hand, smoky and flickering so bright that her face was in shadow. "We have to keep moving. We have to get home. Keep up if you can." Then her heels resumed their click-clacking against the cold stone floor, and Belle found that she couldn't quite hate the sound anymore, even if it did send pounding spikes up her spine.

When she turned with one gesture, the spinner walked toward her, his eyes watching Cora in fear. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, dear," Belle said, the sad smile not leaving her lips. "I don't think any of us did."

Rumplestiltskin set the globe down in front of Robin Hood, an impish grin on his face, and Robin Hood looked up from the scrolls and maps in front of him like a father might look at a child with a finger-painting (or, simultaneously, the way a cat owner might when the pet brings in a freshly slaughtered swan). He glanced at the globe then back to Rumplestiltskin, confusion growing on his face. "What is it?"

"How we find my Belle," Rumple said, his voice at once both alluring and frightening. "All I need now is to retrieve my daughter, and we can begin." He held out his hand, waiting for Robin to take it, but the other man hesitated. A little giggle crawled out of the Dark One's throat, menacing in the way it was always meant to be. "Are you afraid, dearie?"

Robin shook his head once, crossing his arms across his chest. "Not afraid, Rumplestiltskin, just concerned. You're planning on bringing your daughter to save your wife? Now, why does that sound like a bad idea?"

The patronizing tone of Robin's voice did not make Rumple feel particularly better, nor did it soothe any rumpled feathers this crow might have had. "Anna is not coming with us," he muttered, low and dark as his namesake. "I just need her blood to power the globe. The genetic line will help us find Belle."

"You're going to kill your daughter?"

Now it was Rumple's turn to shake his head. "I would never hurt Anna." He'd hurt Baelfire enough, without meaning to do so, that he could never bring himself to willingly harm another of his children – especially not Anna, who looked so much like her mother. "But, knowing that it will save her mother, Anna may allow herself to get a very small boo-boo." Then he raised both of his eyebrows in realization. "Or there is that loose tooth that she's been pushing back and forth for the past week. It's about time that came out."

This time when he held out his hand, Robin took it in his own, a genuine smile on his face. Rumple could almost hear the man laugh – deepening bellows that would shake the walls of Bae's little cottage – but decided not to pursue that venue. Instead, he tightened his grip with one hand, took hold of the globe with the other, and, in a plume of violet smoke, whisked them away into the night.

Belle thought she had a headache before, but now, with more and more of the doors being unlocked and more than her fair share of counterparts running around – and not just her own, there were quite a few Cornelias mixed into the bunch, although most of them would only go by Cora – the little pinpoint of pain behind her eyes and throbbing under the bump on her head had expanded to engulf the whole of her skull. It did not help when the next door she opened held a version of herself in a white starch gown, who, on seeing her, brought her hands up, making an 'x' with her pointer fingers, and scooted away from her, hissing, "Get back, foul woman! You're not real, not real!"

Perhaps it was better to leave that one where she was.

After she backed out of the room, shutting the door once more, Belle rubbed at her temples with probing fingers, as though to make all the pain go away. For a moment, it seemed as though the tension died down. But, of course, it couldn't stay that way.

"Belle, Belle!" Isabelle came running towards her, panic on her face, her bright blue eyes wide. "I think we might have a problem!"

Before Belle could respond, Isabelle grabbed her wrist and began to drag her down the hall, in-between different Belles and the occasional Cora in various states of dress, multitudes of ages, and far too many outfits for any one of them to keep track. She let herself be pulled forward by the enthusiasm of this version of herself, being careful not to trip or run into anyone else. "What's wrong this time, Isabelle?"

"Cornelia. She's—"

But then they were there, and Isabelle shoved Belle into the shallow room of the prison. She gave Belle a nervous grin. "I'm going to go unlock some more doors, free some more captives, you know—" Then she ran off again, the soles of her shoes squeaking on the metal floor. As she left, Belle nodded once, even though Isabelle was already gone. Then she took a deep breath and stepped further into the room, letting her eyes take everything in.

The room seemed the same as every other room they'd been in – metal, cold, hard. There were no windows to be seen anywhere. However, just as some rooms had minor changes – the Belle in the white dress had a padded room and Cornelia seemed to bring straw with her wherever she went – this one, too, was different. It was only as she looked further, more intently, that she noticed what was missing.

A bed.

Her eyes lit on where Cornelia stood in the corner, back towards her, not even turning to welcome her presence. Curious, Belle stepped forward, closer, so that she could see what exactly it was that Cornelia was hiding. When she grew close enough, she could see the faintest outline of a crib, but it was only when she stood right next to the peasant girl that she saw what had happened.

There, in Cornelia's arms, lay a baby girl with a tuft of thick hair so dark that it almost couldn't be called brown. The baby gurgled once or twice, but her deep chocolate eyes remained locked on Cornelia's hazelnut ones, calm and reassuring. Cornelia held the baby girl close to her chest, cradling it in her arms, and leaned down to gently kiss her forehead. She nuzzled the baby, almost oblivious to Belle's presence, and then blew soft raspberries into the baby's stomach. When she pulled back, finally, softly, the baby had one hand clenched tight on a lock of Cornelia's scarlet hair, and there were tears in Cornelia's eyes.

Belle reached over, saying nothing, and carefully extracted the lock of hair from the baby's fist. "You can't keep her, Cornelia."

"I know," the girl whispered, but her eyes were full of love and longing. She lifted the baby up high again, swooping it down until the small child giggled. Then she cradled the baby in her arms again. "But at least let me hold her until we find out what's going on? I don't want to leave her here alone."

"Of course," Belle said. "I wouldn't want to be the one to tear her away from you." She carefully patted Cornelia's back with one hand, and although the peasant girl tensed the first time, she seemed to relax under Belle's touch. The baby gurgled again, and Cornelia couldn't tell, but her face beamed as she held the girl close to her.

"Thank you."

Belle just nodded once and stepped out of the room, leaving Cornelia alone with the baby. She didn't shut the door behind them, as might be appropriate for such a private moment, afraid that it would lock them in. Then she took a deep breath and returned to her task, unlocking more doors. Fortunately that was the only baby they'd found – she didn't want to deal with a dozen squalling versions of herself or Cornelia or whoever the heck that baby had been.

Whoever'd taken them had done a very thorough job. She highly suspected that there were no other Belles or Coras anywhere, in any of the possible universes or times, that was not here at this present moment. Then again, she'd been proven wrong before. It was likely she'd be proven wrong again.

Every time a knock came at the door, Anna hoped it was her papa, and every time, without fail, she was disappointed. At some point, the strong man – her uncle – started keeping her away from the door, holding her in his arms when he needed to open it, so that she wouldn't run to it and try to open it without him being there. The problem with all of this was that somehow the young Anna forgot one very simple thing.

When it came to her and her uncle, her papa didn't need doors.

First came the smell of her papa's magic – like sweat and mildew and straw. Then came the rapid running of feet – her uncle's – and she woke all at once, bristling with excitement. Papa was back. He was here now. Papa was back!

She was out of her bed like a flash – unable to keep herself all caught up in the tangled mass of quilts her uncle'd draped all over her for the chilly nights – and her little feet pounded to the ground, dust swirling around them. Anna pushed open the door, ran down the hallway, and, just before the turn, slipped, sliding, stumbling—

All at once her papa was there, his rough golden hands scooping her up and lifting her high into the air. She giggled, a sound like a bubbling brook, clear and pure and innocent, and when he brought her against his chest, she clung to him. "My papa."

"Yes, dearie. Your papa."

There wasn't time to waste, and Anna, excited by her part in the saving of her mama, quickly took to working on her tooth. Still, as Rumple suspected, there was a hint of fear in his daughter – not so much fear, but an avoidance of pain. He cradled her in his arms as she worked and twisted the tooth, the globe not very far away. She tried to pull down, but the slightest tug made her squeak in unexpected pain. "Papa, hurts!"

"I know." Rumplestiltskin tousled the wavy auburn brown hair on his daughter's head. "But the pain'll be over very quickly, I promise."

Behind him, Robin Hood and Baelfire – no, Neal now – stood in his son's kitchen, each holding a glass. Robin's held water while Bae's held a form of liquor – most likely ale, as that was the best the kingdoms had to offer as far as habitual drinking. (Others had a much better taste, in Rumple's not-so-humble opinion, but who was he to argue with the son who only recently decided to give him another chance?) He could hear their voices softly conversing, and although if he focused he could probably hear every word – being the Dark One did have its perks – he chose not to, instead focusing on the small girl in his arms. His daughter. Belle's daughter. The one who would get the globe to work.

Anna took a deep breath, and with a sudden, decisive move (for a six-year-old), she snapped down the hand holding her loose tooth. All at once it was out, and her eyes dripped small tears, and her mouth dripped blood. Rumplestiltskin held his daughter tight to him, kissing her forehead. "Now, as we practiced, dearie."

The girl nodded, slow and focused as only his daughter could be, and stuck one finger into the hole her tooth left behind, letting it become stained with her blood. Then she stepped over and let her blood drop onto the globe. Immediately, the orb blinked crimson as the blood soaked into its very being. Then the colors all focused on one, constantly blinking spot.

Anna's eyes widened as she turned back to Rumple. "What it mean, Papa?"

"It means we have to go to a land outside of time," he said, glancing to Robin Hood. "Or, rather, a mountain where time seems to stand still, where cherry blossoms are always in bloom, always just about to drop...and yet never falling." Rumple knelt down, and his eyes met Anna's blue ones. "I will see you soon, dearie."

"'Course, Papa." Anna's eyes fluttered, weary with exhaustion. Even if she did want to see her papa, it was long past her bedtime.

Baelfire – Neal, Rumplestiltskin reminded himself once more – scooped Anna up in his arms, but before turning away, he said, "You might want to try scrying the future before going anywhere. You never know what may turn up."

"That was just my intention, Bae. Thank you." But his words were unheard as Baelfire left the room. Rumplestiltskin let out a sigh and shook his head. He met Robin Hood's steel blue eyes, but the other man didn't say anything, just sipped calmly on his glass of water. It always surprised Rumple that Bae continued to use glasses instead of mugs. Perhaps there was something about him that missed the extravagant. Well, if that was the case, he could always provide him with more – but Bae seemed to not want that, either. His son confused him.

But this was not the time to be thinking about Baelfire. He needed to focus on Belle, his true love, off in those mountains in the middle of nowhere, in a place where time appeared to stand still. And, more importantly, he needed to see.

So, of course, he closed his eyes, lifting his hands up in front of him, palms facing outwards.

For a moment, there was nothing, only the darkness. Then, as his hands stretched out further, he caught the faintest taste of it – fate. In his mind, he stepped forward into the time stream, and it welcomed him like an old friend, curled around him, engulfed him. Now, with his hands out, he could take a hold of it, could—

Metal, steel, iron, stone.

A castle in the mountains, the cherry blossoms bright and full.

The man in the crimson cape and a hooded woman in a gold gown standing beside him, directing him, her hand on a short sword, another holding a staff—

A hallway, full of doors, doors upon doors upon doors, and each of them opens, and there are so many people, too many people, he can't see—

Belle stands in the middle of them all, a hand upraised, leading them.

Belle sits on a golden throne, hair tied back.

Belle waits in a stone prison, arms around her legs, tears running down her face.

The man in the crimson cape, the black hat, the wizardry. So close, he can almost see—

Just like that, the vision ended. Fate drew away from him, rubbed his neck once, then disappeared. Scrying was a fickle art, often telling him nothing at all. In this case, he knew that he would leave alive, and that was really all that mattered. He turned to Robin Hood and reached out his hand again. "Let's go."

But Robin didn't move, instead examining the cedar wood table in Baelfire's kitchen. Did he not understand the need to go, to move, to be gone now? Belle could be in danger. No, not "could be" – Belle was in danger, and he wasn't going to leave her like that, not now that he knew where she was and how to get to her. In that moment, his eyes flashed a deadly gold, and he stalked off.

"Rumplestiltskin, wait," Robin spoke low and soft, just enough to keep from waking Anna or drawing Baelfire's attention from wherever it was he had gone. "I know that you want to get your wife, and I will go with you to get her wherever you go. But you must promise me that I will return safely or, if I can't, that you will take care of my son." He took a deep breath. "I know the dangers of travelling with the Dark One. I knew them when I took you into my castle. But you must promise me—"

"It's a deal," Rumple said, his voice eerie, "and you should know that I do not make deals lightly." He glanced back, letting his eyes meet Robin's, and for the first time, his were the more focused and steely of the pair. "Now can we leave? Every moment we hesitate Belle could die."

Robin nodded once and took one of Rumple's hands in his own. "To the ends of the earth and back."

That made Rumple snort once. The ends of the earth. He'd been to many different worlds, but to the ends? He wasn't sure if that was where they were going or if that was somewhere he'd ever been. But it might be worth it to venture there someday – when he had Belle back at his side, if that was what she wanted.

They teleported once more in a plume of violet smoke, leaving behind the scent of sweat, straw, and the sweetest scent of decay. The globe sat on the floor where Rumple left it, of no more use, and slowly absorbed the blood into its opaque orb. But where the smoke touched, it corrupted, and the orb faded until it disappeared entirely.

Now, now there was a mob.

Belle raised one hand in the air, trying to get her counterparts' attention but failing miserably. It certainly didn't help that the various incarnations of Cora were all ignoring her, despite the fact that they, too, would be stuck in their cells if not for her help. Well, Cornelia and Isabelle helped, too, but that was beside the point.

"Everyone!" At this point, she really had no idea what to call their strange little group. A couple of the Belles closest to her – one in a pirate outfit and one in some sort of leather get-up, all angles and whips and chains – turned to her, nudging those nearest them for attention, but that was as far as it got.

Isabelle pushed through the crowd towards Belle and tapped her shoulder with two fingers. "I think that's all of the doors we'll be able to get open – at least as far as I can tell. The ones in the back use different locking mechanisms, so I couldn't get them open." She glanced around the crowd and scoffed, putting her hands on her hips. "So do you have any idea why we're all here? I've honestly never seen so many of me in one place before."

"You've seen others of us before?" Belle asked, catching on something, but Isabelle just shook her head. The only other version of herself she'd ever seen was in a mirror – but that was just a reflection, not an alternate version at all. She pushed a hand through the curls and waves of her hair, careful to avoid the knot. At least that was receding, even if that didn't help her headache at all.

It was one thing to capture all of the Belles in the multiverse. Most of them probably had kidnapping in their past, for various reasons. Typically, it had something to do with Rumplestiltskin, although sometimes it was feigned as being for her own good – one of the Belles in the back said something about "Lacey" and she remembered when her own father stole her and planned to push her across the town line. The funny thing was that it wouldn't have worked; Lacey was just as attracted to Gold as Belle was, in her own little way, even if she was more wary and cautious.

But Cora? Why was she here? Why were multiple versions of her here – including Cornelia, who had probably never laid eyes on Rumplestiltskin at all, if his version of the story was to be believed? And that baby – who was neither of them and couldn't possibly be Baelfire – what was she doing here?

Her mind whirred with ideas and theories and twisted truths of what possibly might be going on, but there wasn't enough information. Whoever it was had stolen them all – and probably had more people locked in the other rooms, but for reasons so odd that they wouldn't let her in...or perhaps it was that whoever was caged in those doors was more valuable than the rest of them put together. Still – there was only connection between the lot of them, so she hazarded a guess, a speculation that she knew was true, even if she didn't know how.

"Rumplestiltskin is in trouble," she whispered, and those words produced an immediate calming effect. Not only did Isabelle hear them, but the Belles nearest to her – the pirate and the one in leather – heard, their bright blue eyes widening. To her left, a Cora in a lacy white blouse and the same navy blue pants that Isabella wore also turned to her, her hazelnut eyes smoldering. She tapped the Cora nearest her – this one was older and wore a long, flowing blue dress – and whispered the words to her. This Cora took her hand and began to lead her to the front of the mob, repeating the news as she went.

Before Belle could believe what had happened, all eyes were on her. In a matter of seconds, the Belles and Coras were paying attention – not because they particularly liked her or thought she was better (she wasn't, but she had rescued them, that should have counted for something) – and as the elder Cora in the blue dress waved one hand, a ladder appeared in a plume of violet smoke. She gestured to the ladder, as though encouraging Belle to speak, and as Belle stepped onto the ladder, Isabelle appeared at the front of the mob as well, her bright eyes wide.

Behind them, Belle spotted Cornelia, sitting cross-legged and at work on one of the other doors, the dark-haired baby girl still in her lap. The door opened hesitantly, revealing another hallway instead of a prison cell, and Cornelia took the baby in her arms, stood, and returned to Belle's side, opposite Isabelle. She nodded towards the hallway, and although it answered nothing, it gave a direction.

That was all she needed.

Then Belle turned and gazed out at the mob, all hushed and quiet and watching her, attentive, and she took a deep breath. She had no theories, only the one connecting thread between them all, and that had to be her answer. That was her answer. But she had no idea what she wanted them to do. "Rumplestiltskin is in trouble," she repeated again, her voice magnified by magic provided by the elder Cora. "I don't know how, and I don't know why. But that's the truth." She glanced back to the hallway, shivering once in the chill air of the prison. "I'm hoping that if we all go through this hallway we can find our kidnappers and confront them."

"What if we get captured again?" One of the Belles in the middle of the crowd asked, her curly auburn brown hair pulled back into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, glasses perched on the tip of her pert nose. "What if we only make things worse?"

Belle shrugged because right now that was the only thing to do. "I can't promise we won't get captured again," she said, "but I have to believe that they wanted us to get free somehow. They didn't take anything from us when we got here – if they'd wanted to keep me locked up, they would have kept the door locked." Although she suspected that had more to do with the two rooms they'd found completely empty – one of them still tinged with forest green smoke and smelling of pine and tree sap – than with whoever their captors were.

"And knowing Rumple...our captivity is probably worse than anything we could do to try and help." These last words were softer, kinder, more familiar. If anything, Rumple –her Rumple – wouldn't know where she was and would be spending his time to come rescue her. Rescuing herself would help him; rescuing the others would help any other Rumplestiltskin in any other world there might be. At least, that's what she hoped.

She smiled, and it was weak and vulnerable and made most of the Coras scoff, but that was who she was. Belle. In love. Belle ran a hand through her hair again and stood there, hands held out wide. "Who wants to help me save Rumple?"

At first, the mob was quite still, then it surged, like a wave crashing against the shore. The elder Cora looked to her, and with a half-smile, helped Belle down the ladder once more, using her magic to hold things in place. "Good job, dear." She patted Belle's hair. "Perhaps you are not quite so useless after all."

Belle shivered at the woman's words – cold yet attempting to be warm – and she looked out on the crowd. "Magic users to the front. We don't know what we're up against, so we'll need your help the most."

"We're getting close," Cora said, the forest green smoke orb in her hands almost constantly lit up. Every now and again it would flicker back to the darker color, but for all intents and purposes it was blinking so rapidly Belle couldn't really tell it was blinking at all anymore.

Belle and the spinner Rumplestiltskin had continued to follow Cora forward throughout the castle, traveling down the corridor until it reached a fork, then turned left, right, straight, up and down staircases – a much longer time than Belle thought they would take. She was glad, in those moments, that she'd chosen to follow the witch in red, because in all honesty, it would be hard to find her way through this maze of a castle. Now Belle took his hand in her own and squeezed it gently. "Are you going to be okay?" she whispered.

"Yes, I do believe so," Rumplestiltskin said, his voice still soft and whipped. He glanced up to her, a fond, sad smile on his face. "Why do you ask?"

"This man kidnapped you and threw you into a prison cell, and you're not afraid of him?"

Rumplestiltskin seemed to consider this for a moment then let a little laugh through his lips. It sounded broken, as though he hadn't laughed in a long, long time, and that broke her heart. "I'm afraid, dearie, most definitely afraid. But it's been worse before, and I'm not a man who will let his fear undermine him."

Oh.

"You're a brave man, Rumplestiltskin," Belle said, patting his cheek with one hand. But her thoughts were on what Cora said before – about happiness and choices and how sometimes it's better to have a little and be content than to try for more and ruin everything we once had – and perhaps understood. Her own Rumple had a hard time with self-preservation, power, and cowardice because he'd put something else before himself – Baelfire. But when he'd noticed he would lose his son, despite his fear, he'd stolen the dagger of the Dark One and become the Dark One himself, and after living so long with so much power – his fear of being powerless had grown.

This Rumplestiltskin might not have power, but it might be argued that he didn't need it. Even though there were terrible things in his situation and a sense of fear, it wasn't anything like what he would gain as the Dark One. If he stayed as this spinner, if he hadn't lost Baelfire or Milah, if he'd become a warrior, if the Seer had never said anything to him – what might have changed? Would they have ever met? Surely not – he'd become the Dark One centuries before she was even born.

If there was no Rumplestiltskin in her life, how might it have changed?

These were the things she couldn't let herself think about, even as she came to realize that these were the things constantly on Cora's mind right now – how her life might have been different if any other choice had been made, how this Rumple's would be different if he tried to change his fate. Belle swallowed once, but it tasted like bile and sourness and pain.

Then Cora held one black-gloved hand up. "We're here," she whispered without turning to the two of them. "You must be quiet and you must be on your guard because we will get only one chance at this." The forest green orb vanished, and finally she glanced back to them. "Rumplestiltskin," the word on her lips sounded like love and regret and bitterness mixed with honey and herbs, "it might be best for you to stay here, dear."

The spinner Rumplestiltskin nodded, his tawny doe eyes wide, and Belle let go of his hand. She gripped her wand tighter, reviewing spells in her head, spells that would freeze the other person, spells that would – if she desired – torture or kill them. Those spells might be forbidden, but in a battle like this, in a battle where she could die—

She knew she would never use them, but it was a comfort, sometimes, just to know that they existed.

Belle looked up and her bright blue eyes met Cora's dark ones, and there was just the slightest flicker of hazelnut and honey before they became firm once more. She swallowed again, even though her throat was parched dry. "I'm ready."

There was a hint of a smile on Cora's face, menacing and afraid. "Let's go, then."

A small part of the Dark One in Rumplestiltskin told him to be careful and teleport outside the castle, but that part of him was stuck in the realm of self-preservation – a realm that did well for him in the past but one that he wanted no part of where Belle was involved. She was more important. She would always be more important.

As the smoke faded from around Rumple and Robin Hood, he found himself in a stone castle, the same one he saw in his vision. A glance through one of the windows showed cherry blossoms, right on the cusp of blooming, but frozen in time. One dangled just outside, almost within grasp of whoever chose to stand that close. He knew enough to stay far away.

The rest of the room was fairly large and circular – like a ballroom, but not quite. The floor wasn't smooth enough for dancing or the slip of childish stockinged feet. One hallway led away from them into the rest of the castle. Noticing it, Robin dropped Rumple's hand and pulled out his bow, nocking an arrow. "You go. I'll follow you."

"No." Rumplestiltskin's golden eyes took in the rest of the room, searching it, drinking it all in like a tall glass of wine on the coldest nights of winter. Shadows framed one corner of the room with two thick, rectangular areas where the stones were lighter – undamaged by soot or smoke. There used to be tapestries there. He stepped closer to the wall with the missing tapestries, and when he grew too close, the floor flipped over, revealing a bright red velvet rug. The ground began to move, and a stairway appeared in front of him. The wall moved separated into two panels and moved backwards, revealing what looked to be a throne room. The two thrones were empty, but that didn't matter to him.

Royalty always had an extra door. They could not enter as the common people did, nor would they want to do so. Besides, if a riot or assassin came in, they needed the extra door to slip away unseen into the night. Some kingdoms had two doors – one for the king and one for the rest of his family – but the Dark One suspected this was not the case here. He walked up the short stairway to the empty thrones, and Robin Hood followed him, arrow still at the ready. When he reached the throne, he placed one hand to his dagger, making sure it was still there. Nothing had changed. Not yet.

"Search for a trap door," he whispered, and Robin lowered his bow, running to one end of the throne room, his rough gloved hands feeling along the edges of bricks and mortar. Rumple took the thrones himself. His fingers danced along the carved armrests, dug into the curves of the handles, and, finally, pricked a loose button. One push, and a door whirled open just to Robin's right. A mischievous grin – impish and haunting – appeared on his face. "Through there, dearie, if you please!"

The excitement made him giggle, but the fear made him dance. All of the extroversion, all of his mannerisms – just a defense mechanism, and they came out here more than ever before. Yet to each of them there was the slightest hint of sadness and barely bridled rage – anger which as of yet had no focus, fury which boiled hot in its little stove pot, a lid held on tight to keep any from spilling over.

Robin entered the new corridor first, his bow always at the ready, and Rumple followed him, dagger gleaming bright in his hand. Perhaps it would be safe strapped to his thigh, but he'd rather have it in hand. It was more comforting that way.

The corridor led up and away, curving as though to lead up a tower. It had been years since Rumple followed a pathway like this – dirt littered the floor, dust from years without use on each little stone. Robin left footprints on the ground and then just as quickly scuffed them out with his slow, methodic movements. But, as they moved further in, they both knew that this was the right path and that they were being lured this way. They were far enough away that there should be no more light, but as they continued up and up, the torches flickered to life around them, lighting up the shadows.

When they reached the wooden door at one end, Robin turned to Rumplestiltskin, his eyes dark. "Are you sure this is the best—"

Knock it down, Rumple thought, his inner teeth bared, yet he said nothing. Instead, he ignored Robin's words and reached forward, enchanting the door with a thin pea green haze. Then he let the haze cover himself and his companion, face stern and focused. The spell wouldn't last long against a magician, but it would protect them for now. It also appeared that there were no other enchantments on the door, which comforted him. He gave Robin a silent look – he didn't know when it was that the two of them were able to communicate that way, especially having known each other for only about a day – but the man seemed to understand exactly what he was saying. Robin took a step back, and Rumple pushed the door open.

Inside stood the man in the crimson cape, his pointed black hat sitting crooked atop his small head. On the floor underneath him was painted a bright yellow sun, each ray pointing towards yet another door – including their own. Hoops of gold circled in-between the rays, and underneath the gold the floor was painted a pale sky blue with little curls and waves of cream and white – mimicking clouds in the daytime on the calmest of days. The walls of the room held the same golden hoops and bright yellow sun's rays, but they still held the cold gray of steel and stone in stark contrast to the bright daylight attempting to bring life to them.

At the sound of the door opening, the crimson-caped man turned around, a giddy little smile on his face. He whirled in a complete circle before facing Robin Hood and the Dark One, his eyes glittering in his otherwise pale face. Short, wavy golden brown hair peeked out from under the edge of his hat, the tip of which flopped forward due to all the movement. "Welcome!" He scampered forward, taking Rumplestiltskin's hands in his own. "It's so good of you to finally arrive!"

Rumple tore his hands out of the man's rough, calloused ones. For once, he had no words. There was something familiar and yet off about the young man in front of him. His eyes searched the man's light brown ones but there was no recognition there.

"Why is it good?" Robin asked, laying one hand on Rumple's shoulder as though to hold him back, as if that would do any good at all.

The Dark One surged forward, magic flowing out of his skin, and grabbed the young man's neck in a tight hold. "Where is Belle?"

Far from being shocked or afraid, the young man giggled in a way far too similar to Rumple's own mannerisms. "I don't know. Which one do you want?"

Rumple grit his teeth together. "What do you mean, 'Which one?'" he growled, low voice coming from the back of his throat. "There's only one, dearie, and you will bring me to her or suffer the consequences." He threw the man back to the floor, and a spare thread of his cloak tied itself around the caped man's waist.

But the man just laughed, none of these attacks or threats fazing him, and for once he seemed almost magical, the crimson color of his cape an aura around him. That disappeared quickly, though. Too quickly for Rumplestiltskin's taste. He knew what it was to be magical, to have an aura, and to force it to disappear. He didn't trust this man.

"Of course, of course! I'll lead you right to her!" The man started to scamper away again, pulling Rumple along by the thread. All of a sudden, he stopped and turned to Robin, one eyebrow raised. "And it's good because she wanted him here, of course." The tone of his voice suggested that it was a different she altogether – not Belle, because if her desire for him and his trying to find her was good then, really, there was no point to anything that was happening. Their desire for each other could just as well have been ignited in the castle, after Anna was asleep. They didn't need to be here for that.

Then, all of a sudden, at that exact moment, before they could do anything, the crimson-caped man snapped, encasing all three of them in rubies. Rumple's eyes widened, an icy shiver of fear dripping down his spine – he hated being caged, he hated being caged, he hated being cage – but then the rubies began to drift upwards, through the ceiling, where they slowly, subtly began to spin. No, they weren't spinning, the whole room was spinning – the golden rays of the sun darkening and the sky-floor shifting from the palest of light blues to a combination of pinks and purples – sunset, the sun in the middle growing from gold to a silver moon. It was halfway – when the sun and the moon were conjoined and one – that the room stopped spinning, the floor covered in pinks and purples and roses and lavenders and the deepest of blues starting to spread from one corner of the room—

As the rubies descended, the Dark One's golden eyes focused on a woman in a yellow dress standing at the edge of the blue, facing not quite towards him but not quite away, a hood hiding the features of her face. But the hood didn't matter; he'd know that dress anywhere.

"Belle?"

Belle knew the moment she entered the room with the moon on the floor that something horribly bad was going to happen. It wasn't until she saw yet another version of herself – thankfully, this one was not in a white gown or mumbling phrases in her general direction – that she grew afraid for her safety.

The witch in red burst into the room, dark brown eyes blazing, both hands up, forest green swirling around her. When she saw nothing but the woman in the golden gown standing there, a hood covering her face, she let out something akin to a grown but mixed with laughter. "So you're behind all this, then, are you?"

The woman in the golden gown looked up, noticed Cora and Belle, and pushed her hood back, allowing her auburn brown hair to fall about her shoulders. A light little smile appeared on her face, and she crossed her hands in front of her, clasping them together in a move that was both familiar and very, very wrong.

"I was wondering when you two would arrive," the golden Belle said, and her voice was both soft and welcoming. Her eyes, though – they were not the bright blue of every other incarnation of Belle in that castle but a dark, deep blue – not piercing, but mournful, old, and tired. Dark circles hung under those eyes, and her already thin form was now nothing more than skin and bones. "You are the most magically powerful of yourselves, so perhaps you two can help me where I have failed."

Failed? Belle looked to Cora, but the woman just glanced from one Belle to the other, her eyes continuing to narrow. She held her hands up in defense. "I don't know what she's babbling on about, but I don't have any part in this, I promise."

The golden Belle stepped forward, holding out a hand towards Cora. "I apologize for all of your trouble," she said, and then, nodding to Belle, continued, "and for kidnapping you. I know how annoying it is to be in prison, but I wouldn't have done any of this if I didn't think it would save him."

"Save who?" she asked, but she already knew the answer.

"Rumplestiltskin."

There was a moment, no matter how small, when Belle knew that she was making the wrong choice.

That didn't matter. None of it mattered.

She would lock up everyone in the world if only it meant saving him.

"Malcolm."

Belle spoke, and shivers ran down Rumplestiltskin's spine. How could she be doing this? How?

Then he looked into her eyes and noted how dark they were, how he could not quite distinguish them from the circles and bags beneath them. She was too thin to be his Belle, too dark to be her, too mournful and sad.

The crimson-caped man – his father, Rumple realized, but even that was a stretch. The man was never really a father to him, abandoning him just for an eternity as a youth in Neverland – but he was here now, and he wasn't quite a youth anymore, and there was magic and wizardry to him – so perhaps this Malcolm was not his Malcolm, just like this Belle was not really his Belle.

The Belle that was not his Belle glanced up at him, and her eyes grew dark once more. She glanced to Robin Hood and let out a sigh. "It's good of you, dear Rumple, to finally be making friends. But—"

"Belle, what is going on?" Rumple tapped frantically on the ruby in which he was still encased, watching as the crimson-caped man strolled over to her, a bright grin on his face. She patted him on the head, like one would a pet dog, and then he scampered away through another door, dragging Robin Hood's ruby away with him.

"My dear Rumplestiltskin," she began, a blush spreading on her face. She walked toward the ruby and placed one hand on it. "How I've missed you." A small smile appeared on her face, sad and sweet, and she leaned forward until her forehead touched the glass. "But I won't get to keep you either. You don't belong to me. And no matter what I do – I keep losing you."

"Losing me?"

Belle nodded once, and the ruby disappeared then, allowing Rumple to wrap his arms around her. She may not have been his Belle, but she was still Belle. He wasn't going to let her stand there in mourning like—

Mourning?

"Belle...did I die?"

There it was again, the smallest little nod, but there were no tears. She didn't cry anymore. "I need you to not die," she whispered. Then she looked up, her dark blue eyes meeting his golden ones. "I'm sorry."

Once again, the world started spinning, and Rumple felt himself torn away from the golden Belle. Some magic – strange and broken – wrapped itself around him, forcing him back, back, back – until everything that was around him was darkness and he sat in a stone cold prison cell like the one he'd seen Belle in when he tried to scry the future. He tried to move, but magic held him back.

For once in his life, he was the one being kidnapped. By his true love.

Nothing made sense anymore.

"That'll hold him for now," Cora whispered, but her voice was tired and in pain. She clenched her hands into little fists, shaking – but not with rage. "Now, how can we help you?"

The Belle in the golden dress looked from Cora to Belle and back again before focusing on Belle. "In all of your studies with that wand of yours, did you ever learn of a spell that could protect someone from certain magical death?"

Belle paused for a moment, her heart frozen in her chest. She had helped herself kidnap Rumplestiltskin, with a little help from Cora, of course, but...still. There were things she had never thought she would do – and although this one had never crossed her mind, if it had, it would certainly be at the top of the list. This was outrageous and confusing and had stopped making sense the moment she'd seen the second version of herself, so really...this wasn't so extraordinary anymore.

With her mind still whirling over everything that she was trying not to think about, Belle took a deep breath, steadying herself. "In my studies, there wasn't really a spell that dealt with this. There were secret-keepers, but they only hid people, not actually protected them from certain magical death."

Now the thin Belle turned to Cora, her dark eyes pleading. "And you? I know that if there were anything like that in our world, Rumple would have used it himself, but perhaps...perhaps you caught something he didn't."

Cora shook her head once, letting out a deep breath of her own. "A pupil cannot surpass her master, dear one. I'm sorry." And that, too, that phrase, that apology – it sounded as wrong coming from Cora as it had looked wrong for the Belle in the golden dress to clasp her hands in front of her gown. There was something off here – some mixing and matching so that, really, these two were two halves of one whole.

Belle shook her head, trying to get all of these images out of her mind, and as she did, she remembered something else – a series of books from the world without magic that Baelfire talked about, a boy in the histories of her wandlore. She cleared her throat of nothing and said, finally, "There might be a way."

The other Belle and Cora turned to face her, eyes open and expectant. She tried to ignore how similar the two expressions looked and continued. "Love – just as in our world – is a powerful and confusing substance. In this world, if someone sacrifices him – or her – self out of love, then it protects the other person. Permanently. They can't be harmed by evil." She let out a breath. "But it's not a perfect science. The recipient can still be hurt – and even die – but...it helps. Some."

The golden Belle nodded once and let out a sigh. "That's enough." She smiled, but it wasn't a particularly hopeful smile. "That's all I needed to know. Thank you."

"And how, pray tell, are you going to get Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, into a situation where he gets attacked like that?" Cora asked. She brushed down her dress, and little specks of forest green magic sparked along the fabric, cleaning it. "He is more powerful than you can ever imagine."

But the other Belle just smiled, and finally the pieces fell into place. "That's why Malcolm is here, isn't it?" Belle asked, her hands clenched together. "That's why—"

"Hush," the golden Belle said, placing a hand on her counterpart's mouth. "I've lost my Rumple. I won't let either of you lose yours." She turned to Cora with a half-smile. "I trust that you will keep her here until the deed is done? Then you will all be sent back home – my magic only lasts as long as I'm alive."

Cora nodded once and at her nod, the forest green magic took hold of Belle, ripping the wand from her hand. The wand set off little cerulean blue sparks, twitching against Cora's hand, but none of it hurt her. In the end, the wand was still, silent, obedient without desiring it. "I'm sorry it had to be this way," she said, "but Rumplestiltskin is more important than anyone else, even if that someone happens to be just like you."

"Thank you, Cora," the other Belle said, and she crept out of the circular room, turning her back on both of the women, prepared, ready, willing.

"Manipulating it like that won't work!" Belle shouted out, hoping against hope that the other Belle would stop.

But the other Belle just shrugged. "I can't save him. I might as well die trying."

The words wouldn't come.

Belle walked with Cornelia and Isabelle and the elder Cora in the blue dress, and the words wouldn't come. Somewhere, her mind had shut off – the pain overwhelming her – and she'd allowed herself to lead a mob of herself to save her true love. She'd accepted this readily and gone on into whatever she was supposed to do. First it was picking locks and freeing everyone. Then it was coming up with a plan. Now, it was leading them to wherever it was they were going – to save Rumple, that was the idea, but how did they know how that should happen? How would they know where he was? By following a blinking blue light or smoking aura?

But, of course, that's exactly what they were doing because, of course, one or more of the many Belles and Coras had a spell of some sort to do just that – lead them to Rumplestiltskin. Right now the elder Cora was in charge of the finding spell. It gave her something to focus on. Cornelia still held the small dark-haired child in her arms. Isabelle marched beside Belle, her right-hand self for all intents and purposes, but that wasn't enough.

Belle was thinking, and that was a dangerous thing.

However, today, her thoughts did not come in words because the words wouldn't come. No, right now her thoughts came in scarlets and golds, clouds and dainty horses with horns atop their heads, swimming in a sea of warm milk with pink bunnies surrounding her. The tension roiled away from her, and she left herself to the bunnies and milk, to flying in a tub of thick molasses, to the wonderful clash of gold and silver and blue – all muted.

The words wouldn't come, but the images wouldn't stop. She let herself focus on Rumplestiltskin as he flashed by in the turmoil of her heart. The way his golden eyes watched her every move. The moment that she knew she loved him, when he let her chip the cup without making a big deal out of it as her papa might have. It was as she dusted the house that she let herself fall into that love, letting it grow, because she could not help but love the golden man who went out to help the world at large but came home to spinning and quiet and solitude. She remembered the first time they made love, but some words were not meant to be spoken.

Perhaps she needed to address the crowd behind her once more, but she didn't. Belle could feel Isabelle tugging on her blue dress, but she didn't let herself leave her mind yet. This was peaceful, and peace could be so addicting. It was better than pretending they were going nowhere. Then Isabelle began to tug harder, and she felt herself falling out of the milk and molasses back to the real world she'd found herself dropped into.

"Yes, Isabelle?"

"I think we're there, Belle."

They stood in front of a door built of wooden planks. A part of her wanted to open the door, but another part of her just wanted to stand there, watching, waiting. If she went through that door, she'd have to be part of a fight, and she was growing so tired of fighting. She was so tired.

Then she remembered Rumplestiltskin and who she was fighting for and no door could ever stand in her way again.

Rumplestiltskin felt himself dragged from the dark prison cell at the bidding of his dark lady. This was not the way he imagined this would happen, yet it did. When he scryed the future, he'd seen nothing of his own imprisonment or this sudden betrayal – even if it was from another Belle, it was still from one who loved him. Worse, it was from one who had seen him die and was still living with it all. His heart hurt. He didn't know it could hurt like this.

No. That was a lie. It'd felt like this when he thought Belle was dead, too.

When he saw Malcolm standing in her place, he'd thought that the man would do him no harm. He closed his eyes, waiting. She was still there somewhere. He could feel her presence.

He was wrong to think that he was safe here; he knew that as soon as he felt the breeze against his neck, heard the startlingly bright jolt of magic hurtling towards him. He wasn't quick enough.

Belle betrayed him. Baelfire wanted little to do with him. It might as well not matter anymore.

Everything happened all at once.

Belle opened the door.

She saw herself – a Belle in a golden dress – she remembered that dress, remembered how tight it was across the chest, how hard it was to breathe in that corset – nodding towards a man in a crimson cape. She saw him prepare a magic spell, raising a wand high. She didn't hear the words. She didn't have to. Green lightning spiraled down towards Rumplestiltskin, and that Belle ran towards him – she wasn't going to get there in time, she could see that.

But she could make it.

Her feet moved before any of this crossed her mind, because really, it wasn't all that much time to think.

She pushed Rumple out of the way.

The bolt hit her.

Everything faded to black.

When Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes, he was at home in his own castle. Belle slumbered next to him, her head resting on his chest. Something felt different. Perhaps he'd had a weird dream? He closed his eyes, trying to remember. There had been a flash of green light...but that didn't matter now. He wrapped his arm tighter around his sleeping wife, pulling her tighter to him, and she let out a sigh, curling into his chest. With one hand, he allowed himself to stroke her curly auburn brown hair.

This. This was the way things were meant to be.

He closed his eyes again, waiting for sleep to take him.

When she thought none of it mattered, she lied.

This version of her was dead. Her Rumple mourned to the stars and back again.

She didn't know how long his world would last.

But she did know this – whenever someone tried to kill him, a bright white light would flash, and he would see his Belle again, and the arrow or sword or whatever it was would stop, frozen in time, held back by some unexplainable magic.

It wasn't unexplainable. She knew what it was.

True Love.