"It wasn't 28 years."

Mr. Gold looked up from his spell-book. Belle—his brave little Belle—looked, at best, worn-out. On anyone else, her slumped shoulders, dropping head, and closed eyes would signify defeat. But Belle was never defeated.

His heart sped up, whereas every other inch of him was frozen, pen in hand, hovering over the page.

She raised her head and met his eyes, and he almost wished she hadn't, because her blue eyes were clouded. She had collapsed in the large arm chair in the living room and Gold—Rumpelstiltskin would have done anything to bring the light back to her gaze. Of course, being him, he would probably have to settle for destroying the one who had taken it.

Suddenly, it dawned on him that he had been staring at her without responding.

"What?"

"It wasn't 28 years. Not just, anyway. She held me in our world too."

He gritted his teeth and his knuckles whitened from his grip on his pen.

"How long?"

"Three more than that." Her voice was solid, then she glanced towards the ceiling. "Four?"

His eyes widened, colored by horror. He hobbled around the table and, slowly, carefully, limped towards her, sinking to his good knee right before her chair. She leaned forward and he cradled her face in his hands. Neither was exactly dry-eyed.

"Belle," he groaned.

Belle dropped to her knees in front of him, his bad knee framing hip. Eagerly, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

His arms circled her, gripping her as tightly as the first day he had gotten her back. Gods, he loved her.

She leaned back as much as she could, with his hand still pressed against her spine.

"She…she met me on the road again. I tried not to speak to her, but…she said I had failed, that it must not have been true love, said I couldn't go home."

"Belle."

"I hadn't planned to go home anyway. She offered me a place to stay, but I said I was going to travel a bit. She asked that I at least let her give me some provisions, since it was her suggestion that had landed me there, but I refused and she…she turned vicious. She must have knocked me unconscious because, the next thing I knew, I was in a cell and—"

Rumpelstiltskin crushed her against him again.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. Belle, I am so sorry."

She leaned back again, but with his eyes clenched shut, he didn't see her. He just felt her, warm and solid in his arms and her lips, soft and wet, press against his. His eyes snapped open when he tasted salt. He drew back like she had slapped him.

She should.

One of them was shaking, but Gold couldn't quite tell which.

"I don't blame you," she said, gripping his shoulders. He couldn't have moved if he had wanted to, her eyes locked on his too strongly. Suddenly, he realized he was the one crying. He was the on shaking too. "I don't."

He didn't care. Twenty-eight years that blurred together was bad enough. Four more, alone, under the queen's thumb and entirely aware of everything that was happening…all that time he was tricking and dealing and tailoring the breaking of the curse and he could have been saving her. It would have taken him a day, and then he could work to find Bae with Belle by his side.

He was shaking his head. "I should have come after you. Belle, I—"

He looked in her eyes and it felt like a physical blow, because her eyes were dark and wet. For the first time, she seemed…

"Why didn't you?"

Broken. His Belle—Belle the brave, Belle the strong, Belle the Lionheart—was broken.

Regina would pay for that.

"Belle…" His voice was broken too, a sob ripping from his throat. As frightened as he was, he stared straight into her eyes, punctuating every word as strongly as he could.

"I thought you were dead."

She blinked and shook her head. "What?"

Rumpelstiltskin gritted his teeth together. "She" – he spat the word – "told me you were dead. That your father had shut you out and holy men had tortured you because—" He swallowed hard. "Because of me and you…" He closed his eyes, the images from the nightmares his dark mind had provided after he lost her coming back to him in every bit of vivid detail as they had been 33 years ago. "She said you threw yourself from the tower. She said you died."

He braved enough to meet her wide eyes again.

"When I saw you in my shop that day…I just assumed she had taken you after the curse was cast. I assumed…" In all honesty, he wasn't sure what he had assumed. He had been so amazed that she was here, so angry that she looked so disheveled, so sickened that she had been right under his nose for twenty-eight fucking years but kept away from him that he hadn't really thought about where she had been between leaving his castle and the casting of the curse. He had vaguely thought she had finally gotten to see some of the world. "I'm so sorry, Belle."

She had grown quiet, her eyes focused on the carpet.

"I'm sorry she did that to you."

"I don't care what she does to me," he scoffed. "To be honest, I've done just as much to her. It's what she's done to you that makes me want to…"

"Don't. Not on my account."

He said nothing. He wasn't sure he could promise her that. And he would not lie to her again.

Wincing, he shifted his weight, sitting on the floor and holding his arms open. She laid her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his chest as he surrounded her with his hold. He didn't know how long they sat in silence wrapped up in each other, but it wasn't enough time. He sighed when Belle pushed back and looked up at him.

"You've got to go to her. Figure out what to do about Cora."

If he wasn't concerned that Cora would hurt Belle, he'd leave the queen to her own fate. But she had been right, and Belle was in just as much danger as she was. He exhaled noisily.

"I'll drive you back to the library," he offered, standing and holding his hand to her. Standing, she bit her lip.

"Could I…"

He froze. If she asked to come with him…

"Would you mind…if I stayed here?"

He smiled, eyes still wet. "Sweetheart, you are welcome here at any time." He kissed her forehead. "I love you."

She was grinning up at him. "I love you too." She laid her hand on his chest. "Go. Stop Cora."

He inclined his head towards her and turned to go. He had a job to do.

"Congratulations," he snarled. "You just reunited mother and son. Maybe one day they'll even invite you to dinner."

It was a low blow. He knew it. Belle would not be proud.

But, for a second, Regina's eyes dimmed and she looked…

Broken.

Part of him—most of him, all of him—was truly satisfied. The great and powerful queen was feeling as broken as she'd caused Belle to feel. (He ignored the voice in his head saying it was his fault, he should have protected her better.)

All was not right, but it was a start.