Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from these characters/ stories.

He didn't know what else to do. That was the simple truth of it – he had had something wonderful in his hands, for an unprecedented second chance, and not having learned anything – anything – and still being a coward, he had let it slip away again in a moment of weakness.

Old habits were easy. Old paths were well worn. That's why he'd kept all these things in the shop. Why it was easy to move the spinning wheel from the corner and fetch the basket of roving from the shelf. Once, long ago, someone had asked him why he liked to spin, and he had told another half-truth. Another old habit.

Now his hands moved in remembered patterns, the wool moving between his nimble fingers, the wooden wheel turning slowly under his hand. He did like the motion of the wheel. He did like to forget – to try to forget. For all that had changed in this land, that hadn't. He had so much he wanted to forget.

As he sat, he heard the bell on the door tinkle, the sound echoing dimly in his mind. The sheriff or her… lovely family again, probably – he was prepared to send them away this time. He was not in a mood to be bothered. He heard footsteps crossing the floor, heard the curtain being tugged roughly open – and heard the small sound of a throat clearing. He turned automatically, curt words already forming in his throat – and saw her paused at the threshold, her hands holding aside the curtains. The wheel froze beneath his touch.

She cleared her throat again. "Hi," she said with forced casualness, dropping the curtain and taking another step into the back room. All his hard words drop from his mind and he felt his chest tighten inexplicably.

"Hey," he breathed, uncertain, hesitant, but hoping. His eyes followed her as she came to stand in front of him.

"I…went for a long walk," she said with a small nod, by way of explanation. She would not meet his eyes.

"I thought you didn't want to see me." He didn't sound surprised, or hurt – but she detected the shadow of that same flippant front – the one he had used in another life, when he tried to scare her away.

"I didn't, but I-" She wouldn't play games with him now. "I was worried."

"Well, the beast is gone, Regina…" he sighed with obvious distaste, addressing something in the vicinity of her elbow. "Lives."

Good news, at last. She peeked under her lashes at him, her voice timidly hopeful. "So…you didn't get what you wanted?"

"Well that remains to be seen," he said, and his voice was low and soft and she couldn't tell exactly what his cryptic words meant – for she heard the truths hinted at between his words, as she was used to hearing him in another life. And she was going to say something to him, to speak to him about his half-truths and hiding, when her eyes slid unbidden over his shoulder to rest on something on the table behind him. She looked again in surprise, then stepped closer with an amused little sigh.

"You still have it?" she asked incredulously, reaching for the object, a note of sad laughter in her voice. "My chipped cup." His guarded eyes followed her as she turned it in her hands.

Finally he rose, his sad eyes fixed on the porcelain object in her hands. "There are many, many things in this shop," he said gently, taking the cup from her. "But this -? This is the only thing I truly cherish." He met her eyes briefly. She would not know how her words long ago had wounded him with their truth, how he had taken them to heart until all he could care for in the last world or this was the memory of his son or a broken piece of pottery. She would not know how this tiny, fragile fragment was the only reminder he would have of her, how fiercely he had fought for it, how he had given up his name to get it back, and how he would treasure these few new memories of her just as strongly beside it. She would not know this, because he would not – could not – tell her.

He arched his fingers over the cup, bringing it to his chest, separating his trophy from his treasure. "And now you must leave," he said gently, determined to send her away this time with just as much conviction but less cruelty.

She blinked and looked at him with confusion. "What?"

"You must leave," he repeated, "because despite what you hope…" His touched the cup in his hands to his chest, his eyes pleading with her to realize, to understand the truth in his whispered words. "…I'm still a monster."

But her eyes softened, and the corner of her mouth turned up in a familiar way. She shook her head in amusement, as he had always done at his tricks and ploys to scare her, and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Don't you see?" she said with a small smile. "That's exactly the reason I have to stay." He glanced away from her, his eyes full and incredulous and a little confused, and she smiled again. How quickly they could fall into old habits, even in another time, another land. She squeezed his shoulders slightly, to bring him back to the moment. "Now," she said, taking a breath, "tell me when you take dinner."

He shook his head slightly, still distracted. "I-, I don't always have dinner."

"Well you shall tonight, for I am very hungry," she said, more flippantly than she felt. "And I bet you are too, only you forget." Do the brave thing and bravery will follow, she reminded herself, as another smile spread across her features. "Let me help you close up," she said, taking the cup from his frozen hands and placing it firmly on the table, where it made a dull sound. She caught his empty hand between hers and brought the knuckles briefly, softly, to her lips. He finally met her eyes again, and she recognized the same careful and hopeful look she had long ago learned to treasure. "Rumplestiltskin," she said softly, bringing their joined hands to rest over her heart. "I want to go home."