Belle's gut clenches so tight she can barely breathe, but at least it distracts her from the words they're speaking–and those they're not speaking–as they stand awkwardly on the porch of the pink house. She hasn't invited them in, but they understand why, and they would have declined politely had she asked them to enter: none of them wants to chance facing Gold. Not that they fear him at this moment: his rage burnt itself out last night, they're pretty sure. It's just that they respect the need for privacy in times like these, and Gold's never been social anyway. So the four men talk in low voices and clipped sentences, staying just long enough to inform Belle of their intention.
Just as the men try not to glance past her through the opened door, to the inside of the house none of them has ever been in, Belle tries not to glance past them to the long black car parked at the curb. There was room enough in the driveway that they could have brought the hearse up to the house, but they thought it would somehow be less disturbing if they parked it on the street. The neighbors all know why it's there, though, and now so does Belle. The men suspect that somewhere inside the house, Gold knows too.
"Shouldn't take us long," David is saying. "Emma drew a map." He pulls a crumpled sheet of Big Chief paper from his jacket pocket, then changes his mind and stuffs it back in again. What was he thinking, his expression says clearly; of course Belle wouldn't want to see. . . that. Which brings him to the reason for this visit. "We, uh, we'll take him to Grimm's. They're. . . getting things ready. They said they can, ah," David clears his throat, "can hold off on the, uh, interment for a couple of days, but there are some decisions that need to be made. Sooner the better."
Belle catches on. "I'll talk to him." She doesn't have to identify "him." "We'll. . . If you'll please let Mr. Grimm know we'll be by this afternoon."
"Sure." Relieved now that the first hard part is over, David turns to go. "Oh, if it's okay, Emma would like to go with you to Grimm's."
Belle dips her head in a nod. "I'll call when we're ready to leave. Thank you, gentlemen." She exchanges an appreciative glance at Leroy, Archie and Hook. When she makes eye contact with the pirate, her mouth tightens: it's evident she thinks he has no place in this. As forgiving a soul as she is, she's still angry with Hook, but less so than a day ago.
"I won't make things worse," he assures her. "I know if I came to the funeral, it'd be an unwelcome distraction. But let me do this one thing for Bae."
Belle releases a pent up breath. "No. We want you at the funeral, Captain Jones. Bae would've wanted it."
The pirate gestures to the open door with his hook. "But what about–"
"He'll want you there. Please."
"Aye." Hook follows David down the stairs to the street.
Archie gives Belle's elbow a squeeze. "I could stop by tonight, if you'd like to talk."
"Thanks. Yes."
And the psychiatrist too departs.
But Leroy lingers. His lips quiver through his beard. "That was some brave sh–ah, stuff last night, little sister. You're a helluva hero." Then Leroy causes her to gasp when he juts his chin towards the house and adds, "Him too. Rumplestiltskin, a helluva hero."
Belle grabs the miner for a tight hug. "Thank you."
She watches them drive away in the long car, but it's not the hearse she's seeing. It's a green-skinned face smirking.
"Show them, dearie," the witch purred in her elegant English accent. "Dance for the good people. Just like they force monkeys to do." She tapped her fingernails against the blade, causing the metal to ring.
Redfaced, eyes wide in shock, he jerked forward in obedience. His shoulders slumped in his tattered Armani even as his feet began to shuffle. Yet he raised his eyes to the crowd staring in fascination at him. A threat suppressed the horror in his eyes: I dare you to laugh.
One by one, beginning with Snow, the town turned their backs upon his humiliation. David, Henry, Emma, Archie, Red, the dwarfs, even Hook and Granny lowered their eyes and turned away from the spectacle, and Belle's heart swelled with pride for her town. She shot her beloved a quick, sad smile of encouragement: we've got you, her eyes said; we won't let you fall.
"Faster!" the witch demanded. "You're losing your audience, pet."
Gold's body wrenched and his shoes scuffed the pavement in a sick tap dance. The slap of his Ferragamos against concrete was the only sound until Zelena growled. "What's the matter with you people? This is the Dark One! He lied to you, he manipulated you, he cursed you all! Go on, laugh! Hit him if you like; spit on him; you've certainly earned the right." But no one looked around; no one snickered. "Well? All right, then. Rumplestiltskin, take off your clothes!"
His feet stilled as his hands flew up to his jacket, sliding what remained of it from his shoulders.
"Keep dancing!"
Gold bounced from one foot to the other as he tore off his shoes and socks. Still, no one turned to watch. Hook hung his head, glaring a hole in the concrete. His feet bare now, Gold resumed his mad tap dance and pried open the buttons of his silk shirt.
Belle's fists clenched as the shirt came off, exposing long gashes down his chest. Some had evolved into white scars, but some of the wounds were red and weeping blood.
Zelena strolled around behind her dancing pet, inspecting him, trailing her fingers across his shoulders, pinching his earlobe, tugging a clumped lock of his hair. She giggled in an imitation of the imp's giggle. Fascinated with her toy, she crossed in front of him and pricked at his chest with the point of the dagger.
Standing between Belle and Rumple, the witch tapped the dagger against his belt buckle. "Off with the trousers, pet."
Belle's mouth quirked up. Perfect: like a linebacker after a quarterback, she lunged, locking the witch's arms against her side as she threw her entire weight against Zelena's back, slamming them both to the concrete.
"Emma!" Regina shouted, and before Belle could lift herself from the witch's back, two bolts of light burst forth from the crowd, who now, finally, turned to watch the action. As Belle rolled away, Regina's purple lightning wrapped itself around Zelena's arms, securing the witch tight in chains fastened with padlocks, while Emma's green bolt lassoed the witch's legs, hobbling her like a piggin' stringed calf. Belle patted around in the semi-darkness for the dagger that had clattered to the street. When she failed to find it, she scrambled to her feet and begged, "Someone give me light!"
Regina flicked her wrist and the street lamps flared with the brilliance of fireworks. Belle scoured the ground, her hands shaking with adrenalin and panic.
"Milady." A hand clutched her shoulder. She swung in the direction of the rich voice. Hook, standing behind her, gave a little bow before opening his hand.
Hook had the dagger.
"W-what are you–"
Gripping the dagger, the pirate walked over to Gold, who stood trembling in the cold, awaiting his new master's orders.
Emma urged, "Hook, don't." Occupied as she was with keeping the witch locked down, the savior could only spare him a threatening glare.
But the pirate merely flipped the dagger lightly in the air, catching it by the blade so he could present it to Gold handle first. "I believe this belongs to you."
Gold slowly reached out, as though expecting the dagger to be yanked away at the last minute. It wasn't. His long fingers wrapped around the handle and Hook stepped away. Gold stared at him. "Thank you."
The pirate faded back into the crowd.
"All right," Emma barked. "We got a mess to clean up here, people. I suggest you get to it. Leroy, slap some cuffs on this witch." In a softer voice, she added to David, "And we've got a. . . " Her voice hitched. "A body to recover."
Belle runs a hand across her eyes and straightens her shoulders. Inside, her beloved waits, sitting in an upstairs bedroom that was lovingly decorated thirty years ago for a guest who never came. Upstairs, her beloved sits in a rocking chair and watches out the open window that overlooks the raw garden. He waits, but not for her. He's waiting for four men to carry his son home.
Belle walks back inside the house and climbs the stairs. Her beloved needs her now, and she needs him.