I started this a month ago when word about Season 2, episode 04 first came out. As the details emerged and I started working on this story, it became obvious that my take on it wasn't going to match up to the real episode. For starters, in my story, Hook isn't as evil as he appears to be in the show. I started to write him evil, but he decided to be a kind of nice guy. I also took the stance that Milah wouldn't want Bae anymore than she wanted Rumplestiltskin, but it seems she does care for her son.

We won't even mention that it looks like Hook isn't even in Storybrooke yet and is still in FTL during episode 04. But hey, they teased us with spoilers and I took my best guess.

I had a great time hinting at other Disney characters, or moments from the cartoons (sorry, full length animated features) and past OUaT episodes. Can you spot them all?

I'll be returning to post more of Between Worlds now, I just really had to write this one.

Sins of the Mother

Rumplestiltskin entered the smoky tavern, coughing on the pipe smoke and the smell of stale bodies. The people stared at him, he wasn't known to indulge in spirits, that was more his father's style. So it was with hesitance that he moved forward, his broken leg, an injury he now accepted would never properly heal, slowed him down as he weaved around the tables towards the woman holding court along the back wall.

She was beautiful, with long, dark brown, nearly black hair, and vivid baby blue eyes. Her figure, indecently bared to those around her, was slim and petite, and her smile was full and generous, bestowed upon anyone of the male persuasion. She sat on one of the tables pushed against the wall, her voice loud as she laughed and joked with the men circling her, her accent different and therefore exotic.

The men around her touched her freely, their beefy, field worn hands pawing over her with glazed looks in their eyes, and Rumple tried not to notice, but couldn't help the stab of jealousy—she would allow these strangers to touch her so freely, when she shunned her husband's touch so easily.

The group of rowdy patrons ignored him as he stood on the perimeter of their group. He was a meek man by nature, but here he tried to be more, and cleared his throat twice before speaking, his voice louder than it had been all month, but barely heard over the crowd. "Milah. Milah."

Those closest to him regarded him and dismissed him with a single glance, turning back to listen to the woman before them, working the crowd. He tried again, taking another step forward, "Milah!"

The quickness of her gaze told him she'd known he was there but had chosen to ignore him. The sneer on her face and roll of her eyes, he could have done without. "What? Can't you see I'm busy with my friends." The men cheered and catcalled, making the woman grin in victory.

He tried again, not knowing how she'd react, "Yes, I see. But Bae is awake, and crying for his mother." He knew she would not return home for his sake, but perhaps, for their son, he could persuade her to return with him.

She threw her hand out dismissively as the men around her mocked her for getting in trouble with her "wife". She sneered at him, "Then give him some milk and the hedge witch's brew, is that not why you toiled so long at the wheel over the last fortnight, to afford such a luxury?"

Oh yes, he'd toiled, long, long into the night, one foot on the wheel, the other on the foot of Bae's cradle, trying in vain to rock the hungry boy back to sleep when his drunken mother refused to be woken by his screams. The work he did not mind, he would do anything for the small bundle swaddled tightly; who looked at him with such unabashed love and need. He could deny the boy nothing, and knew he would work himself to an early grave to give Baelfire everything he'd never had.

He cleared his throat again, while the men around him laughed at his discomfort, "Ay, but she warned that too much could be bad for the boy and he has already received the tonic once this night." When she dismissed him again, he let his pride shatter, "Please, Milah, your son requires your attention."

"My son!" She turned, glaring daggers at him, and Rumplestiltskin could see now that she'd had more than just a few tankards of ale, "He's your son, Rumple, the babe you begged for, the child I forced myself to suffer your attentions to provide for you," and the way she said the word "forced" had the crowd laughing. "He is your son, Rumple, you deal with him!" She dismissed him without another glance, grabbing ahold of the closest patron, to slide her body along his suggestively.

But just as he would have demanded her compliance, she turned back towards him, her eyes alight with fire. "You and your boy bore me, Rumplestiltskin. No woman would ever desire the company of such a coward and his sickly progeny."

Anger, guilt, sadness, and desolation warred within him, but in the end, he turned and left the tavern, without a backwards glance and walked back home to his crying son.

Belle glanced up from her scrambled eggs, watching the man she loved chew distractedly. She was learning to cook, everything was so new and different on these fancy machines, and electricity replacing her old wood stove would often throw her timing off. Twice this morning she'd had to restart when her eggs burned to the bottom of the pan, but each time, Rum had simply smiled and washed out the pan for her. He was patient but distracted, and that distraction made her nervous.

Over the last several days since she'd escaped the asylum and been reunited with her true love, Belle's initial excitement had slowly waned. This man, who was so similar and yet so different from the one she'd fallen in love with, confounded and worried her. As the Dark One he had been taken with mood swings, but he was always the gentleman, except in the last few days of her captivity. Now however, he was quiet most of the time, distracted, and though still a gentleman, his words could bite much harder than before.

She found herself wondering often, which she preferred, and her wandering thoughts made her angry with herself. This was the man behind the mask, the one she'd fallen in love with…or was it? Was it possible, that she, Belle of the Marshlands, had fallen in love not with the man, but with the beast, and now that his curse was broken, and they could finally be together, she no longer wanted him?

But no, she wanted him. She craved the soft look in his eyes whenever she caught him looking at her. She'd go out of her way to experience the soft touches and gentle kisses he bestowed upon her. Every little detail he shared with her about himself and his time in this world thrilled her, and always, she was left wanting to know more until he'd gently chide her and point out that she was drifting off to sleep with a smile on her face. No, she loved the man, but she was starting to think that he was slightly incomplete without the Beast.

And she definitely didn't like his hair.

And while his suits were nice, the dragon hide had been better.

Belle sighed in frustration, and started as Rumplestiltskin immediately turned to regard her, worry coloring his eyes. "Is everything alright, Dearie?"

She nodded, what else could she do? They needed time. It had taken her months at the Dark Castle to breech his walls, and she shouldn't have expected anything less this time around.

But she had. She'd expected happily ever after.

"Yes, I was just thinking these eggs didn't turn out all that well."

He smiled, taking another bite to prove his point, "They taste wonderful, Belle, you did a very good job. The non-stick spray tastes different than the lard and butter you remember, that's all."

Non-stick spray, yes that had been an interesting thing to learn about. She'd wasted half a can when his back had been turned, but he hadn't been cross, just cleaned the pan, then stood behind her, and helped her learn the quick motions necessary to coat the bottom.

Her Rumplestiltskin would never have been so patient, kind yes, but he would have quipped at her expense, and she would have laughed along, and then he would have left her alone to figure it out herself.

She missed him.

Tears filled her eyes so suddenly she didn't have time to catch them before they fell. Instantly, he came alert, dropping his fork and reaching out to take her hand, "Belle, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

She closed her eyes against the pain, because her Rumplestiltskin would never have called her 'sweetheart', and hearing him say it now made her love him so much she thought she'd burst from it. How could she feel so differently, why was this so confusing? She'd wanted this; she'd wanted this man to love her! In the years she'd spent in the Queen's dungeon she'd sustained herself on memories of him, but those memories had always been of The Dark One, and now, now she mourned his loss.

Shaking her head she pushed her seat back and rose. She gestured for him to sit when he stood, but he came with her, his soft hand over hers, trembling with worry for her. It made her heart ache.

Shaking her head once more she stepped away from him, ignored the look of pain in his eyes as she pulled away, before she fled up the stairs and into the shower, knowing from experience the sound of the running water would mask her sobs.

The next night, Milah did not come home, nor the night after that, or the night after that. Bae had long given into his hunger and was drinking the goat's milk his father fed him, but the harsh stuff upset him greatly, and the mild tempered Bae had become colicky.

It was Erwin that came on the forth morning to tell him the truth of things. He was roughed up, his lip split and his clothing muddied. He spoke of how the other men and Milah and taken the day long trip to the coastal port where they sold their wares. But Milah had caught the eye of a debonair captain. The man had bought drink after drink, plying Milah with stories of the sea until she let her guard down. It was then the Captain and his crew struck, hauling Milah away into the night while his crew made light of their attempts to rescue her.

His first sobering thought had been, "she's gone." His second, was a fearful cry of denial. How could he ever hope to raise a boy on his own? Fear had gripped him, stalling his heart, and all that long, long day and even longer night, he'd wondered what to do.

The next morning, however, as Bae's soft mocha eyes met his, he knew he had to try to save her, otherwise, he would never be able to look his son in the eye again.

One solid day and night of walking later, Rumplestiltskin stood at the entrance for The Croc, a rowdy tavern right off the main dock, upon which he had been told the dread pirate ship belonging to Captain Killian Jones was moored. He'd approached every stranger he could find in the small town, giving away his last coins for information about a woman who matched Milah's description and the feared Captain Killian.

With Bae thankfully sleeping in the sling on his back, Rumplestiltskin entered the bar. It smelled of sea salt and ale, while the hustle and bustle of half naked wenches carrying more of the liquid gold, moved back and forth. Inside it was quiet with the midday patrons, but he had no trouble spotting the well dress man at the far table with a painted woman on each knee.

For a moment he was quiet, not wanting to draw attention as well as second guessing himself for bringing Bae along, though he'd had little choice in the matter. But his hesitation caught the eye of the man on the far side of the room, whose booming but silky voice left no question as to whom he was speaking, "You there, boyo with the thumping stick, come listen to my tale and I'll buy you a goblet."

Started, Rumplestiltskin looked around just to be certain there were no other cripples within eyesight, before carefully moving forward. Inside he smiled thinking this was perfect, he'd learn the scoundrel's weaknesses and then steal back Milah. Maybe she'd even be grateful, maybe so grateful she'd become the good wife she'd promised to be.

At the table he sat down, and the Captain clapped him on the back, "Oh now, what do we have here?" He leaned over Rumplestiltskin, staring at the babe on his back. "Well, well, well, my fine friend, it appears you do not travel lightly."

He shook his head.

The man smiled, showing a line of unusually perfect teeth, the black stubble framing his mouth and matching the dark hair that peeked out from the outrageous hat atop his head. "Your son, I take it?" Rumplestiltskin nodded, "Well, I suggest you not lean too far back in your chair laddie, less your walk home be lighter."

He narrowed his eyes, for the first time speaking, "I would never cause harm to my own son." He was surprised at the venom in his voice, not used to such outbursts of conviction.

But the Captain only nodded, "Good, good, may he grow to be twice the man," but then a menacing darkness overtook him suddenly and he reached out and grabbed the loose, rough fabric of Rumplestiltskin's tunic, hauling him forward until all they could taste was each other's breaths. "Unless of course, unless the boy's name is Peter. If it be Peter, well, that would be a very different tale."

Fear ran through him so cold he shivered, shaking his head wildly. "No," he cried out, his voice shaking, "No, his name isn't Peter."

"Not Peter?" And the wild look in the man's eyes was terrifying.

"No," he tried again, shaking his head, "It's Bae, Balefire of the Marshlands."

"Oh, well in that case," and Jones released him just as quickly as he'd taken him up, laughing gaily as he grabbed a passing bar maid, "Two of the largest tankers you have for my friend and I!" He shouted loud enough for the Tavern Master to hear and begin pouring the drink. "We drink to his son's health, and the death of Peter Pan!"

Around them the crowd erupted, to cries of "Death to Peter Pan!" obviously a cry they were trained to give, because as soon as they did, Jones called to the Tavern Master, "Drinks around! We all toast to the death of Pan!"

Confused and frightened, Rumplestiltskin sat dumbly waiting for his ale, and when it appeared, he took a healthy gulp, sputtering on the unfamiliar burn. But unlike other, lesser men, Captain Jones did not jeer him, but passed him a dainty handkerchief of fine silk to blot at his lips.

None ventured towards them as they drank, the liquid going to his head, until the long shadows of the late afternoon stretched across the tavern floor, and still Jones bought, and still they talked, and long were the stories filled with high sea adventure, and the evils of Peter Pan.

So it came as quite a surprise when the Captain gave a hearty call and rose from the table to embrace another in a companionable greeting. Deep into his cups, Rumplestiltskin finished off his beverage, unsettling the tankard as he set it on the table. At his back, Bae began to stir, and without hesitation he swung the boy off his shoulders and into his lap, cuddling him to settle him back down.

"You were born for that, Rumple, all he ever does is cry in my arms." Her accent, so like his own, from their lands swallowed now by the Ogres. He would know her anywhere, had gone to war to protect her, and paid for it with his leg. Others had branded him a coward, and of that he had no doubt, but it had been thoughts of Milah that had driven him from the field, of wanting to get back to her.

But the cruel joke had been on him. He'd returned from war to find a woman he barely knew and a babe she called his no matter how unlikely it seemed. Yes, he would know her voice anywhere, so he did not look up. "He cries for you because he does not know you, Milah."

And at this he looked up, and found her not in a wench's dress but fine silk fabrics, the Captain at her side, looking down at him like the joke he was. "And it appears you don't intend for that to change."

"I need to see the world, Rumple! I need to travel, to explore, visit far off places, see daring sword fights, meet princes in disguise! All of it! And I'm not going to see any of that tethered to you and your babe in our tiny little hovel."

"Bae," he said quietly, rocking his boy gently as his tiny eyes closed, soothed by the voice of his loving father.

"What?"

"Bae, Milah, Baelfire, I named him Baelfire, two months after his birth because you'd simply been calling him 'boy'." He looked up, and in his eyes was the anger and rage he hid from all others, but would not when it came to defending his son. "You've never shown interest in him, but he is yours. You have a duty, a responsibility—"

She scoffed, shaking back her dark hair and fingering her white pearl necklace, "My duty is to myself. No one controls my fate but me. I choose to see the world," but here the fire within her seemed to flicker for a moment, and her eyes softened ever so slightly, "I do this because I know I must. Can you not understand that? I am no mother, no doting wife. You cannot lock me up, chain me to you, force me to care for you and your boy. I must be free!" She stood then, her peace said, though she looked slightly troubled, "Go home Rumplestiltskin, go back to your tiny life, raise your son, forget about me." Then, without a backwards glance, she turned away from her husband, and left the tavern.

Jones leaned over the table, his expression unreadable, "She's a free bird that one, a beauty like her is bound to make men cry." When Rumplestiltskin said nothing, he withdrew his purse, heavy with coin and tossed it onto the table. "A woman like that has only one fate my friend, the trick is to get as much out of her as you can before The Dark One takes his payment." He pointed at the purse, "For your son, may he grow to be as good a father as he has."

Then the handsome man rose, and left him to his grief, not for himself, but for everything Bae would lose.

Belle heard the yelling coming from the back yard as she turned off the music machine in her bathroom. Vaguely, she remembered it was called a radio, as she struggled to make out the muffled words coming through the high window above her, its frosted glass preventing her from seeing what was happening below.

But she knew those voices, and with a start of recognition, she flew from the bathroom and down the stairs, her just dried hair, streaking behind her as she raced through the field of colors streaming in through the stained glass windows. Dodging to her left she came back into the kitchen, the dishes left undisturbed on the table, the frying pan still on the stovetop.

Her hand shot out and grabbed the gold handle of the French door, and twisted it open as she did her mouth, calling out, "Stop! What are you two doing? Stop it!"

Rumplestiltskin had his cane up, locked tightly with the silver metal of the saber. The strain was obvious, and Belle instantly knew that in this form, he was vulnerable. "Stop!"

Throwing herself from the patio steps she coiled with the back of the dark haired man, upsetting him so that he crashed to the ground in a graceless heap. Her forward momentum propelled her forward and immediately into familiar arms. Rum crushed her to him before turning his body, shifting her to the side and out of harm's way, should the other attack, but he wouldn't, of that she was sure.

"Bella?" With a stretch she could just see the handsome man over Rumplestiltskin's shoulder, and she glared deathly at her family's dearest friend.

"You could have killed him!" She cried, trying to get around Rumplestiltskin, though he was quick and kept his body between her and the prone man on the ground.

"Bella, it, it can't be…"

Anger raced through her, and with a final dodge, hard to do in her short blue dress—too short though Rumplestiltskin told her she looked beautiful in it—Belle managed to get around her defender before rounding on him, the shock clear on his face. "You could have killed him!" She yelled at Rumplestiltskin, stepping away from him angrily, "What were you thinking?!"

She didn't give him time to answer, just turned and crouched down the best she could to help her long lost friend.

Captain Killian Hook.

"Captain? Captain Hook, please tell me you're alright? Tell me he didn't hurt you." Her family had known Killian Hook for longer than she'd been alive. An old friend of her father's, he would come every season to trade, bringing exotic good so rare her father had made his fortune selling them, granting him the title of Merchant King, and their station in the Marshlands. It was a misnomer of a name as there were no marshes, at least anymore, though it was said, long ago, they had been covered in the stuff.

"Bella?" Killian's callused hands came up then, framing her face as awe and wonder filled his gaze. His eyes roamed over her, never fully satisfied, always looking. When he spoke, his voice cracked, so unlike the strong, booming voice known across the seas. "Can it be? Can you be truly here before me, sweetling?"

She smiled, nodding fiercely before she was crushed against him, held tightly in his embrace as he petted her hair and mumbled his thanks to the gods he believed in. Memories danced in her mind's eye, of the dashing Captain Hook, aboard his majestic ship, sailing into the harbor. All ships feared him, but not Belle, who every summer would race along the docks, following the ship as it came into port, only to be swept up into the timeless embrace of a captain who would hug her fiercely and ply her with stories so amazing she wondered, even as a young girl, if they could be real.

As the story went, growing more embolden as the years passed from the actual event, her father had been traveling the seas when his ship had been taken by pirates. For three months, the pirate captain demanded ransom which her father could not provide. On the last day of the third month, the pirate forced her father to walk the plank. Three days later—though the first time she'd heard the story it had only been one day—Captain Hook and his men found her father floating in the ocean, and rescued him. Upon learning who her father was, the Captain forced his ship against the wind and sailed back to the Marshland port. There her father offered him riches and land, but Killian refused both, proposing a business arrangement instead: he would bring exotic wares to port every summer, and her father would sell them and together they would be rich. Which is exactly what had happened, give or take a few embellishments.

"Say something! Anything! Let me hear that sweet, sweet voice and know you are not made from pixie dust." As always he was over the top, but so genuine, Belle couldn't help but acquiesce.

"I am fine, Captain. Truly! It is you who were in danger." And here she threw a glaring look over her shoulder. She was surprised however, at the blank expression she saw on Rumplestiltskin's face. She'd expected him to be remorseful, but it seemed once again, she'd misjudged him. She turned back to her dearest friend, "You cannot know who this man is, but—"

"Oh no, sweetling, I am well acquainted with the likes of this monster." Before Belle could protest, she was once again behind a man, who stood with his weapon drawn. She almost rolled her eyes, would have, it not for the look that fell across Rumplestiltskin's face.

Desolation. It was fast and fleeting, but Belle saw it all the same, and her heart forced her actions, though her mind did not complain.

Rounding the Captain, she purposefully walked the five feet separating them and slid beside Rum, wrapping her arms around the one holding his cane, her hand sliding down to the handle to squeeze his. From here she heard him breathe, a sign of relief perhaps, before his eyes found hers and held them, some unspoken pain behind them, but also hope.

Patiently, she smiled at him, and carried her smile over to look at her friend, who looked upon them with something of a sick expression on his face. Clearing her throat, she attempted to explain. "Captain Killian Hook, may I introduce you to Rumplestiltskin, though it seems the two of you have already met, you may not know another way you are connected, by me." She turned to Rumplestiltskin and smiled, her eyes softening, "Captain Hook is a lifelong family friend. It was his ships that brought such prosperity to my father's lands." She turned to face her friend, "And this is Rumplestiltskin my—"

"Your kidnapper!" Killian spat, glaring, his sword arm never wavering from its ready position his trademarked hook for the hand he'd lost long ago, gleaming in the sunny afternoon light. "He stole you from your father's kingdom—"

"No—"

"And forgive me for saying so in front of one as delicate as you, sweetling, but all feared he was not only your jailer, but your murder." Hook bared his teeth, his handsome face morphing into the vestige of a killer, and Belle wrapped her arm more tightly around Rumplestiltskin's, not out of fear for him, but fear of what he might do to her dear friend.

Rumplestiltskin scoffed, and Belle's eyes showed her shocked surprise, "Belle is no more delicate than you are honorable." His voice was acid, but this thumb brushed comfortingly over Belle in an apology if she took offense to his words. "Nor did I murder her, as you can see. And as for being a kidnapper, no, I think that's much more your style, ay Hook?"

Her ageless friend, for he was the same age today that he had been the first time the boat had docked at the harbor over twenty-five years ago, or was it now closer to fifty-five, merely cursed viciously, and advanced.

And then she did a very stupid thing, it was stupid even as Rumplestiltskin raised his free hand, even as her eye caught the glint of raised steel, and it was stupid as her brain protested her own foolish bravery, for in one quick move, she rushed between them, one hand out to each of them, forestalling their battle. Her words were acidic, "This man is my friend, Rumplestiltskin." She locked eyes with him before switching to the other, "And I am no prisoner here. I am here of my own free will."

Rumplestiltskin dropped his hand first, followed by Hook, but his eyes were dark and deadly as he glared at the older man. "What sorcery have you cast on her that she would willingly abide your company, imp?"

Belle didn't give him time to answer, this needed to be cleared up quickly, and Rumplestiltskin had a terrible habit of playing with words. "It is not his sorcery, though I do admit to being under a spell."

In her mind she laughed, maybe he was rubbing off on her, she was starting to play with her words as well. Trying again, she shook her head, the smile in her mind, translating to her lips, "In truth, Rumplestiltskin did nothing wrong. As you must know, our kingdom was under attack by the ogres, a vast army flanking us on all sides, desperate for the ports. We sent word for his aid and he arrived. We asked for protection against the ogres, and he asked for me, and I agreed." Hook opened his mouth to argue, but Belle pushed on, needing him to understand the rest, "I spent many months with Rumplestiltskin, and in that time he treated me fairly, honorably, and with much kindness. My fear of him changed over those months until one evening I realized I no longer feared him at all, I loved him."

Shock caused Killian's sword arm to drop until the tip of his weapon was resting against the well-manicured grass. His face looked pained, full of denial, and then, as if suddenly, the thought of it made him sick. The proud man turned, showing them his back and he attempted to compose himself, and Belle, worried, rushed forward.

"It came to none a greater shock than us but—"

"Do you not see, Bella," he turned, rage in his eyes, his sword once again at the ready, "it is not love, but a spell he has cast upon you! No woman could ever love this coward, who hides behind children and magic."

Belle shook her head, taking a step back, feeling deceptively strong arms at her waist, not to hold her up, but to move her away if necessary. She tried again, needing him to understand, because she had no one else, and she wanted him to understand. "It is a spell, but not like you are thinking. Captain, please hear me. I do love him, have loved him for more years than I have memory. Even," she paused, and then pushed forward, afraid how Rumplestiltskin would take the news, but knowing it might ease her friend's distress, "even locked up by the Queen, locked up here in the asylum for twenty-eight years, I loved him. I did not know his name, but in that dark place where I remembered nothing else, I remembered that I loved him, I remembered that I would one day find him and we would be together."

Against her waist, Rumplestiltskin's fingers tightened, but she pushed forward, "It is not just simple love, Captain, it is true love. Rumplestiltskin is my true love and I his. I would do anything for this man, please, you must try to see, to understand. I know it must be difficult, but I speak truly." She tried to take a step towards him, to comfort the utter pain dancing across his face, but Rumplestiltskin's hands tightened about her waist, holding her in place.

Captain Hook shook his head as if to shake the knowledge right out and return to normalcy. It was a vision that hurt her greatly, though she tried to ignore it. When next the man spoke, it was not to her, but to her love, "Is this true; this talk of true love? And do not lie to me, Spinner, for I know when I am being lied to."

When Rumplestiltskin's hand at her waist pulled her gently against him, she did not protest, wanting to show that she stood beside him, no matter her earlier, tumultuous thoughts. Against her hair she felt him nod.

Killian's eyes swung to hers then, and the look turned her stomach, not anger, or fear or even sorry, but pity shone in his eyes, and Belle couldn't bear the look so turned away.

He rose then, sheathing his sword before taking a step back, shaking his head, and then turning away. With his back to her he looked down at the metal hook, shaking his head before turning back to face her, his expression sad. "I can see that my words will not reach you, perhaps then, your father's can."

Belle instantly felt the world fall around her, and the blood rushed madly in her ears as she felt herself sway only to be caught once again in Rumplestiltskin's arms. She made a little sound, like a sob, and tears instantly filled her eyes. When no mention of her father had been made, Belle had feared the worst and refused to ask, knowing she could only deal with one tragedy at a time. But this, could it be?

"My," she swallowed, her mouth dry, her voice suddenly horse, "my father is alive?"

Agony, rage and disgust then warred across Hook's face as he narrowed his gaze on Rumplestiltskin, "Ay, did your true love fail to mention that, or that your father has been searching everywhere for you? I found your father only yesterday, and he begged me to find Rumplestiltskin and force the truth from his lips if necessary. And now it seems, I've stumbled upon another truth." He smiled predatorily at Rumplestiltskin, "Perhaps your true love has been keeping many secrets from you, sweetling. Many, many secrets."

"Hook," the name was a warning, and Belle could hear the promise of violence behind the simple name, but anger at this new revelation spurned her forward.

With a twist, she rounded on him, confusion, pain, and anger warring for dominance on her features. "You knew? You knew my father was alive and you never told me?"

He tried to brush it off with a shrug of his shoulder, though to her the gesture was no more real than his cavalier tone, "You did not ask."

And here, Belle of the Marshlands, lost her delicate grasp on her temper. "I thought he was dead!" She screamed, and the look in Rumplestiltskin's eyes was pain personified. "I thought you hadn't mentioned him to me because he was dead! You know how much I love my father, that he's my only family! How could you? How could you keep this from me?!"

From behind her, came the answer, spoken with intention to maim, "Perhaps it has something to do with the beating he gave your father the last time they saw each other."

Her heart stopped in her chest, and her hand rose to cover her mouth as her eyes widened. "Beating? I-Is he alright?"

Hook nodded, though his look was grave, "He's on the mend, Bella, no thanks to your true love. As I understand it, there was a question about money. To be more specific, money your father owed and when he could not pay, Gold took out his payment in flesh."

"Is it true?" She swung around again, feeling dizzy and foreign in her own body. His words would change everything, she could feel it.

His deep brown eyes were soulful and pained as he looked at her, pleaded with her, "Belle, I—"

And that was enough. She knew the truth, and she felt her heart crush under the weight of it.

This man, this Mr. Gold, she did not know.

And she did not love him.

"Please, Captain Hook, will you escort me to my father?"

Two days later, Rumplestiltskin was still in the tavern, drinking away his sorrow, frozen in his terror. He had no idea how he was going to do this alone. Bae was his son, his boy, the one good thing the gods had ever given him, but to do it alone, to be both father and mother—for he had no doubt no woman in the village would have him—was a terror that held him in his seat drinking like his father.

"Thought I might find you still here." Rumplestiltskin looked up to see Captain Jones wave his hand to get the bar keep's attention, "Two pints, and two bowls of lamb stew, and don't you dare be skimpy on the meat Master Hawkins." He then drew up a chair, took a glance at the babe on Rumplestiltskin's back, and tisked his tongue with distaste. "Poor old fool, mind you, she is a pretty little sweetling, but nothing to moon over so. True, you'll probably not have another like her, but something tells me she was cold and sharp with you where she should have been warm and soft."

Rumplestiltskin glared at him, then gave up, nodded and drained the last of his glass, swallowing the bitter hops not properly strained. He felt disgust at himself, for his position, his predicament, for not being man enough to keep Bae's mother from leaving them. And what would he tell his son? How could he ever bare the story's telling, his poor boy having to hear that his own mother didn't love him enough to stay with them.

From the bar a wench appeared with two more tankards of ale and two steaming bowls of stew, the meat heavy and protruding from the top. From his side, Jones smiled, "Good lass, now off with you, I need to have a heart to heart with my friend here."

"We're not friends," he said, grabbing for the stew bowl only to play with the contents with this wooden spoon.

"No, lad, I suppose we're not."

"You stole my wife." He meant it to be a fierce yell, but it came out a defeated whisper.

Jones took his tankard, ignoring the stew. "No laddie, I can't steal something that hasn't belonged to you in a long time now." He paused, weighted his words carefully, and then continued, "She told me you were hobbled in the war, running from battle."

He laughed, a self depreciating sound, "Ay, I have no doubt she delighted in telling that tale."

Beside him, the Captain nodded, "She did, until I told her to stow it. Fact is, a man runs for two reasons, either he's a coward, or he has something to run too. If a man hears he ran for one reason long enough, he starts to believe it."

He scoffed, "Are you trying to defend me?"

Jones glanced at him before looking away, taking another measured drink of his brew. "I suppose, I'm just talking to my cups, boyo."

"Rumplestiltskin, my name is Rumplestiltskin." He took a mouthful of stew and chewed it without tasting it.

"Ay, I'm aware of your name, but I make it a rule not to bother learning the names of cowards, and since that's what you seem hell bent on being, I suppose you'll remain nameless to me." Jones took another drink.

Anger riled him up, and against his better judgment—or at least would have been if he were sober—he turned in his chair to lay into the man beside him.

But his actions disrupted Bae's sleep, and with a sigh, the anger drained from him as he reached around and pulled his son into his arms. There, before him, was the most perfect child ever born. With dark hair and brown eyes, he thought, no prayed, his son would take after his mother more than his father, at least in the looks department.

Captain Jones leaned over to look more closely at Bae. "Strong lad, to hear Milah talk about him, he's constantly near death."

"He was, born early. Often are the nights I sat by the fire listen to ensure he breathed."

"Early you say?" And the way he said it, or maybe his mind was always there, made the implication obvious.

"He is my son."

"Of course he is, of course," the Captain agreed, but his tone belied his statement. "Though, if he wasn't—"

"He is." Rumplestiltskin insisted, pulling Bae a little closer.

"Unless he isn't," and the way he said it, almost knowingly, with pity, made Rumplestiltskin's insides curl in disgust.

But from that feeling rose righteous certainty. This was his boy, his son! No one, not a handsome sea captain, and certainly not Milah would ever convince him otherwise. With conviction, he turned to Captain Jones and answered without doubt, "He is my son, regardless, he is my son."

Respect, clear as day shone on a face too prideful to ever show the emotion often. His smile, teeth perfect, was genuine, and the clap on Rumplestiltskin's shoulder was likewise, "So he is laddie. So he is. And if that be the case, then what are you doing still up to your eyeballs in your cups? Go home, forget this place, and that harpy of a woman. Raise your boy, and one day, when he's a better man than you or Milah, you'll have your revenge on her."

Belle took one look at her father after he opened the door, burst into tears and threw herself into his arms. Their reunion was bitter sweet, he terrified for what she'd endured, she likewise needing to know how he'd faired since their last meeting.

With Captain Killian seated in an armchair a few paces away, Belle cried into her father's shoulder, wiped away his tears, and promised him over and over she was unhurt.

Now that the initial shock and desperation was over, they were left with more questions than answers, and immediately began to fill the void.

"Did he hurt you, Belle? Did, did he—"

She shook her head, touching his face, letting him see the truth in her eyes. "No, Papa, no, he was kind to me." At his disbelieving expression she rushed forward, "He was Papa. The first night I was there was, awkward, but after that he was very kind, gentle even. He never abused me, Papa, or took liberties." She looked away, embarrassed but pushed forward. "He was a gentleman Papa, until the end, but I get ahead of myself, and I have so many questions for you." She looked over at Killian who nodded, "The Captain tells me that you were hurt, that, that Mr. Gold that he—"

Her father cupped her face, brushing her hair back, "It was nothing, Belle, I'm fine, really."

She shook her head and stood, pacing in front of the couch. "Do not lie to me, Papa. Captain Hook, tells a very different version, he said you were sent to hospital, that you were there for a month, that, that had the sheriff not intervened that you might have died."

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest. She was not talking about some unknown assailant, but the man she loved, whose face was so similar and so different from the one she remembered. To block out that face, she brought her hands to cover her eyes, but the image of him danced within her mind, mocking her attempts to erase him.

Gentle hands removed her own, and Belle fell into her father's embrace willingly, greedily, desperate for every hug she'd missed since she'd chosen to go with Rumplestiltskin on that fateful night. "Belle, my darling girl, I'm fine now, and you're here, you're here with me now, and that's all that matters. May the gods bless Captain Hook for defeating that villain and bringing you safely home to me."

"You have it wrong, Sir, for I did not defeat the monster," here Killian looked at her expectantly, and she knew what was to come. "Indeed, I did not need to fight him at all, for Belle was not his captive, though I think she owes you more words than she's spoken about her time with that devil."

"Belle?" She looked up into worried eyes, "What, what does he mean?"

She shook her head, took a step away from her father and then retreated to the couch, falling into it, knowing the battle to come would be long, and that she was so conflicted, she didn't know which side she wanted to win. Finally when she had her thoughts organized, and her father had taken a place next to her, his hand on her knee, a gesture that spoke of his time in this world rather than their previous one, she opened her mouth and spoke the truth.

"I love him, Papa. Over those months we spent together, before, before I was taken prisoner by the Queen, I fell in love with him, Papa. True love, stronger than any other. Though now that I know what he did to you," she paused, fighting the shock and disappointment she saw in her father's face, and the fear and uncertainty she felt her in heart, "I don't know what to think anymore."

"Belle," her name was spoken in shocked denial, "No Belle, there is some mistake."

She shook her head, "No Papa, it's no mistake. I told you, he was kind and gentle with me, honorable while I stayed with him. And," she paused, her own pain catching her words in her throat, "And he loves me, Papa. It's not easy for him, but he does love me."

"H-he's bewitched you! Cast a spell over you!" She shook her head, "It must be, Belle! He's a monster! In this realm and the last! He nearly killed me, Belle!" A sob caught in her throat to hear him say that, "You cannot love him, I forbid it!"

"You what?!" Righteous anger filled her, where once there had been confusion.

"He is a tyrant!"

"He is the man I love!" Rising to her feet, she stood up to her father, angry with him for not understanding how hard this was for her, and furious with his demeanor.

Her father scoffed, turned his back on her and stalked around the coffee table, only to round on her. "You would love a man who tried to murder your father, who took you as a slave?!"

She shook her head, "No! I love the man who caught me when I nearly fell to my death; I love the man who brought me flowers; I love the man who danced with me in his great ball room; I love the man who has held me together these past days, who has patiently taught me about things like refrigerators, and toasters, and telephones; who holds me and kisses me when the nightmares awaken me. I love the man that loves me so strongly, that there is no other word for it but True Love." Her hands were fists, and during her tirade she had followed her father around the coffee table. Her anger frightened her, but the idea of backing down, of allowing her father to continue without knowledge of her feelings was unallowable.

Even if she wasn't sure of her feelings herself.

Warm, large hands came up and settled on her shoulders as her father's face softened into pity, "Belle, he is a powerful sorcerer, you could not be expected to withstand his love spell." Shock made her dumb and her father continued, "There are others, perhaps not as strong as he, but with enough time, his spell over you can be broken." Her father looked over at their friend, "Perhaps the clerics. They have ways of breaking spells—"

With a hard tug, she threw herself from her father's embrace, once warm, now cold and unwelcome. She took a step back, her eyes wide her head shaking in denial, but words failed her. And then her back collided with another, and Captain Hook turned her gently, and carefully eased her into the chair he'd vacated. He knelt then at her feet, offering her his own glass of brandy, which she took and drained in a very unladylike action.

"Sweetling," her cool blue eyes rose then, latching onto his, "your father needs time to understand, we all do. You cannot deny us that, or expect us to think anything but the worst when we are dealing with one as," he changed tactics, "with Rumplestitlskin." A sea roughened hand petted her hair. "I see it on your face, Bella, you doubt too, despite the conviction in your voice."

Belle could not answer, she didn't know what the answer was, and she feared it. Instead, she turned away from him, only to have her chin tilted back to the gentle face of her long time friend, "You have every right to wonder, to question. His actions are clear only to him, and though I do not doubt that you believe your feelings for him are true," she tried to protest, but a gentle finger over her lips stalled her, "you must admit that his ability to do magic calls much into question."

She wanted to deny it, wanted to say she knew him, she knew him better than anyone else, but that thought caused ice to run through her veins. If she knew him better than anyone else, then what a sad joke that really was. Instead she did nothing but listened to the soothing voice of her friend.

"Bella, I have known Rumplestiltskin for longer than you have been alive, and I have known him to be many things, but honorable was not one of them." He stalled her protest again, "I am not saying he was not that way with you, but you must admit, it is out of his character." This she nodded to, for it was true, seemingly both in their realm and this one. "Then can you not at least consider this, sweetling, Rumplestiltskin has a purpose for everything, he does not do anything without knowing and desiring the consequences. The old tales tell of this, and I have seen it with my own eyes. Can you then, not consider, even for a moment, that it is possible that you have been bewitched? Not that you agree, but that you agree that it might be possible?"

Belle believed many things were true, that the sky was meant to be blue, that snow was cold, and that Rumplestiltskin cast no spell over her to make her love him. But even she had to admit anything was possible; up until a few days ago she'd thought she was a mental patient. So, with hesitation, Belle conceded that it might be possible, and nodded her head.

Killian's smile was gentle as her father huffed a huge sigh of relief, to which she glared. "There is a sure way to know." She focused back on the Captain, "Rumplestiltskin has a purpose for everyone, he does not touch a life that does not give him something. If we find out why he wanted you, Bella, why he traded the safety of your village for you, then we can be assured he didn't do it to cast a love spell on you."

It was a question that had haunted many of her nights at the Dark Castle and even more of them as she's sat in her retched dungeon cell. Why had he wanted her? Why? And yet, she had no answers, had never been brave enough to ask, at first scared of the evilness of his answer, and later, afraid it would be other than because he'd loved her.

"Do you know, sweetling? Do you know why he wanted you?" There was an eagerness in the question Belle did not hear, too caught up in her own thoughts.

Finally, she looked up into worried eyes, and shook her head, "He never told me."

Realization, and a calm stillness settled over Captain Killian Hook, yet when her father started to preach his earlier point, the man with only one hand silenced him. "Then, I think, Belle, you'd best go and ask him, don't you?"

"So I see life has treated you…well, Dearie." The woman was still beautiful, her hair salt soaked from the constant sea spray as she stood on the deck gazing out across the vast ocean. She started, turning around, trying to locate the dark figure in the full moon's light. What she saw forced her to take a step back, and her hand raised quickly to cover her mouth in shock as her eyes widened in recognition.

"Impossible—" she whispered, her free hand starting out to reach for him before retracting as he came fully into the moon beams and she saw him clearly for the first time in nearly a thousand years, "R-Rumple?"

With a manic giggle he gave a great sweeping bow, all flourish and pomp, but when he lifted his head, his sharp teeth were bared and his eyes held the promise of pain. "So pleased you remembered," he tittered, his bestial eyes catching the light so that they seemed to glow, "It's been so long since we danced, Milah, I thought perhaps you had forgotten about your once humble spinner." He cackled, raising his hand in triumph, "Not so humble anymore!"

With another great step, she pushed her back hard against the railing, feeling a rogue wave rise up the hulls wall and soak her feet. "That's impossible! W-What happened to you?"

Smiling he cocked his shoulder and waved his hand dismissively, "A little of this, a little of that, but that's not why I'm here now, Dearie. You see, I have something you're going to want, something you're going to want to, deal, for." He stretched the word 'deal', smiling through his sentence with infinite cruelty.

And then she knew who he had become. "The Dark One. You're the one the Lost Boys claim is killing fairies by telling children to say they're not real!"

He bowed again, "One in the same. So glad I don't have to reintroduce myself…not that we're aren't already intimately acquainted." He leered, his smile a mixture of malice and revulsion. "Pesky little things, fairies. Rats with wings. Soon enough the problem will be solved, but again, not why I'm here, Dearie."

With a sweep of his hand and a puff of purple smoke, he produced a golden hand mirror and presented it to her. When she hesitated, he took another step forward, urging her to take it. "Oh, I think you're going to want this, Milah. Consider it an anniversary present, I mean, today is a very special day for us."

With a shaking hand, she reached out and grasped the mirror, careful not to let her hand touch his. Her mind tried to fill in what he'd looked like all those centuries ago, but time was lost on her, and she found her memories of him replaced with a vague impression of a skinny, cowardly man, and this, unearthly devil.

Shaking hands pulled the glass to her breast and she tried in vain to skirt around him, though he tracked her movements easily. His leg she remembered had been hobbled, but now he moved like a dancer. Magic then, the darkest kind by the looks of it. She could scream, but none of the lads could save her before he'd finish her off. So she tried to reason with him, distract him.

Smiling she pushed a hand through her hair, feeling her fingers tangle in it. "It's been a long time, Rumple. What anniversary have I forgotten?" Her feet slid over the slippery deck, trying in vain to reach her cabin door, but he circled her easily, blocking her way.

"Why, the day we lost him, of course. What other anniversary is worth mentioning?" He walked over, and leaned against her escape route; and though the ship was massive, he seemed to claim the entire deck with his presence.

"Lost who?" She asked dumbly, it was a mistake.

Rage, dark and evil filled his expression and he threw himself from the wall and then into her space, his demonic presence pushing on her, forcing her retreat, until her back was against the railing once again. Then he leaned into her, the dragon hide hard and unyielding against her thin silk shirt, forcing her back to arch over the railing. She threw her hands out to catch herself, the mirror she'd been clutching to her breast falling to the deck to shatter at their feet.

He didn't seem to notice. "Who, you ask?" There was no music to his voice now, this sound she had never heard before, it sent ice into her soul, "You would ask who?"

Then, he smiled, a large, evil smile, and stepped away from her, turning away and showing her his back. He had to have felt the saber at her side, the dagger at her hip, and she knew then, he was more powerful than Neverland had been led to believe.

With a snap of his fingers, the mirror flew into his hand, the glass shards reassembling like a puzzle into place before a purple sheen emanated from the mirror and the glass was once again whole.

"What do you want?" Silently she cursed the shaking in her voice.

He shrugged, casting the mirror over his shoulder until it was before her, floating on a current of air. "A deal. It's what I always want, Dearie."

When he said nothing else, she pressed forward, still not reaching out to grasp the looking glass. "What deal could you possibly want with me?"

He didn't turn around, but he didn't have too, she could hear the smile in his voice, "Oh, one not so advantageous to me, but very important you, I think."

Shaking her head she walked around the mirror, "You've changed Rumple. This isn't like you at all. What happened to you?" There was genuine curiosity in her voice, but not concern, and she cringed knowing he could hear it as well.

"Where to begin," he cackled, spinning on his heel to look at her, "Alas, this offer has a time limit and it is rapidly, tick, tick, ticking away," he mocked, his finger swinging back and forth like a pendulum. "Take the mirror, Milah."

"Why? So you can trap my soul? Punish me for leaving you—"

His hand was around her throat, so lightning fast she did not see him move, and this time, when he pushed her against the main mast of the ship, there was true hatred in his eyes. "Oh, I will punish you, Milah, but not for leaving me. No, you're punishment will be for a much greater crime than that." He snapped his fingers and the mirror was beside him. With clawed hands he grasped the handle and placed it in front of his face, the glass towards his own, before lifting her hand and wrapping it around the handle.

In a singsong voice he compelled her, "Now, say, 'Show me my child.'" Against her desires, against every instinct she had, she uttered the phrase.

She could see light shining around the metal edge of the looking glass, and Rumplestiltskin giggled madly with glee before turning the mirror around to face her. What she saw made her gasp, bringing tears instantly to her eyes. Had it really been that long?

Suddenly his hand, skin soft and scaly, grasped hers around the handle, "Show me the threat." His voice pitched low, dark, and knowing.

The image in the glass shifted became something else, and what she saw had her crying out in shock and fear, "No!"

In a puff of smoke the glass vanished, and then she was left only to look into her his dark and twisted gaze of glee. "Yes." He hissed, smiling all the while.

And then she pieced it together. "You! You did this! This is your punishment! I left you and our son and now you—"

"What was his name?" His tone was even, but his eyes flashed the promise. "What was your son's name, Milah?" His eyes bore into hers, "Do you even remember?"

And the truth was hard even for her to believe, because no, she didn't remember their son's name; and the truth wrote itself clearly upon her face.

She expected him to yell, to rage, to throw magic so dark it would make her wish for death. Instead, he just nodded his head, as if he'd always suspected the answer. And the very fact that he didn't condemn her, made her self-hatred burn brighter.

"Well," he said, quiet still, "It's no matter."

But the mirror had showed the threat, and she felt the need to protect at least one of her children. "Will you force her to pay for my sins? Will you make her pay for how I hurt you?"

His gaze was sharp and true when he caught and held her eye, "She doesn't have too. That's the deal I'll offer you." His good humor was back, or maybe it was a new mask for him to wear, "Call it, a redemption opportunity."

On nibble feet, he rounded the mast, stalking her. "You have but to tell the truth, an easy thing, I know, but none the less in short supply. You answer my question truthfully, and I will spare her life. Lie to me, and, well," he turned away, "Let's just say, you won't like it, Dearie."

She thought back at the mirror, to those beautiful blue eyes so like her own, and resolved herself. "Fine, speak your question."

Again he turned, and again he stalked her until he was before her, his strange eyes locking with hers, "Her father, do she and Baelfire share the same father?"

Baelfire. A half dozen memories reminded her of his name now. Bae, Rumple had called him, the child he looked at with such love, so much that it made her feel cold and unwanted. Her husband could never love her as much as he did his son, and that had driven her finally from contempt to hatred.

But he would know then, the truth, and she remembered hearing one of the Lost Boys say he was tricky.

So she squared her shoulders and shook her head, her voice clear and sure in her delivery, "No."

The man who'd once been her husband nodded and then bowed before her. With a flutter he turned away, and perhaps it was because he was no longer staring at her, that she grew brave enough to ask. "Why? Why that question? It doesn't tell you what you really want to know. It doesn't tell you if Baelfire was truly your son."

"He is my son." Conviction range clear and true in his voice, and Milah knew that for him, it was the truth. Then he turned around, and his face was malicious and cruel, and hatred burned within his demon eyes, and she knew, as her heart stopped in her chest and the blood ran cold as ice in her veins, she knew he knew.

She was lying.

"And now," he said, sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight, "I will deliver everything I promised—"

"Wait—"

"No one breaks a deal with, Rumplestiltskin, Dearie, and you've broken more than just one, I'd say."

She rushed forward, "You can't! You can't hurt—" She cried out as she was lifted into the air like the mirror and floated across the deck and over the open ocean. Her screams roused the crew, but the sight of her, and the demon wizard gave them all pause so that not a single one drew their sword. And when at once the Captain's cabin door opened and Killian emerged, he too gave a great pause and then a start of recognition as he saw Rumplestiltskin and remembered.

Her lover walked to the railing, seemingly unmindful of her screaming for assistance, and instead turned to regard the wizard who was listening to her scream for mercy with a twisted expression upon his face. "It would seem, you've changed, spinner."

The imp did not smile, did not turn to regard the man, but spoke all the same, his quiet voice loud over the open seas. "For the kindness you once showed me, I will do the same for you. My thanks, for what you don't even realize you gave."

A swirling vortex opened below the ocean waves she hovered over, and she screamed and begged for mercy. Rumplestiltskin, obliged, "She will be saved, Milah, but for her mother's sins, she will suffer. I will see to it, personally." And then he dropped her into the water, and she knew no more.

"Why me?"

He closed his eyes against the injustice of that question, knowing fully who she'd spoken too, knowing wisely not to answer. But she was Belle, the beauty who saw the man for the beast, and he owed her so much more than he could ever give her. Love clenched hard and painfully in his chest, and he was slow to turn, not wanting to see the contempt and anger of her directed at him, never again.

But he tried, he had to try, "Belle—"

"No!" And even in her beautiful dress she was powerful as she took another step into the receiving room, once cold and hallow, now warmed just by her existence in his world. "I know what you did to my father. I know! You nearly killed him, and now he wants me away from you, and I can hardly blame him. But this, this question has burned within me for decades, all the time I was in the castle, every day in the Queen's dungeon, and now I want to know, I need to know, I have a right to know! Why me? Why did you want me?"

His cane, the one he no longer needed but wasn't ready to proclaim yet, tapped lightly on the hardwood as he stepped towards her, towards the rage that emanated off of her. Her eyes were angry but he could live with her anger, he could survive her rage, but he could not, survive without her.

Not again.

When had she become so important to him? Bae had been his sole focus for a millennium, but now, after only a few short years, she stood right beside his son within his heart, different but the same. He could not lose her; after all these long, long years, he needed her. Without her, having Bae back would be lacking.

He placed his free hand out in placation, his face reflecting his sorrow. "Ask me any question, Belle, any and I will tell you truthfully, for I will never lie to you. But this one, this one question, I beg you, do not ask." He bowed his head, allowed himself to be weak before her, and waited for the hatred.

And it came swiftly and filled with bitterness, as quiet as a mouse with the teeth of a dragon.

"You owe me." She took a step towards him as he lifted his head, feeling the truth of her simple statement and the pain as well, for he did owe her, more than she'd ever know. Color painted her cheeks with temper, her soft, gentle hands became angry and accusing, "You owe me!" And then she found her voice, "YOU OWE ME, RUMPLESTILTSKIN!" Another step, and then he could feel her hot breath on his face, just this side of rage, but fully into heartbreak. "For everything I lost, everything I lost for loving you, you owe me an answer!"

And there it was, the loop hole. "An answer." Not the whole thing, not the entire part that would cause her to storm out of his life and never return. He could answer her without lying.

He could save them.

He shook his head, more to himself than to her. He wouldn't do that, he wouldn't lie by omission, she deserved better. She deserved better than him.

"Why?!" she yelled, nearly screaming now, but she was no longer angry, she was hurt, he was hurting her, would hurt her no matter what. But one truth they might recover from, the other they were doomed by. "Why can't you just tell me!"

"Because if I tell you, I'll lose you." The words tumbled from his lips before he could call them back. He wanted her to know, but he wouldn't be the one to tell her.

She shook her head, always so optimistic. "You don't know that."

Laughter bubbled up in him, thick and malicious, spilling out of him and causing her to take a step back. She wasn't afraid of him, but his Belle, his beautiful prize, was afraid. "You don't even know what to be afraid of," and he found his voice to be angry now, angry when he should be heartbroken to lose her. Angry that she would push him, angry she was here, ruining all of his carefully laid plans!

And then it was gone, rushing out of him with that single thought because he was angry with her, and he hated himself for it. Shaking his head he moved back to the window and stared out into the dusky street. Twilight had settled into their little hamlet, and soon the high moon would shine down on them and expose him.

"I told you, that the Queen told me you were dead, but I did not say how she told me you had perished." He didn't turn to look at her, knowing her, for she was so much his Belle; how many hours had he hidden in the shadows of his dark, foreboding castle, watching her? He knew she was listening, so he continued, "She told me you had returned to your kingdom, returned to your father's keep, and that," emotion choked him, even after all these long, lonely years, the thought of what he'd believed for so long destroyed him; he cleared his throat to continue. "Your father had deemed you unclean from your time with me. Had locked you in a tower, sent in clerics to cleans your soul, and when the torture became too much, you leapt to your death."

Desperation compelled him to turn then, and he saw the horror written upon her face to match his own. His legs moved him forward until his hands were once again touching her, still amazed that she was before him. "I didn't believe her, Belle, I went to your father's kingdom, but they all said the same thing, that you had returned, that you had been locked in a tower, and that you had died there." Emotion's shook his entire frame, "When I regained my memories in Storybrooke, when I saw your father, when he took your tea cup at Regina's manipulative behest, my only memory of you," he shook his head, "Oh Luv, I lost my mind. I did nearly kill him, I would have had Emma not stopped me."

His hands went to frame her face, and the tears he encountered matched his own, and he realized then, it had been lifetimes since he'd cried over Bae, but the tears he'd spilled over Belle could have filled the oceans. "You and my son, you are my two greatest regrets. How could I have let you both go? If only you knew, if only you could see, the irony, the sheer damning irony." And then he couldn't stand it, with a sweeping motion he lifted her into his arms as if she weight nothing more than an ounce, as if he was not crippled, and he walked her to the great chair and sat, cradling her in his arms, stroking her hair, and confessing in whispers.

"I needed you, but I could have taken what I needed simply. I took you, dealed for you to punish another, to make them suffer, and in the end, it was you who suffered, my sweet, Belle. You deserve all of it, all of the truth, but…but I cannot lose you. Not again. You—you were the only one to see the man behind the monster, without you, if I lost you again, none of it, none of it, would matter." The sobbed escaped him then and he buried his face in her bosom, his words muffled by her flesh. "And if you knew how much that admission cost me, what the truth really means to me, oh Belle, I might die now from the pain of it."

The miracle of his life, was the amazing creature in his arms, so different from the one who'd come before her. Warm hands, gentle hands, lifted into his hair, holding him close, soothing him, comforting him. He the bastard who had ruined her life, who owed her every answer she demanded of him, was whispering to him softly, her forgiveness.

"It's enough, Rumplestiltskin. It's enough. For now, that's enough."

But it wasn't, and he lifted his head, and gazed into her ocean blue eyes, and kissed her, for all the kisses he'd thrown away, for all the moments lost, for every ache and pain he'd forced her to endure, he kissed her to comfort himself, and to apologize.

The next day he came up the steps of their modest home in time to see his front door open, and Killian step out, his hand against Belle's cheek, his thumb caressing. Their eyes met, but the fight was over between them, and from the smile in Belle's gaze upon him, he knew the secret he shared with the scoundrel Captain Hook, was still their own.

Belle said her goodbyes to her Captain friend after taking Rumplestiltskin's arm, and for whatever reason, the man simple gave a little nod, promised to pass the message to her father, and continued past the gate.

With a sigh, Belle leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm going to have lunch with my father tomorrow. I invited him here since I'm still wary about walking around town myself. It might be best if you weren't here for that."

He nodded, kissed her temple, and walked them into the house. There was still a tea service in the kitchen, where she'd obviously been entertaining Hook, and they sat together sharing the remaining scones she'd managed not to burn. He told her about his day, and she listened intently, asking a few questions, and inquiring about coming to work with him in the shop, to which he readily agreed, wanting to keep her constantly close at hand.

It wasn't until their second cupa that he noticed her playing with a white pearl necklace about her neck and questioned her about it.

"Oh!" she looked down trying to see it past her chin before smiling and looking up at him. "You know how some of the things from our world managed to find their way over here?" He nodded, "Well, Killian had this, has had it for years now. I recognized it straight away!" She beamed now, happy to have her treasure, "Why he had it, I'm not sure, but I'd know this necklace anywhere, and he did too and brought it over when he made the connection.

"It was my mother's. I had it on me at the Dark Castle, do you remember?" She looked up for confirmation, and he somehow managed to nod past the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "It's special you know, the necklace. It's called The Black Pearl, after my mother, Milah, that's what her name translated into in her native tongue. Killian thinks he ended up with my necklace because after his first boat was lost, his new boat was christened, The Black Pearl in honor of my mother. He thinks because they had the same name he ended up with the necklace instead of his boat." She cocked her head to the side, questioningly, "What do you think? Is that possible? I really don't understand this curse and how and why some things are here and others aren't." She trailed off, still smiling, still playing with Milah's necklace.

So what do you think? I'm curious how people feel about this one. Does it need a follow up, or is it done?

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!