Disclaimer: I don't own OUAT.

Timeline: Season 5B, at some point between Ruby Slippers and Last Rites.

Pairings: Background Rumbelle

Frayed Ribbons and Chipped Cups

It wasn't his shop, though it was a close reproduction. Familiar enough that he had no trouble finding his way around, but different enough to be disconcerting. The lighting was too red, the air too musty, the ambiance too quiet. Like a glimpse of something unidentifiable caught out the corner of his eye, but gone when he turned to view it fully, it made him edgy. It was one more stress he didn't need, he reflected, as he moved into the back room once more and gazed sorrowfully at the still figure lying motionless on the bed.

"Oh, Belle…" he whispered, forcing himself to draw closer. She was breathing so lightly that he had to concentrate to note the slight rise and fall of her chest. "Of all the—" Rumple caught himself abruptly. There was no point in scolding her for her choice. She couldn't hear him and it wouldn't serve any purpose, even if she could. She'd done what she'd thought was the right thing to give their child his (or her; he hadn't been able to check before, and working magic on someone already under an enchantment was a tricky business at best and not something to undertake unless absolutely necessary) best chance.

Again, he bent down and brought his lips to hers, hoping against hope that this time, it would work. It should have. She still loved him. She'd even told him as much, right before she'd taken hold of his dagger and forced him to spare Gaston's life. It had almost cost him his own, but although fate hadn't demanded that price of him, it had taken one nearly as steep.

Belle didn't so much as stir.

Rumple felt tears burn in his eyes as he wondered how things could have gone so wrong so quickly. He and Belle had fallen out before, but they'd always been able to patch things up. But this time had been different. This time, he had truly changed, even if it hadn't all been willingly. He certainly hadn't asked to be shriven of his Darkness, or to have Emma force him to become a hero. But he'd somehow risen to the occasion, first saving Belle, and then sparing Hook. And after all that, after he'd finally become the man Belle had always said she wanted him to be, she'd rejected him. He'd known it was a possibility, but with everything their love had weathered, he couldn't quite believe that after he'd actually done everything right, she had told him that she wasn't sure she wanted to be with him anymore.

Without Belle, without power, he'd been right back to where he'd begun: lame, friendless, pathetic. Was it any wonder that, when the opportunity to get back some of what he'd lost had fallen in his lap, he'd seized it? He'd always chosen power over Belle. Without his power, Belle was more than enough. But if Belle wouldn't have him, then why shouldn't he settle for magic? Without it, without her, he was truly dust. The decision had been made, the deed done. What had been lost to him was regained. And then… Belle had come back to him. Perhaps, he should have told her immediately what he'd done, but although he was immortal again, he was still human enough to want to spare her the knowledge. She would be angry. She might be hurt. She might blame herself, when the choice had been his own. So, he'd held his peace until Emma uncovered the truth and blackmailed him into bringing her and the others to the Underworld.

He'd known then that he wouldn't be able to keep his secret from Belle much longer. Sooner or later, someone was going to tell her. He could almost picture it.

Belle, we're only telling you this because we love you. You need to know the truth…

He wondered whether anyone would have bothered to tell him that Belle had taken up with Will Scarlett during his banishment from Storybrooke, had he not found out for himself first. Or if, under all the heroes' talk about doing the right thing and the importance of knowing the truth, there was also a most unheroic desire to 'stick it to the Dark One,' when an opportunity presented itself. It didn't matter. He'd lied to Belle before. He'd always been found out, and it had always, he reflected, gone worse for him than it would have had he just been honest from the start. At least, that was what he'd believed this time, when he'd finally told her the whole truth, not just about his darkness, but about her love.

He'd known that she'd be upset, but he'd been sure that she'd cool off and come around.

He'd been wrong.

And he had no idea now what he should have done differently.

Well. Perhaps he should have remembered Regina's statement: villains didn't get happy endings, not even if they finally turned to the light. He knew that better than anyone. He'd chosen Bae over power and lost both. He'd chosen mercy over vengeance, lost Belle, and very nearly returned here to the Underworld as a permanent resident, rather than as a tourist.

In the outer room, the bell over the front door jangled. One of the heroes, doubtless, coming to ask for his help or take him to task for leaving them behind. He debated staying in the back room. But then, they might come looking for him. Worse. They might find Belle. They'd have questions then. And assumptions he didn't care to listen to. Oh, it was possible that they'd believe him when he told them what happened and not jump to the conclusion that he'd done this to her (but then, hadn't he?). But if they didn't blame him, they'd pity him—or tell him it was no more than he deserved. He could do without their pity and their self-righteousness. And he wasn't about to let them see him in his current state.

He took a deep breath, forced down his grief, and arose from Belle's side. Before he pushed back the curtain separating the back room from the shop floor, he paused to check his reflection in a mirror on one of the shelves, taking care that his tie was straight and his face fully composed, disclosing nothing of the turmoil that seethed within.

When she peered through the slats in the Venetian blinds over the windows, she wasn't overly surprised to find the shop empty. Pan was an indifferent proprietor, given to odd hours and frequent vacations. He was also quite irresponsible and seldom bothered to lock up. She imagined it didn't matter much. Hades was a stern overlord and the Underworld was an orderly realm. Nobody wanted to risk breaking his rules and incurring his displeasure. As a result, crime was virtually non-existent.

Every so often, some new soul tried to settle an old score. If they object of their vendetta was one of no consequence to the Lord of the Underworld, they might even succeed. But sooner or later, they attacked the wrong person. The River of Souls held them now and for eternity.

It didn't matter. Her business wasn't with Pan. When she'd heard the rumors that a small party of the Living had recently arrived here, she'd guessed that if those rumors were true, one man would almost certainly be among them. There were very few ways for a person to reach this realm before their demise and the one she sought held one of the rare keys that could allow it. It hadn't taken long to confirm her suspicion She hadn't been sure whether he was occupying the shop now, but even if he wasn't, perhaps his father would know how to track him down. Either way, she knew she was in the right place to find the answer she sought.

A whirring noise caught her attention as she pushed the shop door open, and she smiled to see its source. That hadn't been here the last time she'd stepped foot in the shop. And, she realized, the sign over the door now named him as proprietor. Clearly, Hades was trying to make him feel at home. She'd just taken a step toward the spinning wheel when something else caught her attention. Almost unthinkingly, she walked toward the counter where a chipped cup sat on a red velvet pedestal, a saucer that didn't quite match mounted behind it. Her smile was hopeful as she lifted it gently. It shouldn't be long now before her business was complete. Soon…

He knew her at once. It hadn't been that long since their paths had last crossed and she'd made quite the impression on him at their previous meetings as well. With a lifetime that spanned over two centuries, he couldn't be expected to remember every face, but he'd never forget hers.

He wondered what she was doing here. She no longer had anything he wanted and he doubted that he had anything she was seeking. Still, she might surprise him, yet. Like him, she played long games for high stakes. He respected that and knew to keep his guard up when she was about.

On the other hand, perhaps, her presence in the shop had nothing to do with him. She might have simply come in to purchase an item and couldn't have cared less who would be taking her money. Or whatever it was that passed for currency in this realm. She might even be romantically involved with Pan, though Rumple rather doubted it. He didn't think his father had ever cared for anyone but himself and there was no reason to believe that being dead would have changed him any.

Ingrid hadn't noticed him yet, and he stood in the doorway, framed by the curtain, and watched as she took in the displays. She didn't come in often then. Or she'd already know the contents of the shop.

He caught his breath when she stopped before a very familiar item and picked it up. Now, that was going too far. He took an angry step forward.

"That's not for sale, dearie," he snapped, nearly startling Ingrid, though she covered her alarm well. She set the cup down quickly, but with care.

"I'm sorry," she said, smiling. "I was just admiring it."

"Admire it from a distance," he retorted.

Ingrid shrugged and bowed her head in acknowledgment. Her smile was friendly, but there was just a hint of something that might have been mockery in the set of her lips.

Rumple detested being mocked. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Ingrid's sigh bordered on a laugh, but her smile never changed. "I saw an opportunity to complete some unfinished business now and get a bit closer to moving on," she replied serenely. "It seems I've a piece of information that may prove of interest to you."

Rumple's eyes narrowed. "Do tell."

For answer, Ingrid lifted the cup again and her smile deepened at Rumple's angry start. "Actually," she continued nonchalantly, "I'm not sure why I need to tell you anything when you already have all the answers. Or, at least," her smile turned serious and a note of sadness crept into her voice, "you used to."

"I beg your pardon?"

Ingrid sighed. "I chanced on an acquaintance of yours a short while ago who told me an interesting tale about a love stressed and strained, almost to the breaking point. This acquaintance went on to tell me how she was approached by one of the parties involved for help with a peripheral matter and asked to provide a rather drastic…" She paused for a moment before she uttered the next word. "Fail-safe."

Rumple sucked in his breath. "You've been talking to Zelena." It was almost a growl.

Ingrid lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. "You're right. But that's not the important thing."

"I beg to differ, dearie."

Ingrid held the cup closer. "You know," she said calmly, "this is actually an exquisite piece. A pity about the chip, of course. I'm surprised you've never bothered to repair it. Perhaps, I should…"

He would have torn it from her grasp, but he worried that she would try to hold onto it and their clashing wills might well destroy the delicate china outright. He wouldn't have that happen again. "Put the cup down," he gritted through clenched teeth.

She complied with another elegant shrug. "Just trying to be helpful."

"Touch it again at your peril."

Ingrid blinked. "I'm already dead, Rumple. And I'm certainly wise enough to take my constitutionals as far from the river as possible. At least, so long as you're here. But I haven't come here to fight, so I'll do as you ask and leave the teacup where it is."

He shouldn't have let her see that she was getting to him and he struggled to regain his control. "Why have you come here, then?" he demanded.

She smiled. "I was coming to that," she said with maddening complacency. "But first, I think we both know how rumors can spread and distort facts. And I'm aware that you and Zelena have a rather… complicated history." She gave a slight nod when Rumple snorted at that. "And since I've some knowledge of the damage that can be done when one jumps to conclusions without ascertaining the facts…" she sighed. "I fear this question will pain you, but I must ask. Is it true? Did Zelena put Belle under a sleeping curse at her request?"

"That's not your concern." His reply was almost a snarl.

"So, it's true."

He could have kicked himself for confirming it. "To save our unborn child from Hades."

"Surely there were other options."

Why was she tormenting him? "Belle didn't…trust me to find them in time."

"And you can't wake her because True Love's Kiss is light magic."

Maybe she wasn't trying to needle him, but she was succeeding. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't transport the both of us to the closest pier," he growled. "We'll see how easily you avoid the river then."

Ingrid smirked. "I imagine that the water of the Styx freezes just as easily as any other," she replied calmly. "Still," she held up both hands in a placating gesture, "I suppose I'd prefer not to risk any of its ice crystals remaining on me to melt when I relax my power." She shook her head, still smiling. "Believe it or not, Rumple, I didn't come here to twist a knife. I have some unfinished business. With a number of others, as well, I fear. But since the Dark One is immortal and seldom visits this realm, I thought it best to take advantage of the opportunity to settle matters now, rather than wait centuries for you to grow tired enough or careless enough to let your dagger fall into the hands of someone more interested in seizing power than commanding it."

She smiled. "Fate has a peculiar sense of irony. And, I suppose, justice, if it comes to that."

Rumple's eyes narrowed. "I'm not in the mood for riddles or games," he snapped. "What do you want?"

"I thought you'd appreciate them, seeing as they're usually your stock in trade," she returned. Her smile dimmed slightly and her eyes grew sadder. "The cup," she nodded toward the velvet stand. "Does its counterpart in the other realm yet exist?"

Now, why would she ask that? He shook his head. "No. I… was forced to destroy it." Without magic, without power, he'd had no other way to escape captivity and make his way back to Belle.

"Ah." Ingrid sighed. "I think… that may explain more than it doesn't."

"Stop being cryptic, dearie, and tell me what it is you mean."

Ingrid nodded. "Of course," she returned. "And I am sorry to have brought the subject up. I suspected, but I wanted to be certain."

"Go on."

Ingrid hesitated. "I believe," she said slowly, "that if you think back to what you told three sisters many years ago, you may already know why the bond between you and your…" She hesitated. "…Wife?" At his quick pained nod, she continued, "Your wife. Why that bond has become as… tenuous as it has." She watched his face carefully, but though she could see his irritation plainly, she saw no spark of understanding, only puzzlement.

"Sometimes," Ingrid reminded him. "With enough love, ordinary objects can come to possess their own special kind of magic."

Rumple's eyes widened as comprehension dawned.

"I spent many years in Storybrooke," Ingrid continued. "I had ample opportunity to observe you, both during and after the curse. And, of course, when you brought magic back to Storybrooke, my own powers returned. While they aren't as versatile as yours, I must point out that conversations often sound clearer in cold air. And mirrors can be windows to other spaces. You generally keep a few in your shop." She smiled self-consciously at his scowl. "I may not be the most skillful spy, but it helps when your quarry doesn't suspect he's being watched. I learned what that cup meant to you. And I was saddened when it appeared in this shop."

"Appeared?" Rumple asked sharply, startled out of his irritation. "It hasn't always been here?"

"This is the Realm of the Dead," Ingrid reminded him. "Hades may dictate its form. But its contents? Magic does possess a life-force of its own. And when a magical object is shattered, even one enchanted by love, perhaps especially such a one, it comes here just as surely as any other spirit."

Rumple paled. "So, when I shattered the cup…"

Ingrid nodded, but there was compassion in her eyes. "Gerda didn't stop loving me, you know," she said. "Before she moved on, she told me as much. The sisterly bond was strained, not severed. But without the ribbons, that bond could not withstand the trial it was put to. And," she added delicately, "it seems that Fate has decided to subject your love to a similar stress, whether I wish it or not."

"Don't you?" he asked with some surprise.

Ingrid shook her head. "I have nursed so much anger and hate for those I assumed must fear and hate me. It wasn't my magic that froze my heart. It was my fury. When I finally let it go, I found within myself the capacity to forgive. My sister. Myself." She smiled wistfully. "And you, too, Rumpelstiltskin. You might have explained to us a bit better what it was we were giving up, but I think we should have guessed that if you wanted our ribbons in payment for such powerful magic, it wasn't out of the goodness of your heart. We gave up something far more valuable than what we received and we should have realized it."

"I did try to tell you," he murmured.

"You did." She was smiling again. "Cryptically. Well. You asked me a moment ago not to speak in riddles, so I'll be plain. Destroying the cup didn't destroy the love you two share, no more than losing our ribbons destroyed our sisterly bond. But it did have an effect. When you leave this realm—as I'm certain you will—take the cup with you. Think of it as a second chance. Something I could have had, if I'd only come to my senses a bit earlier. It's too late for me. It's not too late for you and Belle."

"Why do you care?" Rumple asked, not belligerently, but curiously.

Ingrid sighed. "Perhaps I owe Belle some recompense for what I did to her. Perhaps I have a romantic streak, after all. Or perhaps, I feel some responsibility for your current state of affairs. After all, my mirror put the first cracks in your marriage. I'm not sure the cup could have shattered, had the fault not already been there."

Rumple nodded, but he knew better. The first crack had occurred when he'd lied to Belle about the dagger. Let Ingrid believe otherwise, though. If she was right about the cup, he would be in her debt, but there was no reason to let her know that now. However, should her nieces or any of their descendants ever seek out his aid, he resolved that he would exact no price for such assistance. It would be his payment for this favor. "Thank you," he said simply. "And, I feel certain that Belle would thank you as well, were she currently able."

Ingrid nodded. "You're quite welcome."

"I suppose you'll be moving on, then?"

"I'll be leaving the shop," Ingrid nodded, "but as to this realm? No. Not for a good long while, I suspect. I'm fairly sure that I've unfinished business yet with Elsa and Anna. And I'm in no hurry to see it resolved." She smiled. "No. I hope not to see either of them for many years, yet."

"Ah."

"Don't waste this opportunity, Rumple. Second chances don't come often."

Then she was gone.

Rumple watched her leave. Then he walked over to the cup, took it down from its pedestal, and stuffed a silken cloth into its mouth. A velvet-lined box materialized on the counter, a depression in its interior shaped to accommodate an item of a particular shape and size. The cup fit perfectly. Rumple closed the box, latched it, and carried it into the back room, where he placed it on the bed and moved Belle's hand so that it covered it. He bent down to kiss her once more, and was disappointed, but not really surprised when nothing happened. Then he blinked. Perhaps, he'd only just imagined it, but it seemed as though, if only for an instant, Belle had smiled in her sleep.