It was so warm. The kind of warm like fresh clothes dried in sunlight, like a glowing hearth in winter. Soft, comforting. It had been so long since she'd felt the cozy touch of this type of heat, she thought she had forgotten all about it. Though she fought to keep her grasp on sleep, the sound of birds chirping outside and the smell of food began luring her back to consciousness.

Her stomach growled violently, and Belle tried to remember the last time she had eaten. Breakfast at the hospital, yesterday morning. As her thoughts became clearer, the events of the previous day unfolded in her memory. If it was indeed a delusion, she was apparently still in it.

She opened her eyes a slit and cautiously took in her surroundings. She was in a large bed, wrapped in silky gold sheets and a burgundy blanket, also embroidered with gold. There was a window framed with stained glass through which sunlight poured in an array of colors, hinting that the day was nearing its peak. The floors were dark, sturdy wood, and the shelves lining with walls were filled with mismatched trinkets – some appearing delicate and expensive, others clunky and worthless.

"It's not so different from the dark castle," she thought, finding humor and at least some comfort in his familiar quirks.

The low rumble sounded again, and she reluctantly sat up. The rest had improved her resolve somewhat, and it had been a long time since she had felt the excitement of curiosity. If it was a delusion, she might as well make the most of it.

Drawing back the sheets, she was surprised to find the filthy jacket and hospital gown gone, replaced by a set of soft flannel pajamas and wool socks. They hung in soft, baggy folds off her narrow frame, designed entirely for comfort rather than appearance. She tried to remember changing into these but found nothing. Surely he hadn't….no, he wouldn't have. He'd have used magic. She refused to question that point further.

She slid off the bed and though the scrapes on her hands and knees were vanished, she found that her legs were terribly stiff and sore from her long journey the day before. Rocking slowly back and forth from her heels to the balls of her feet, she managed to stretch out some of the kinks in her calves.

Her door opened silently, and she padded a few tentative steps down the hall. There was an open door on her left, and she was pleased to discover a clean, shiny bathroom. She stepped inside and closed the door as quietly as she could. On the sink counter was a toothbrush still in its package, an unopened tube of toothpaste, a square hair brush with ties wound around the handle, a small glass, a wash cloth and a bar of soap. Fresh towels hung on the back of the door. She caught her reflection in the mirror and did a double take in alarm. Her face and hands were caked in dirt, hair a violent snarl reaching out in every direction.

"Nothing else for it," she sighed heavily as rolled her sleeves up and put the tools to use. She would of course need a shower, but didn't have the patience just at present. Besides, the running water would alert him to her awakeness, and she wanted time to prepare before confronting him again.

After nearly thirty minutes of effort, she managed to get her hair back in order, pulled into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. Her face, hands, and neck were scrubbed pink, shining clean. She'd brushed her teeth vigorously twice, until nothing but the taste of mint was left in her mouth. She filled the glass three times with water, finding herself suddenly parched. Nearly filling it a fourth time, she decided against it. It was quite possible that she was dehydrated, and she didn't want to make herself sick…well, sicker.

At long last she nodded her satisfaction and continued down the hall. Reaching the top of the stairs, she stopped to listen. The uneven footsteps were easy to pick out, and sounds of sizzling and running water drifted out of the kitchen along with the heady smells of food being prepared. Her stomach seized again, becoming less patient. When was the last time she had eaten something other than hospital food? Trying to reach past the long expanse in the grey cell threatened a panic, so she abandoned the thought.

Her legs complained as she made her way down the stairs, but it was manageable. The entire place was solidly built, no creaks or groans to give away her progress.

Rose peeked around the entryway and spotted him. In an instant, her breath caught with a thousand memories. His face was so human now, but still so like the man she had grown to love; the same angle of his jaw, the same lines furrowing his brow as he concentrated. It washed over her unexpectedly – the eternity she had spent missing his face, his presence. Her caution forgotten, she rushed toward him, needing to assure herself that he was real, here.

His face was full of surprise as she knocked him off balance, and he stumbled a few steps backwards, steadying himself with his cane.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, but he shook his head and smiled, pulling her close against him.

"I wasn't sure what to expect. This I don't mind. It helps me believe that you're real."

She drew back to look into his face, traitor tears stinging her eyes. "You…you don't have to say that. I know I'm not like I used to be and…and you didn't want me back. I don't need anything from you. I'm just happy to see you, anyway. Happy to see you well."

His hard laugh caught her off guard. "Do I seem well to you?" She only responded with a questioning look, to which he smiled more genuinely. "I suppose I am much more well today." He gestured to a chair at the small breakfast table, "You must be hungry. Let me get some food in you, then we can talk about anything you like."

"Anything?" she tried to keep the doubt out of her voice.

He put a hand to his chest, "Anything."

It seemed ludicrous that she should be sidetracked by something so casual as hunger, but her stomach grumbled again as a reminder. She nodded her assent and took a seat.

Mr. Gold started placing dishes in front of her, starting with a bowl of fruit. Once the first piece hit her tongue, her appetite awakened in earnest, and it was quiet affair as she plowed single-mindedly through first the fruit, then the eggs, bacon, and pancakes. He patiently refilled her orange juice as she drained the small cup again and again. Finally, feeling uncomfortably tight with food, she slowed when she reached the lemon muffin, picking around the edges rather than swallowing it whole.

"You cook now?"

He grinned teasingly, "Yes well, good help is so hard to find these days. Would you like anything else? Coffee or tea perhaps?"

"Oh no. Nothing else thank you. But maybe I'll try some coffee another time. What is it?"

His face fell, and he gripped his cane tighter. This had apparently been an odd question. "Sorry. Don't mind me. Just a bit sheltered I suppose."

His voice took on a timid, gentle quality, one that she didn't like. "Belle," he stopped a moment, correcting himself and testing out her new name like a strange food, "Rose, where have you been?"

"Please don't do that."

"What?"

"Treat me carefully. Like something's wrong with me, like I'm so fragile. Can't you just be as you always were?"

"When?"

She cocked her head to one side, taken off guard by the question. "When we were at dark castle. After I stopped being afraid. Before you-," she cut herself off and cast an apologetic look at him.

He steeled his jaw. "You can say it. It's the truth. Before I turned you away. But Rose, how long ago was that?"

"How should I know? There was no way for me to track time. It could have been a month or a hundred years to me."

"It was thirty years."

Her breath hitched and she shook her head. "I…I don't understand."

"You see, you are fragile. There's so much you don't know yet. Please let me be careful with you, at least for a little while. You were going to tell me where you have been."

Rose tried to force air back into her lungs. Thirty years….thirty years? Not possible...her reflection, wasn't it the same? Her thoughts skidded back to the doctor's instructions. She was supposed to keep control. "1…My name is Rose…or was it? 2…I am twenty years old…but that can't be…3…I have trouble with my memory…4…Not everything I remember is real…" Nothing matched up in her head. Something here wasn't real, but what?

Her hands were being drawn away from her face. She hadn't realized she'd hid behind them. Mr. Gold was kneeling in front of her, trying to get her attention. It was difficult to pull her thoughts back out, but she tried for him. The food felt like a stone in her stomach, one that would require dislodging. Drawing in deep breaths, she tried to answer his question.

"I'm sick. I've been sick for a long time. It's my mind. I can't always tell what's real, so I shouldn't believe everything I think. That's why I was in the hospital. In the asylum. I tried so hard to remember what was real, what they told me. I did try. But I never got any better."

His eyes grew wide and glistening, but his jaw betrayed a rising fury beneath the surface. "That's the story she wrote for you? That was how she kept you from me?"

"She?"

"Regina! Her majesty!" He rose, pounding a fist on the table. Belle jumped and leaned back in her chair.

Clenching his hands into fists, he turned from her and leaned on the counter, trying to regain his composure. "I'm sorry. I'm all right. You don't have to be afraid." He lingered there a few more moments and then rejoined her at the table, a practiced but tenuous calm on his face.

"I thought I would get to choose what we talked about. That was the deal, right?"

A ghost of a smile played across his lips. "It was. How could I forget?"

She tried to keep her voice light, not to let the even a hint of her desperation for the answer leak out. She failed. "Rumplestiltskin...Mr. Gold…where have you been?"

His eyebrows knit together in a pained expression. "Yes. I suppose you deserve the answer to that."

She waited as patiently as she could while he chose his words. "It was several months after you had gone. I assumed you'd returned home to a glad welcome, that even perhaps your thoughts of me were beginning to wane. Eventually you'd find another suitor, one that would be less….challenging?"

She smiled despite herself at his choice of words. In many ways he was a challenge. But falling in love with him had been easy…effortless, once she knew him.

"I had intended to leave you alone, when the Queen herself paid me a visit," his voice grew hard at the memory, "and told me that you had not been received quite so well as I had imagined."

Rose winced at the memory. She had been just as surprised as anyone to find her home turned hostile, her heroism rewarded with suspicion and fear. As she tried to mend the bridges, thinking time would put things back to right, her efforts were only rewarded with further callousness. Things went from bad to worse, and even her father joined the ranks of the doubtful and cautious.

"So that much is true, I see. Good. One less regret."

She puzzled over his meaning, but he carried on before she could question him. "Regina also told me of your death."

"My death?"

"This was clearly some manner of exaggeration."

"How was I said to have died?"

His jaw quivered lightly, remembering the words, however false, that had effectively shattered his existence all those years ago. The words that had shackled him to shame, regret, and heartbreak for year after year, decade after decade.

"You threw yourself from a tower. Your people had put you there for purification…from me…and you…" he trailed off, and Rose grabbed his hand across the table.

"I didn't. My father told everyone that to prevent a panic. I escaped."

"Escaped? Then the tower…the clerics…that was true as well?"

Rose's eyes stayed cool on his face, but she didn't answer. His face started to crack around the edges, but this time it was not his temper that threatened to overtake.

At that moment pounding erupted at the front door, making Rose jump and Mr. Gold sigh in annoyance. "Gold! I know you're in there and I'm not leaving until I see her!"

He closed his eyes for a moment and then smiled in mock politeness. "Excuse me a moment won't you dear?"

Rose smiled back at him, grateful for the interruption. He stood and made his way to the door. The pounding erupted again before he made it there, and she heard another, smaller voice outside, seemingly trying to shush the intruder.

"Sheriff Swann, what a surprise." He said with no surprise whatsoever in his voice. "What can I do for you?"

"I read the book, deal or no deal I'm here to make sure that girl is all right and isn't being held against her will."

"I'm afraid she's indisposed at the moment. It's a shame, if I'd known we had visitors I would have given her some warning. Perhaps you'll try back another time?"

"Look just because everyone has their memory back doesn't mean I can't arrest you."

"Emma!" the little voice chimed in, "Please, you don't want to have Mr. Gold as your enemy."

"You've got a smart boy there, Sheriff. Perhaps you should start listening to him."

Rose had slowly made her way closer to the door, rolling her eyes at Mr. Gold's stubbornness. "I'm here, Sheriff."

"You don't have to come out here in your nightclothes. It's a free country and this is private property." His voice was cool, unrattled – his business voice.

"It's all right. And it's a simple fix for all this unpleasantness." She grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it wider. Of course she remembered Emma from the previous evening, but the darkness had clearly hidden her striking beauty, and the sunlight caught in her hair set it in pale flame. All the sudden she felt a touch self-conscious in her flannel and socks.

"Good morning, Sheriff Swann. I'm glad you stopped by, I was hoping to have a chance to thank you for finding me."

"You're Belle, aren't you?" Her attention was distracted by the young boy standing behind Emma. His face held a look a rapt excitement as he peered around the woman that was obviously his mother.

Unsure herself of the answer, she was only able to offer, "I suppose so, but I haven't been told your name."

"It's Henry, and it's good to meet you."

"How are you feeling?" Emma's question was not at all casual.

"Much better today. I fear I slept in quite late, so I hope you'll pardon my attire. We just finished a big breakfast, but there are some muffins left and I'd be happy to put the kettle on if you'd like to come in."

Emma and Mr. Gold made the exact same incredulous expression, and it made Rose blush with embarrassment. Apparently she'd done something strange again. "Are we not friends?"

Henry's face was lit up however, and he answered before anyone else had a chance to speak. "We'd love to thank you!"

"Henry!" Emma half barked, half whined back at him.

"Please? For operation cobra?" As her resolve visibly melted, it seemed the tough cop mother was defenseless when it came to her son.

Emma and Mr. Gold exchanged a frosty glare before she turned her attention back to Rose, forcing her mouth into a tight smile. "Sounds good. Thanks."

Rose blushed brightly again as she hurried into the kitchen. She was opening cupboards furiously looking for tea when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Let me. Have a seat." She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not – keeping her hands busy helped her relax – but she took her seat back at the table nevertheless. Emma leaned against the far counter, her posture tense as though she was ready to take flight at any moment. Henry obliviously plopped down in the vacant dining chair.

"So what's your name here? Do you prefer Belle?"

So much for starting with easy questions. Henry was apparently determined to crash her two realities together like cymbals.

"I think…it's Rose here…but you can call me whatever you like."

"Do you have any enemies?"

"Um..well…"

"Henry maybe you should start with something less personal? She had a very rough night last night and I'm sure she'd like a little more time to relax before you give her the third degree." Emma tried to assist.

"Oh sorry. It's just that I've had so many questions, but no one remembered the answers."

"Henry," Mr. Gold started evenly as he filled the tea kettle, "You do know that not all of us are friends, here or in our old land?"

"Of course. You all hate the queen."

Mr. Gold smiled at Henry's candor. "Perhaps, but she's not the only villain in Storybrooke. Has your mother told you who I am?"

"Yes. Rumplestiltskin. The fact that I couldn't figure it out should have made it obvious."

"And does it change how you feel about me?"

"I know you can be dangerous, but not if I don't make any deal with you. Everyone else made deals, but didn't want to pay your price. That's when you're dangerous. "

"Clever boy. Now here's the thing," he placed the remaining muffins on the table, "I was saying not everyone gets along, least of all with me. You're very good at keeping secrets aren't you?"

"I've had to be."

"Well then, I would also advise you that not everyone here will recognize everyone else. You should be very careful about revealing our true identities to the rest of Storybrooke. And careful of who gets to see the book."

"No offense, Mr. Gold, but I'm pretty sure everyone here will remember who you are. You kind of leave an impression."

Emma and Rose exchanged a stifled smile at Henry's precociousness. Mr. Gold maintained his serious expression. "Yes, but they don't know Belle."

Henry looked confused. "But…she's one of the good guys, and that story didn't even have a villain. Unless you count Gaston, but he's already dead right?"

Rose's eyes grew wide. "Gaston…he's dead?"

Henry bit his bottom lip. Mr. Gold's voice was flat. "He's missing from Storybrooke, just like he was missing before. So it is possible. But he was never a real threat." Rose took a deep breath. Yes, he had been missing, though not necessarily missed.

"Here's the thing, Henry. You know that I have enemies."

Henry nodded seriously his understanding as he studied Rose's face across the table. "And if they know she's your friend, they might use her against you. Don't worry, we won't tell anyone. We won't do anything to put you in danger."

Mr. Gold smiled genuinely at him. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

"Wait a second!" Henry jumped out of his chair, "Are you the Beast?"