Disclaimer: This is a not-for-profit work of fiction, I do not claim ownership of the characters or settings in this story.

Notes: Just a warning, this one ends with a bit of a cliffhanger. Unfortunately it was the only place I could cut it off without going on another five thousand words. Enjoy.

.


.

If either of them had expected anything to change with the revelation that Henry was Mr Gold's grandson, the next day was disappointingly normal. Mr Gold left for the shop at the usual time and sequestered himself in the back room that he'd made his work room, intent on this new problem of finding a way back to the Enchanted Forest. Doubtless the fairies were on the job as well, perhaps even Regina, but Rumpelstiltskin neither trusted them to get the job done or to let the likes of him know when and if they did. Besides which, as the creator of the curse he had a peculiar sort of insight into its nature. Unless a short-cut presented itself he was certain that he'd be the one to find the way.

The first step was always to plan. To gather resources and research, to think through the probabilities and possibilities. The first step was always messy and thoroughly time consuming, though at least here he had the benefit of fountain pens and biros instead of using quills that constantly needed to be wet with ink to record his notes and ideas.

He was hunched over the book, scribbling away, face arranged into a determined frown, when the shop door jingled to announce a visitor.

"It's me," Belle's voice rang out, "I brought coffee."

"In here," Mr Gold called, somewhat unnecessarily. He stopped writing and sat up straight, only just noticing the twinge in his back from sitting for so long in the same position.

Belle appeared in the doorway carrying two things – a pair of takeaway coffees in a cardboard tray, and a rolled up piece of paper that looked suspiciously as if it had been stolen from the art room at the elementary. She walked over to the desk and presented him with one of the coffees. "Cappuccino," she told him, "with a double-shot of espresso. I figured you could do with the extra caffeine."

"Thankyou." He could indeed, and took a sip from the cup before asking; "And what's that?"

Belle looked down at the paper in her hands, then smiled. She perched herself on the corner of his desk where there was no clutter for her to sit on and handed him the paper. He unrolled it carefully, eyebrows raising at the family tree that had been carefully drawn into the centre. It was labelled in Belle's handwriting, with spaces left for photographs or sketches above each name, the title 'Ruling House of Starrow' emblazoned at the top. "What do you think?" she asked, the smile on her lips suspiciously like a smirk.

Mr Gold scanned the family tree, amused to note that each label on the tree (bar two) had two names. The first, their 'real' names, and the second their Storybrooke identities. "I see a recipe for some truly terrible family reunions," he answered dryly.

"They haven't told him yet. Henry. Emma told her parents," Belle said, with a small shrug, "but so far they're keeping him in the dark. Regina made a brief appearance while we were gone, apparently," she added, "she told Mary-Margaret and David that she's trying to reform."

"And how is that going to work?" Mr Gold asked idly, not convinced for a moment that she would manage to change. Not to the point they would want her to. Regina would never return to being the sweet young woman Snow White might recall from her childhood. She had been pushed too far for that. He should know, he'd done a lot of the pushing.

"Therapy," Belle replied, raising her coffee to her lips. She paused before taking a sip. "You don't think she could actually change, do you?"

"Years of therapy wouldn't put her on the right path for good. In the years that I've known of her Regina has been broken, taken apart, and put back together more times than I care to count. For every selfless act there have been a thousand wicked, selfish deeds." He paused, thinking it over. "I'd be surprised if she lasts a month."

"I don't know if I should feel sorry for her or not," Belle mused, frowning slightly. "I still don't like her."

"Lets put it this way… Since you first met her Regina has talked down to you, insulted you, tried to take your heart and make you her spy, made you an alcoholic, and has consistently tried to undermine and kill the people you care about. I think you have a right to dislike her, dearie."

"I'm a recovering alcoholic now," Belle corrected him. "But now I feel better about not feeling sorry for her."

"I hear the dwarves are looking for diamonds in the mines," Mr Gold said, deciding it was time to change the subject.

"Mm, they haven't found any yet. Everyone seems pretty convinced that fairy dust is the way back home." She raised her eyebrows.

Mr Gold chuckled. "They'll be in for a rude shock then. If it was as easy as fairy dust I have a few wands that aren't lacking in their power."

"Mother superior seems pretty certain."

"Never trust someone who calls themselves 'superior'," Mr Gold replied smoothly, "they usually aren't."

"Except you, of course."

"I don't claim the word as my name."

"Point," Belle agreed with a nod, crossing her ankles. "In any case the royal family seems content to place their trust in fairies and ignore that you're looking for a way back too."

"Then it'll be a nice surprise for them all, won't it?" Mr Gold put his coffee aside, the cup only half finished, and cracked open his notebook again. "I'd best be back to work, love. Problems like these don't solve themselves."

Belle hopped down from the desk. She bent and kissed his cheek. "Don't forget to come home for dinner. Even the great Rumpelstiltskin needs to eat."

"Or you could come back here and we'll order take out," he suggested, smiling at her.

"You are coming home tonight."

Mr Gold chuckled. "Bossy wee Belle. Alright. I'll be home for dinner."

.


.

Dinner had been nice, and it had been nice to have a night alone together. Belle had even managed to convince her husband not to go back to the store and his workroom until morning, instead taking advantage of the after-effects of the curse. Magic worked differently here, enough so that true love's kiss no longer forced their relationship into something absurdly chaste. Belle only hoped that it would carry over into the Enchanted Forest when they returned, that the curse had changed things enough that even when they went back one kiss wouldn't risk her husband's true self.

She spent the morning working on her novel, secretly glad to find that Lacey's writing ability had stayed with her after the curse had broken. Belle would likely never see it published – Lacey's publishers didn't appear to actually exist – but it felt good to be able to do something, to keep to a familiar routine.

At exactly eleven-thirty she packed up her laptop and added a pair of tights to her outfit to make it look just a touch more appropriate for daytime in Storybrooke. By ten to twelve she was out the door and headed to Granny's diner for her usual Wednesday lunch.

She could tell that something was going on inside before she even got to the door. Peering in through the window she could see Emma standing by the counter and looking stricken, Mary-Margaret awkward beside her. On the opposite side of the counter Granny had an odd expression on her face, somewhere between disapproving and extremely curious. And there, in front of them all, Belle could see the back of a man's head.

Belle hurried into the diner just in time to hear the tail end of what the man was saying.

"… and expect me to just forget about it?"

Emma's eyes slid from the man's face and over his shoulder to Belle. She looked slightly relieved to see a potential rescuer. "Belle," she said, clearly looking for a way out of whatever conversation she was having.

The man turned around, and Belle was only a little surprised to see that the source of Emma's uncomfortableness was Neal. His eyes narrowed at Belle suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"I come here every practically every day for lunch," Belle replied, smiling pleasantly. "I take it you just got into town?"

"I'm here to see my son," Neal replied firmly, obviously not seeing the irony. "I'm not here for him."

"Neal," Emma said pleadingly, "he doesn't know. I haven't told him. Just…just let me speak to him first. I don't want him finding out about his dad from you just showing up after school."

"Well maybe you should have thought of that before you forgot to tell me that we had a child together!"

"I didn't know it was going to work out like this!" Emma protested.

"I don't appreciate you keeping it from me," Neal replied, "but, ok, I can see where you were coming from. But now that I know, I want to be a part of his life. Hell, I at least want to meet the kid! And I didn't come all this way just for you to tell me I can't see him."

"I'm not saying you can't see him. I'm saying give me a chance to talk to him first. We can have dinner or something, or you could come see him tomorrow before school."

"Great, or how about lunch? Or dinner tomorrow? Or never, right? Today, after school," Neal said, pointing at Emma, "you can talk to him first if you want, but I am going to see my son."

With that final announcement Neal turned away from Emma. He stepped around Belle and exited the diner, leaving everyone inside to mill around awkwardly. Belle shook her head as she watched him go. She recognised that temper, as clearly as she recognised the inability to tolerate negotiation.

Emma groaned, covering her face with her hands. "I can't do this," she said, her mother placing a hand on her shoulder. "I told Henry his father died. What's he going to think of me when he finds out the truth?"

"I'm sure everything will be ok," Mary-Margaret soothed, "just tell Henry the truth, don't wait until he finds it out for himself. He might be hurt, but he's a good boy, he'll understand."

Belle came up to the counter and took a seat close to where the other two women were standing. "She's right," she told Emma, "the longer you wait, the worse it's going to be." To Granny she added; "The usual please, Granny? Thankyou."

The old woman 'hmphed' in disapproval, but went out to the kitchen anyway.

Emma shook her head, hands falling from her face. "I can't tell him what really happened. What could I say? His father's a thief who left me to take the fall for him and go to jail? He'd be devastated. I told him his father was a hero. I can't… I can't do that to him."

"Emma… you have to tell him something," Mary-Margaret sighed.

"I think you should tell him the truth," Belle added. "Tell him his father used to be a thief, and that he ran out on you when you went to jail." Both women looked at her, Emma in disbelief, Mary-Margaret in concern. Belle shrugged. "Tell him the truth and let him know why you lied to him. Tell him you didn't want him to think badly of you, that you never thought you'd even see that man again, and that you didn't want Henry thinking his dad was just a deadbeat."

"Emma, you don't have to do that," Mary-Margaret told her daughter softly. "You can handle this however you want to. But… she does have a point. Henry is old enough to understand the truth."

"At least that way you can make sure you introduce them on your terms," Belle finished.

Emma groaned. "You're ganging up on me." She sighed heavily. "But you're right. He deserves to know the truth. How long until lunch is over?"

Mary-Margaret checked her watch. With the town back in a semblance of order she had gone back to her job teaching, leaving Emma and David to handle the sheriff's department. "Fifteen minutes," she replied. "If we leave now you can talk to him before class starts."

"Rain check?" Emma said to Belle, her smile just a touch strained. "Thanks for being straight with me," she added, "I think I needed the reality check."

"That's what I'm here for," Belle smiled back. "If you see Neal again," she continued as Granny reappeared with Belle's usual order, "tell him he's invited over for dinner… not that he'll come, but it never hurts to ask."

"I will," Emma promised on her way out the door. Mary-Margaret smiled her goodbye and followed, leaving Belle alone in the diner.

Belle smiled at the old woman, feeling perverse as she informed her; "They're going to see my step-grandson."

Granny scowled. "Burger, fries, and an iced tea. No whiskey. Enjoy."

.


.

Back sore, bones aching, fingers cramped from writing so much by hand, Mr Gold limped up the driveway to the front door, frowning when he saw it was open. It had been a long day, one of many such long days to come. He missed the days when he could spend hours hunched over a desk and not feel a thing, when his leg didn't bother him and recovering from a long day was as easy as a cup of tea. Theoretically he could get to that point again with a little magic, but so far it had seemed more logical to remain as he was; Outwardly normal, physically unassuming, blending in at least in form if not in practice. Why tempt fate when it was clear that Storybrooke was no longer cut off from the outside world as much as it had been? Today though, today he had been sorely tempted.

The front door was open, the hall light illuminating the steps to the front patio. Inside, by the hall table and the crystal bowl he kept his keys, stood Belle and a guest. A familiar figure, one that made goosebumps prickle the back of his neck. He should have known by now that he was in town, but he'd been so busy he hadn't had a chance to check in with any of his usual sources of information. Neal stood with his back to the door, though from the way he stiffened slightly when Mr Gold's cane hit the patio steps he'd guess that his son knew he was coming without needing to see.

Neal turned before Mr Gold could even reach the front door. "I just came by to talk about Emma," he said bluntly. "I'm not here for dinner."

"I invited him for dinner," Belle informed him over Neal's shoulder.

Neal looked back at Belle, disbelief clear on his face. "He didn't…? You two are perfect for each other," he said in disgust.

"Bae," Mr Gold greeted his son with a nod, his enthusiasm sapped by a long day of calculations and possibilities, "lovely to see you. I take it you're in Storybrooke to meet your son?"

"Yeah." Neal looked him up and down, taking note of the tiredness that made his shoulders slump and the stiffness with which he moved. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, nothing." Mr Gold cracked a wry smile, moving past his son to drop his keys into their rightful place in the bowl. He paused beside Belle to greet her with a kiss on the cheek, then looked back at Neal. "Just the, uh, hazards of sitting behind a desk all day."

"And you used to say writer's cramp wasn't a thing," Belle teased.

"I have been proven wrong," Mr Gold replied dryly, "clearly I miscalculated a wee bit as to how much it affected you."

Neal blinked, shaking his head. "A desk?" he asked, then held up his hands. "No. No, you're not drawing me in like this. I just came to talk about –"

"Emma?" Mr Gold asked lightly. "Why don't you stay for dinner and we can have a chat?"

"I just want to know what the situation is," Neal protested firmly, "with her and Henry and his adoptive mom."

"And you came here?"

"You always know everything about everyone, ok? It's creepy, but I figured you'd be the one to ask."

Belle smiled at them both. "I ordered Italian," she told them, and walked off towards the kitchen.

Mr Gold watched his son's face as he cycled through dismay, denial, and finally acceptance. Neal sighed, not looking particularly happy about this turn of events. "I guess I'm staying for dinner then," he said flatly.

Mr Gold chuckled. "Nothing sinister," he promised, "just dinner. How else would I ever get to see you? I know you didn't come here for me."

"You're right. I didn't," Neal agreed, following his father down the hallway to the dining room.

It was a room they rarely used. In fact, Mr Gold couldn't actually remember ever using it at all. Before the curse broke they had never hosted parties (as far as he could recall) or had formal dinners, and afterwards they had always eaten at the kitchen table where it was more homey. The dining room was more like the great hall back in the Dark Castle, dominated by a large dark wood table with matching chairs. A modern light chandelier hung from the ceiling. Vases on pedestals sat in the corners. There was an upright piano that was never used, and was probably in desperate need of tuning.

Belle had already set the table for three, either confident that Neal would come or (more likely, Mr Gold thought) just hoping that he would.

He sat at the head of the table, mainly because it was the closest seat and he wanted to get off his feet, and hooked his cane on the back of his chair. Reluctantly, as if afraid that the chair would bite him, Neal sat down at the place on his left. "So then," Mr Gold said, folding his hands on the table in front of him, "what is it you wanted to know?"

"Emma," Neal began, pausing when Belle came out of the kitchen balancing three plates of food. He waited until the food was served and Belle was sitting down before he continued; "What's going on with her and Henry's adoptive mom?"

"Regina," Mr Gold supplied. "Regina is currently in disgrace, and hiding from most of the town. We've heard rumours that she's currently in therapy, but I haven't had the chance to confirm the exact nature of this therapy. She and Miss Swan have been butting heads since Emma first came town. I believe she's terrified that Emma will take Henry from her… which she appears to have done, so you could say her fears were not unfounded."

"So who was she?" Neal asked. "I mean, pre-curse. Everyone here is from the Enchanted Forest, right? So who was Regina?"

"The Evil Queen," Belle supplied the answer simply and matter-of-factly.

"She cast the curse," Mr Gold added, unable to keep a small, sarcastic smile from his lips, "so you could say she's a wee bit high strung."

"Is she dangerous?"

Belle glanced at her husband, eyebrows raised. Mr Gold calmly speared a piece of penne pasta with his fork. "You could say that," he admitted.

Neal slumped against the hard back of his chair. "Great. So it's probably a bad thing Henry's run away back to her house?"

That was news to him. And from the look on Belle's face it was news to her too. "Oh no," Mr Gold assured his son, keeping his tone light, "Regina would never harm her son. It's just those who get between her and her son you have to be worried about."

"Sounds familiar," Neal muttered.

"I can apologise for the past," Mr Gold said mildly, determined not to get into an argument and chase his son away, "but I can't change it."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Neal shoots back, too quickly, as if he actually expected the suggestion that they could change the past.

In truth magic wasn't that easy. Its solutions always came with a price, and the price for changing the past was one Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't dare to chance. It might be as simple as an early death and a life of poverty for his son. Or it might have more far-reaching consequences. There were plenty of things more painful than death, plenty of things that could be changed to their worst possible outcome if he dared to meddle with the past. The past, much like the future, was often best left alone. Destiny might have tarred them all with her brush, but the present at least had the illusion of free will.

"You know," Mr Gold began mildly, "it strikes me that you seem to believe me the same man as when you were a child. The same impatient, impulsive man who was unable to keep from letting his power go to his head. You don't think a couple of centuries could change a man, Bae?"

Neal didn't seem to have an answer for that, instead regarding his father with one of the best poker-faces Mr Gold had ever seen. It gave nothing away, which he supposed gave everything away. Neal didn't know what to think, or what to say, so he felt it best not to give anything away.

"Neal," Belle started, carefully pouring a few drops of green liquid into her glass of water (it showed how uncomfortable she was, how nervous, that she'd need the potion now. Though Rumpelstiltskin had to give her credit, outwardly it didn't show at all), "how long are you planning on staying in Storybrooke?"

Seizing the chance for a change of topic, Neal cleared his throat. "A couple of weeks. I took some time off work, figured I'd take the chance to get to know Henry."

"Are you staying at Granny's?"

"Where else is there to stay in this town?" Neal's smile was dry. "And that's not your cue to invite me to stay here."

"Would I be so transparent?" Belle asked, in a tone that Mr Gold recognised as teasing.

He had to smile at that. "You are very good at subtlety," he commented. "Always the perfect foil, really."

She smiled at him, pleased by the compliment. "I think that's the first time you've admitted that."

Neal shook his head, looking a little baffled by the whole exchange. In fact, if his next question was any indication he also seemed baffled by their whole relationship. "So how did you two meet anyway?"

Mr Gold smirked, shades of Rumpelstiltskin showing clearly in his face and tone. "Oh, you know. Her father's lands were in peril, I was a convenient last resort, she happened to be the most precious thing he had to give… You might say it was an arranged marriage."

"He's joking," Belle explained at Neal's disturbed look. "Mostly. I bargained to be the caretaker of his estate. The rest just sort of happened over time."

"Very romantic," Mr Gold elaborated, amused to realise that this was the first time they'd actually ever spoken about their courtship. Even more amused to note that Neal didn't seem to know how to react to the information. "I believe it involved lots of tea."

"You know the whole town is afraid of you?" Neal asked, staring at them both.

"So they should be," Mr Gold replied, unphased. He wasn't about to pretend to be something he wasn't. That was a good way to leave people disappointed and angry when they discovered the truth. "I'm a dangerous man to cross. But as long as they don't do that I don't see why we can't all get along." After a fashion, at least.

"… You have changed." Neal poked at his food, probably more to have something to do, or an excuse to look away, than anything else.

Overall the dinner went better than expected, though Neal didn't linger afterwards. It was enough that he'd begun to open up to the possibility of at least a civil relationship with his father. Fondness could come later, after Bae had learned to trust him again.

Mr Gold retired to bed early, stretching out tired muscles and sinking into the soft mattress. Tomorrow would be another long day.

.


.

In the middle of the night he was rudely awoken not by the frantic pounding on the front door, but by the much closer thump of his wife falling out of bed. Groaning, she staggered to her feet and stumbled out of the room, leaving Rumpelstiltskin alone to slowly blink awake and wonder who the hell would be knocking on the door at this hour. He sat up in bed, listening as Belle stumbled through the house in the dark and finally made it to the front door. The knocking stopped, only to be replaced by muffled voices. He caught his name somewhere in the mix and sighed, reaching for his cane. He was already half way down the stairs when Belle called;

"Rumpel, you'd better come down here!"

"Way ahead of you, dearie." Mr Gold said, coming down the stairs. "Now, what's the problem?"

Emma stood in the doorway looking wild, hair in disarray, clothes wrinkled. With her were her parents, coats and shoes pulled on over their nightclothes, and Neal, who looked as if he'd never even slept. Emma opened her mouth to speak, then blinked. It took her a moment to get over the sight of Mr Gold barefoot and in maroon silk pyjamas. (Belle, who was wearing a nightgown that covered more than some of Lacey's dresses, apparently didn't warrant such surprise.)

"She took him," Emma said, once she'd recovered from her surprise. "She took Henry. They're gone."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific than that," Mr Gold informed her, not in the mood for this right now.

"Henry called me on the walkie," Emma explained, "he said Regina was talking about going back to the Enchanted Forest, just the two of them, and that she had some way to get there. He sounded really worried, so I went over to check on him and… She just… took him. They're gone."

"To the Enchanted Forest?" Mr Gold asked sharply, suddenly wide awake.

"We don't know," Mary-Margaret piped up. "When we got there she was already gone. Emma said there was a portal though and there was this."

She held out something round and flat and black. Mr Gold stepped forward to take it, feeling an ice cold rage wash over him at the sight of it. A hat. A very specific, very familiar hat. It had been squashed somehow, and was a little scorched, but he'd recognise that hat anywhere. "She had this," he hissed. "She had this and nobody knew!? How long did she have it?" He demanded. "Where did she get it from?"

"There was a body," Emma said. "In the Mayor's house. A man, I thought I recognised him from Henry's book…"

"Hatter," Rumpelstiltskin growled in disgust, gripping the wretched hat tight. He turned on his heel and started back up the stairs. No point in doing anything in just his pyjamas, knowing this lot they'd want to go haring off the second he revealed he could use the remnants of the hat as a portal anchor and open a door between the world. "Go to the shop," he told them over his shoulder. "Get dressed, take your weapons. This is a one way trip, so be prepared."

"One way…?" Emma said.

"It took a curse to get us here," Belle told her with a yawn, still not quite awake, "any trip between the worlds has to be assumed to be one way… I'm going to get dressed. Go to the shop," she repeated Rumpelstiltskin's instruction, "we'll meet you there."

.


.

By the time Belle had gotten dressed in her most practical outfit and hunted down her 'practical' kitten heel shoes she was beginning to feel wide awake. The reality of the situation slowly began to dawn, and she wisely tucked the last of the green potion into her bra for safekeeping before putting on her choker. She'd likely need it where they were going. Once that was done she pulled one of the suitcases from under the bed and stuffed a few necessary items inside, making sure to leave room for things from the shop. If this truly was a one way trip, then this was their only opportunity to take things with them. She doubted they would be able to leave a list of things to be forwarded on to their new location.

Rumpelstiltskin had dressed in one of his more formidable suits, accompanied by sturdy business shoes and a smart wool overcoat. He kept the squashed hat tucked under one arm, doing a final sweep of the house to make sure nothing important would be left behind. Apparently the only thing he found important enough to take from the house was a box of tea. "They don't have this one back home," he explained flippantly, stuffing it into a pocket.

The ride to the shop was tense and quiet. When they arrived the door was still locked, the lights still out and the Charmings yet to arrive. It gave them time to do a quick onceover of the shop, picking a few items to stuff into Belle's suitcase. The stolen fairy wands went in, as did a few ancient gold coins and a set of riding gloves from one of the drawers out the back. A book, Rumpelstiltskin's notebook and pen, a few tiny potion vials from the back room that included both liquid curses and cures. And finally, a dagger that Rumpelstiltskin summoned in a puff of purple smoke and wrapped in cloth before tucking it into the very bottom of the case.

The doorbell jangled just as Belle was retrieving a cloak from the wardrobe full of 'antique' clothing in the shop. She turned to face the Charmings, all of them dressed practically and outfitted with their individual weapons. Mary-Margaret was dressed in jeans, boots, cardigan and jacket, a bow and quiver of arrows slung over one shoulder. David was in his work outfit, leather jacket over flannel and a white t-shirt, the sword belted around his waist a strange contrast. Emma was in her usual outfit, jeans and red jacket, her gun on her belt, a sword hanging beside it. None of them carried any luggage, all of them clearly prepared to travel light.

"We're ready," Mary-Margaret said firmly.

Belle believed her. "If you want to take anything from the shop," she told them, fastening the cloak around her neck over her choker, "now's the time. We might not be coming back."

"We're good," David replied, hand on the hilt of his sword as if to reassure himself it was still there.

"Come through then."