Belle's phone sounded off, the designated ringtone letting her know that it was Emma Swan calling her. Belle was, at that moment, busily going over the emails that she'd neglected while she'd been out at the cabin with Rumplestiltskin during the storm. One of them was from Neal Cassidy.
"Since my phone sang Frank Sinatra's My Way, and not Peter, Paul and Mary's If I Had A Hammer, I'm guessing you're not calling me in your official capacity, Miss Swan," Belle said with a smile as she wedged her phone between her ear and her shoulder.
"...Not sure, actually," Emma admitted from the other end of the line, clearly having decided to just not comment on the songs Belle had chosen for designated ringtones. "Definitely not calling you from the office though," she allowed. "I need a second opinion."
"Where are you calling me from, Miss Swan?" Belle asked. "Regina does have her own little spies all over town. Not as efficient as my system, but she's still irritatingly well-informed sometimes."
"My bug," Emma answered. "Which I've actually driven out to the beach to make sure I'm not going to be overheard."
"Suitably cautious," Belle recognised with a smile. "What's the problem?"
"I was complaining about Regina a little to Mary Margaret earlier," Emma started. "In Granny's diner, over a late breakfast. When she left, Sydney Glass took her seat. Offered to help me expose Regina to the town."
"A set-up if ever there was one," Belle commented. "Sydney is hopelessly devoted to Regina. If he's offering to help you 'expose' her, then what he's really doing is setting you up for a fall."
"That's kinda what I thought," Emma agreed with a heavy sigh. "Thanks. Damn."
"You wanted it to be a genuine offer?" Belle guessed with a wry cant to her lips.
"Woulda been nice," Emma admitted.
"Well I'll let you know if I find something you could lock her up for, but Regina's excruciatingly careful about her few shady dealings. I advise you maintain the moral high ground and a safe distance," Belle offered.
"Thanks," Emma answered. "Um... Uh, I want to ask you something, but I'll probably regret it," she said.
"Regret asking, or regret not asking. Not a lot of really great options," Belle noted.
"Yeah... Um. Neal Cassidy," Emma said. "You said something to Booth about him..."
"I only had conjecture at the time," Belle admitted. "A theory. But I've contacted Mr Cassidy and he has recently sent a frustratingly vague email back where he does admit to having been very strongly warned away from you by our mutual acquaintance."
"And by 'strongly warned', you mean 'threatened', don't you?" Emma asked, her voice a distinctly unhappy growl.
"Quite possibly," Belle agreed. "Shall I invite him to Storybrooke?" she offered.
On the other end of the line, Emma snorted. "Sure," she agreed. "That's one way to piss of Regina at least, I guess, even if it's not what I was hoping for. Besides... it's past time I reconnected with Neal, got some answers, buried the hatchet... possibly in his chest. He's... not still stealing stuff, is he?"
"No," Belle confirmed, even as she withheld laughter. That quip about burying the hatchet in a person's, well, person, was rather like something her master would have given voice to. "He's got a legitimate job now. Nothing too exciting though, just a regular office drudge."
"Okay," Emma said. "I guess he's got to give them two weeks notice though, even for just a bit of leave."
"Probably," Belle allowed. "Emma?" she asked.
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing for Christmas? It's next week."
"Well... shit. It is, isn't it? Damned if I know," she admitted. "Go along with whatever Mary Margaret's got planned, I guess. I'll get her and Henry both presents. You?"
"Mr Gold and I always have a tree in his living room, and I'll make more food than we'll really be able to eat. We always go to the midnight mass as well. It's the only time Mr Gold goes near the church except to collect rent from the nuns," Belle answered.
"The nuns owe Mr Gold rent too? Wow. He really does own the town."
Belle laughed.
~oOo~
For all that, in the rest of the country, Christmas was a big deal – a major marketing coup, a consumerists dream – it wasn't really much of anything in Storybrooke. Oh, families had their dinners and exchanged gifts, but it was a private affair. Something people conducted within their own homes. Christmas wasn't something that had really existed in the Enchanted Forest, not properly anyway, despite the wishes of the clerics that had churches throughout the land. More people had celebrated the solstices and equinoxes.
They didn't know it, but these were the reasons that no one made a big deal of the holiday in this world either. Not even the nuns did anything more than arrange the midnight mass and make little trinkets that people could buy to decorate their trees, their tables, and their gifts with.
They made an especially good wrapping paper, perfect for tearing into – impossible to actually not tear into, however careful a person might be. It made certain that the paper wasn't re-used the next year, in any event, which meant that the nuns always sold wrapping paper each new Christmas season.
There was also the fact that the curse kept everybody living roughly the same week over and over again, with very little (if any) variation. Christmas celebration disrupted that tidy little routine, so it got minimised.
But that was by the way-side, and soon enough, so was the holiday. Mother Superior – the same fairy that had once been called Nova, that had fallen in love with a dwarf whose name had changed from Dreamy to Grumpy – had really organised a beautiful midnight mass. The choir sang beautifully. The Holly and the Ivy to open the night, followed by The Gloucestershire Wassail, The Boar's Head and The Sussex Carol came after that, then In the Bleak Midwinter and a solo of Ave Maria by one little girl to end the night's service.
"That child," Rumplestiltskin said to Belle as they left the church, "has the voice of an angel. Has she always sung so beautifully?"
"She has," a different voice answered from behind them. "She's always had a beautiful singing voice."
"Jefferson," Rumplestiltskin greeted softly when, upon turning, he recognised the man.
Jefferson tilted his head to one side and looked Rumplestiltskin, and then Belle, up and down.
"It's an interesting thing," Jefferson said. "Do you know that the name 'Elvira' means 'white'?" he questioned. "Also 'trustworthy'?"
"Then I would say it suits Miss French very well," Rumplestiltskin offered. "She's the light in my darkness, and I trust her like I trust no one else."
"And your name, Mr Gold," Jefferson persisted. "I looked it up in the town files once, just out of curiosity. Darcy. It means 'dark one'. A very appropriate name for you, I'd bet my hat on it."
"But you're not wearing one," Rumplestiltskin pointed out with a thoughtfully raised brow as he considered the man in front of him. "And you really look like someone who should wear a hat. A top hat would be my suggestion."
"Do you, by chance, have one in your shop?" Jefferson asked.
Rumplestiltskin shook his head. "No," he admitted. "I'm sorry Jefferson, but I don't. I do owe you a favour though," he said.
Jefferson blinked in surprise at that, quite caught off-guard.
Rumplestiltskin smirked. "So I'll keep an eye out for one for you, if you like," he offered.
"How do you owe me a favour?" Jefferson asked cautiously.
"I rather reaped the benefits of a book you once gifted to the lovely lady at my side," he answered obliquely.
"The book on massage," Belle supplied. "You gave it to me years ago, remember?" she queried, and absently reached up to toy with the amulet about her neck.
Jefferson's eyes lit up and his answering grin was just as insane as it was utterly thrilled. "Yes, I do," he answered. "No favour owed," he told Rumplestiltskin. "That book was a birthday gift to your fine keeper, and that is all it was."
Rumplestiltskin bowed his head. "If you say so," he permitted. "I'll remember though, if you ever need help with something."
"Thanks but..." Jefferson looked over at where Paige Grace was being bundled into the family car by Mr and Mrs Grace.
"I understand," Rumplestiltskin said softly. "Don't worry Jefferson," he murmured lowly. "No pain lasts forever. It will soon be over," he comforted, and it was the most he could say out in the open like this, where Regina had ears listening, even if she herself never came to the midnight mass.
"How soon?" Jefferson begged in a hoarse whisper.
Rumplestiltskin shook his head. "Before next Christmas is my only certainty," he said apologetically.
Jefferson sighed sadly, but he nodded in acceptance.
~oOo~
Storybrooke didn't really keep snow very well – it may have had a bit of forest on one side, but it had beach and a port on the other, and no sandy beach (however dismal it could sometimes be) really invited the presence of snow that ran deep or stayed long.
That didn't stop the white stuff from coming down though, and it was coming down in a slushing mix of rain and sleet on the miserable day that Neal Cassidy arrived in Storybrooke – a bit later than the earliest projections of his arrival, but cars, road conditions, and the time it took to pack up a life weren't always perfectly predictable things.
He arrived at lunch time, and was clearly grateful to be out of his car, and out of the cold, when he walked into Granny's diner and shook himself out.
Belle looked up from her meal, and smiled at the sight of him. She stood, which of course drew his attention.
"Mr Cassidy," she greeted as she stepped towards him and extended a hand to shake. "Welcome to Storybrooke."
"Elvira French?" Neal guessed, and placed his hand in hers.
"The same," Belle agreed. "Call me Elle, and please, join me," she invited with a gesture to her table, where her unfinished meal sat.
"Thanks," Neal said gratefully.
"Ruby? A house special burger, extra pickles, and a large mug of black coffee for Mr Cassidy, please," Belle requested across the diner to the waitress that had just been about to discard her cloth (she was wiping the counter) and pick up her order pad.
"On it," Ruby agreed with a smile, and ducked out the back.
"Uh... how did you know I liked extra pickles?" Neal asked.
Belle bit her lip, but she was smiling. "Your credit history, actually," she admitted. "Burger, extra pickles, is one of the orders you regularly purchase. If you lived off cash, and never used a credit card, then I couldn't have just done that."
Neal gave Belle a singularly discomforted look. "Right," he said. "I'm cutting up all my credit cards first chance I get then," he decided.
Belle scoffed. "No you're not," she countered. "If you did, then you wouldn't be able to shop online any more, and that's really the cheapest way to get so many things these days."
Neal grimaced at the accurate observation of the woman across from him, only to quickly morph it into a grateful smile for Ruby when she set his burger and coffee down in front of him.
"So tell me Mr Cassidy, did you quit your job when you came here? Or are you just on leave?" Belle asked.
"You don't know already?" Neal countered.
"I'm good, Mr Cassidy, but not psychic," Belle replied pertly, and very deliberately didn't look up when the bell over the door sounded again. She'd already noted the figure as it passed the window on its way to the door.
"I quit my job," Neal answered with a sigh. "Any going around here?"
"I could use a deputy," a new voice offered, softly, but from right behind Neal's shoulder. "But I'm not sure I could handle sharing an office with you after everything."
He turned sharply in his seat. "Emma?" he breathed the name like a prayer made by a drowning man who was taking his last gulp of air.
"Neal," Emma answered him, her own voice tight.
"Sheriff Swan," Belle greeted with a smile. "Lunch?"
Emma nodded. "Yeah," she agreed.
Belle looked between the two, and could practically see all the tension fizzing in the air. All the words that needed to be said between them, but would not be spoken – at least, not straight away, and certainly not there.
"Well, just remember that Granny's isn't exactly private," Belle reminded them softly as she gathered up her lunch and stood from her seat again. "But you're fairly safe from Regina unless she or Sydney show up."
"Regina?" Neal asked.
"The woman who adopted our son," Emma admitted. "She's the local mayor."
"Adopted..." Neal said weakly.
"I was eighteen when I had him, Neal," Emma reminded him shortly. "Eighteen and alone."
Belle cleared her throat softly, pointedly, as a reminder to them both that they were in public.
"Ruby, my lunch to go, Mr Gold's BLT, and I'll also pay for Sheriff Swan and Mr Cassidy's lunch today," Belle requested.
"Sure," Ruby agreed.
"You don't have to do that," Emma protested at the same time.
"Know that. Doing it anyway," Belle informed the blonde with a cheeky smile. "You can buy me lunch another day," she declared blandly, waving off any further protestations.
"So... uh..." Neal started hesitantly as Emma sat down in the seat that Belle had vacated, and Belle herself headed out the door.
~oOo~
Good news travelled fast, especially in small towns like Storybrooke, and it wasn't long before Regina was on a war-path, headed for Mr Gold's pawnshop. Even when the weather wasn't exactly hospitable. She came in literally dripping, metaphorically steaming, and looking a bit more wild than she probably ever had before.
"Why did you do it?" Regina demanded, the words spat, the accusation hurled at Rumplestiltskin before the last echoes of the abused bell faded.
Belle was perched on a step-ladder and dusting the unicorn mobile. Rumplestiltskin was polishing the lamp that had once held Sydney Glass, back when he'd been a genie. Both set aside their tasks slowly, eyes fixed on the very angry mayor.
"And just what are you accusing me of this time, m'dear?" Rumplestiltskin asked carefully.
"You know damn well what," Regina growled. "When Emma Swan first showed up, she told me that Henry's father didn't even know the child existed. Now he's here, in Storybrooke! Why did you bring him here? Who is he?"
"And what makes you think that I had anything to do with that?" Rumplestiltskin questioned, a crease in his brow to denote confusion.
"Because your pretty little assistant greeted him by name without an introduction in Granny's," Regina said with angry, deeply unhappy triumph.
"I repeat," Rumplestiltskin said. "What makes you think that I had anything to do with it?" he asked with a small smirk.
Regina slammed her hands down on the counter, a scowl on her face, then rounded on Belle.
"Surely bringing the biological father here is better than waiting for Henry to decide to go off on his own, again, searching for his other parent?" Belle offered, only half-answering one of Regina's questions. "I was thinking of everybody. With Graham gone, Henry will need another paternal role-model. Who better than his own father?"
Regina glared at Belle, her painted lips twitching as though she wanted to bare her teeth in a true snarl, and a promise of pain and retribution flashed darkly in her eyes.
An impotent promise for as long as Belle wore her amulet, and since she'd rediscovered it in the shop, it never left her throat. Its magic might not be quite as strong as it had been in the Enchanted Forest, but it would prevent anybody from directly harming her. Not that Regina knew that – and she wouldn't be told either.
"And just how is your father, Miss French?" Regina asked, forcing her tone to be pleasant, even as her eyes glinted fire and ice in their depths.
"It's winter," Belle said with a shrug. "Anybody wanting flowers at this time of year has to buy them, so he's not doing too badly at the moment."
Regina's scowl returned in force, and she stormed out of the shop once more.
"Belle," Rumplestiltskin called softly. His voice was a little faint, and his eyes a trifle glazed. "I love the way you handled Regina just then," he breathed as he took in her whole figure, simply awed. "I love you."
Belle smiled and crossed the room to him. When she reached him, they folded into each other's embrace with a deep love in their hearts.
"I love you," he repeated as he buried her face in her hair.
"And I love you too," Belle answered happily, her head rested on his shoulder.
Rumplestiltskin gave Belle a look then of such wonderment. He loved this girl, this woman, his assistant and keeper and the helpmate of his last years in the Enchanted Forest before the curse had been cast. He loved her more than he had ever expected to love anybody ever again, save the love he kept locked up tight for his son, and he had spent so many years, so many decades, three-hundred years and more he had lived his life doing things that he should not (would not, could not) be proud of – just to reach his boy again.
It was incredible to him that anybody could love him. However much he hoped that his son would give him at least a chance to apologise, a chance to try and make things better between them, he did not believe that he deserved love after all this time. He feared the touch of it in his life.
And yet Belle loved him, and he could only bask in the warmth that her love brought to his life.
~oOo~
Henry Mills was a smart boy. He'd figured out, all on his own and with only the very littlest bit of help from the book that his teacher Miss Blanchard gave him, about Storybrooke being cursed. He had also figured out, all on his own and without any help from even the book that could be really seen as substantial, that his mother was the Saviour.
He didn't know how to enter Mr Gold's pawnshop without making the bell ring though. Not that he was trying to sneak in, of course not, but it was still something he had yet to figure out. Just like he was still trying to figure out who Mr Gold and Miss French were in his book.
"Hello Henry," Mr Gold greeted with a smile, wide and friendly. "This is a nice surprise. You never come and visit my shop. What can I do for you?"
"I- I'd like to borrow my book back, please," Henry said, doing his very best to be brave. Mr Gold scared him. He was pretty sure Mr Gold was evil, and he remembered too, which made him even more dangerous. But still... Emma was willing to trust him with protecting his book, so he'd agreed as well, and now he just had to face the man and get it back.
"Miss French has it," Mr Gold answered easily, readily, and without a hint of deception. "She's in the back right now. Go on," he permitted kindly with a wave to the curtained door. "Just be careful, alright?"
Henry nodded quickly. "Yes Mr Gold," he answered, and carefully weaved between the counters and the cabinets and the treasures to the curtain Mr Gold had pointed him to. Then a thought occurred to him, and Henry paused at the curtain. Mr Gold remembered who he was. Henry could just ask him. "Mr Gold?"
"Yes lad?" Mr Gold replied.
"Who... are you?" Henry asked cautiously.
Mr Gold chuckled softly. "You're a smart boy, Henry," he said. "I really am surprised you haven't figured it out on your own already."
"I'm not," Miss French's voice came from beyond the curtain, and she pushed it aside.
Henry stepped back to let her through.
"You're hardly in here at all," the brown-haired, blue-eyed woman complained to her employer as she held the book aloft, a frown on her face. "This whole mess reads like something the Blue Fairy edited. A sizeable portion of the good things you did are credited to one fairy or another instead, and most of the rest of your relevant activities are omitted completely, along with two centuries worth of your comings and goings, which are really just as important. I did remove a couple of pages though, I'm sorry Henry, but they were simply too dangerous to be left in there. Not specifically because of their connection to us, but just because they were dangerous in general."
"I thought I already took out the dangerous pages," Henry said, brows furrowed in confusion, but not anger. He had, after all, already torn pages out of the end.
"The ending," she agreed with a nod. "But there were pages much earlier that were also very dangerous."
"How dangerous, Miss French?" Mr Gold questioned lowly.
"Instructions on how to control the most powerful sorcerer in the entire realm," she answered.
Henry's eyes went wide in his face. That did, definitely, sound very dangerous. How had he missed that?
"That was in there?" Mr Gold asked, his voice hoarse.
Miss French nodded. "It even had a picture of the item needed," she grumbled lowly. "Definitely edited by the Blue Fairy."
"Um..." Henry spoke up hesitantly. "I thought the Blue Fairy was good?" he queried.
Both of the adults snorted at that.
"She certainly liked to think so," Mr Gold agreed darkly. "And that self-assurance that she is doing good keeps her heart from turning black from the cruelty of her actions. Miss French, I need to -" he cut himself off before he could say.
Henry noted that Miss French seemed to know anyway, because she nodded, handed Henry his book, and gently ushered him back to the shop's front door. She turned the sign to closed, and locked it, and then followed him out.
"Mr Gold doesn't want you to see him right now," Miss French said softly. "Talking about the Blue Fairy always makes him angry. It brings back bad memories."
"Miss French, if Mr Gold isn't in the book, will you tell me his story?" Henry asked hopefully. "Or maybe yours? I can't figure out who you are either," he admitted ruefully.
"But where would the fun be for you, if I just told you?" Miss French asked with a teasing smile that had a secret tucked up in the corner of it, and a light in her eye that said she knew a great deal more than she ever told. "Besides, you would have come looking for the book for a reason, right?" she pressed. "I'm sure you've got most of it memorised anyway."
"I'm gonna show it to... my dad," Henry admitted, and he stumbled a little over the title he never thought he'd ever actually use.
"And where are you going to meet him?" Miss French asked.
"Emma said she'd show him the castle," Henry enthused brightly. "That they'd talk for a while, and I should meet them there when I got out of school and had done my homework."
"And have you done your homework?" Miss French pressed.
Henry grinned. "I didn't get any today," he answered happily. "So I just decided to go home and get changed out of my uniform, then come and get the book before I went to meet them. Miss French... you remember everything... can you convince Emma? I'm not sure she really believes yet."
Miss French sighed heavily and halted their walking. She squatted down so that she looked Henry in the eye, and she set her hands on his shoulders.
"Henry, you can slap a person in the face with a mermaid, and if they do not want to believe that mermaids are real, if they instead believe with all their being that mermaids are not real, then they will ask what you mean by accosting them with a giant tuna," Miss French said.
Henry frowned. "I'm pretty sure Emma would believe in mermaids if we did that though," he said.
Miss French gave a soft chuckle. "Yes," she agreed. "Sheriff Swan probably would if we did that. Unfortunately, we don't have any mermaids to slap her with!" she lamented dramatically as she stood once more.
Henry giggled at that. Miss French was funny, and she was brave, working for Mr Gold every day the way she did.
"I'll tell you what though," Miss French said as they continued to walk. "If Miss Swan and Mr Cassidy agree, and if they will sit and listen as well, then I'll tell you all a story that isn't even in that book, because it's so old and obscure that it was remembered truthfully only by one person in the Enchanted Forest when Snow White was born."
"Really? So it's not even in the book? Cool!" Henry cheered. "Wait, so how do you know it? You're the same age as Snow White, aren't you?"
Miss French nodded. "I am," she confirmed. "But I was able to convince that one person to tell me it."
~oOo~
Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin would have taken himself off to the spinning wheel that he now kept in the back room of the shop. The wheel was his refuge from all else. It let him forget all the painful memories of his past, and he carried so very many.
It was Belle's job to see to it that he had as little pain as possible, even if that just meant making sure there would be no witnesses as he struggled through the pain of old scars that still pulled at his old soul.
"Hey, Elle," Emma greeted. "What are you going here?"
"Well, Henry came by the shop for his book, and I'm afraid some things were said that brought back some bad memories for Mr Gold," Belle explained. "He needs some alone time. Shop's locked up even."
"He didn't... do anything, did he?" Emma asked cautiously.
Belle shook her head. "Just excused himself," she assured the woman who was starting to really figure out what it meant to be a mother.
"And Miss French said she'd tell us all a story that's even older than the ones in my book!" Henry interjected happily then.
"Yeah?" Emma said, vaguely intrigued. She was willing to hear just about any story at this point, so long as it wasn't another one from Henry's book, and he wasn't trying to convince her that such-and-such a person was some particular character.
"What's the story?" Neal asked, his question directed at Belle.
"Oh, it's a story of fathers, sons, magic beans, and how Peter Pan first came to Neverland," Belle said invitingly.
"You know," Neal said, his tone equal parts cautious and curious. "I don't think I've ever heard a story of how Peter Pan actually got to Neverland."
"Didn't he just fall out of his pram and get lost?" Emma asked, searching through her memories of the little she knew of fairy tales from before she'd come to Storybrooke.
"Nah," Neal said. "According to the books, that was the lost boys."
"Which is inaccurate. Pan piped the boys away from their families, or sent his shadow off to kidnap them, so that he could steal their hearts to keep himself from death," Belle said primly. "But that is not for this story," she said dismissively, and took a seat on the wooden boards of the castle's raised floor. "Or not yet, at least. This story begins with a man called Malcom and his son. Malcom was a drunk, a wastrel, and he cared for nothing and no one save himself and his own indulgences. So, as soon as his son was old enough, and by that I mean four or five years old, he sold the child to some spinners for coin to spend at the tavern. He left the boy there, not caring a bit for the way his son begged to go with him, to not be left behind. No, Malcom was completely unmoved by the tears of his son, save that he gave the child a doll, quickly made of corn husks, and said that would be friend enough for the boy."
"Great father," Emma muttered sarcastically.
"Yeah," Neal agreed softly. "I can sympathise with the kid."
"Did Malcom ever come back for his son?" Henry asked.
Belle shook her head. "Malcom hated his son, hated the boy as much as his son loved him, and if Malcom had his way, he would have never seen his son again," she explained.
"I can't imagine..." Neal said softly as his eyes shifted to Henry.
"Me neither," Emma admitted. "I gave up Henry for adoption because I loved him and wanted to give him his best chance. How someone could hate their kid..."
"Well, the boy didn't know and couldn't comprehend his father's hatred for him. He was too young to understand it, too innocent to see it. He learned to spin, and worked hard at his craft in the hope that he would make his father proud, earn enough that they could be together again, be family," Belle persisted with her tale. "But the spinners loved the boy, and would not hide the truth from him. They told him that his father was at the tavern, and that he would not come back for the boy. They told the boy also that the only way to be free of the stain of Malcom's reputation would be if he were to leave. To go far, far away, and they offered to the boy a magic bean, this was back when magic beans were a great deal more common, of course."
Neal had stilled in that particular way that meant he was holding himself still. Tense and taught, and very attentive.
"I thought that magic beans were always rare," Henry interjected.
"Oh, no. Magic beans were grown in plenty by the giants, though not near as many reached the human-sized people. These beans were common as diamonds perhaps, but that was common enough for the spinners to have one," Belle explained. "And they gave it to the boy, and the boy, full of hope, took it to his father. They could go away together, he said. Go to a different world where they could begin anew, start fresh, and be together."
Neal closed his eyes at that, and a slightly pained expression crept across his face, as though he was taken by painful memories of his own.
"Did Malcom go?" Emma asked, her voice low and soft.
"They both went," Belle answered. "And the magic bean took the father and son to Neverland."
"Cool!" Henry cheered. "And the boy became Peter Pan?"
"No," Belle answered softly. "No, he didn't. Malcom did."
Neal's eyes snapped open. A frown marred every face that was staring back at Belle.
"Wasn't Peter Pan a kid though?" Emma checked.
Belle nodded. "Malcom learned about the ability to fly with pixie dust and wonderful thoughts, but it still did not work for him. He wasn't a fairy, and was too old to fly. Then he learned something else," Belle said ominously. "He learned that he could become young again, and gain the ability to fly. He had to believe that he was a child again, and he would be so – for that is how magic works in Neverland, with belief – but how could he believe himself a child, if his son was always about?"
"He... he didn't..." Henry protested.
"He'd already done it once," Neal reminded his son, his voice hoarse. "Remember? Miss French said that Malcom gave his son to some spinners for money. Giving up his son so that he could be young and fly..."
"Not just young," Belle corrected. "Because time doesn't pass in Neverland the way it does in other places. Malcom would be young for the rest of his days. All he had to do... was abandon the son that he hadn't ever wanted anyway."
"He did, didn't he?" Neal asked solemnly. "He threw his son away for youth."
"Even though the boy cried and begged and clung tightly to his father, Malcom only watched, unmoved, as the shadow creature that lived in Neverland dragged the frightened child away. Then he changed his name to Peter Pan, and to my knowledge, he has been in Neverland ever since, save for a few ventures out to kidnap boys for their hearts, so that he wouldn't die," Belle confirmed.
Henry bit his lip. "Did the boy get a happy ending?" he asked hopefully.
"That's a different story," Belle denied with a hint of a smile.
"You know it though?" Emma questioned.
Belle nodded.
"Then lay it on us," the blonde requested.
"The boy returned home to the Enchanted Forest, taken away from Neverland by his father's shadow, and he grew up. He saved up enough money to marry, and for a while he was happy," Belle allowed. "But then he was sent off to war. He was eager to prove himself as nothing like his father, and he was a good soldier. Loyal, brave, strong, good with a sword... but then a Seer told him that his actions on the battlefield would leave his child fatherless. He had not known he was a father when he left for war. His wife had shown none of the signs of pregnancy when he left to join the army. He knew well the pain of being fatherless though, and he sought to return to his son – but no able man ever left the battlefield while they could still fight."
"What did he do?" Emma asked softly.
"He hobbled himself," Belle answered. "It branded him a coward, but he was sent home to his son, who he loved with all of his heart before he had even laid eyes on the babe. His wife's heart turned from him completely for it though. She had never truly loved him, but with this, she began to hate him. She did not know his history, and saw only the shame of being married to a coward with a limp. When the boy was little, she abandoned them both. She'd met some pirates in a tavern, and she decided she wanted a life of adventure for herself. The man went after her, believing the pirates had kidnapped her, rather than that she had gone willingly, and begged for them to release her back to him. The pirates allowed that if he would fight for her, if he could defeat their captain, then he could have his wife back."
"The guy was lame!" Emma protested. "That's suicide!"
Belle nodded. "He knew that, so with a heavy heart, he returned home to his son, and to spare the boy the pain of abandonment, which he knew so well now for he had felt it twice over, he said that she was dead."
"This is a really unhappy story," Henry complained softly. "I thought the Evil Queen took away all the happy endings when she cast the curse. Shouldn't this story have a happy ending? You said that nearly no one remembered it when Snow White was born."
"Some stories," Neal spoke up, but his voice was hoarse, and he had to cough to calm it. "Some stories are cautionary tales," he said. "They're meant to warn us about how horrible the world is if we do or don't do certain things. Those ones rarely have happy endings."
"There any more of this story?" Emma asked. "Because this guy's life seems to have completely sucked, and even if I don't believe in happy endings all that much, I really kinda want this guy to get one."
Belle nodded. She told of how the war that the father ran from was not over, and the duke began to conscript children. The man, desperate to save his son – because he had seen battle before he'd hobbled himself, and he knew how terrible it was – tried to run. But they were spotted, and so could not leave. A beggar told the man of a dagger that the duke had, and if the man stole it, then it would allow him to control a great power. A power great enough to protect not only his son, but all the children. He could end the war, if he held this one, single dagger.
And the man, who would do anything he could for his son's sake, stole the dagger, and he claimed the power for himself, and he was able to protect his son.
"Power, huh?" Emma questioned dubiously.
"Magic, specifically. It allowed him to walk without a limp again, and he was suddenly powerful enough that he was no longer afraid of anything," Belle answered. "Except, of course, that one thing that would always hurt. He feared being left alone. Being abandoned by those he loved. There is no magic that can force people to love, after all."
"But he got his happily ever after?" Henry asked hopefully.
Belle grimaced. "Not exactly," she said. "He saved everybody, brought the children home from the war, defeated the ogres they were fighting against, and for a while, everything was good."
"Lemme guess," Emma grumbled. "It didn't last."
Belle nodded in sad confirmation. "As I said, because he had magic, he was no longer afraid. Now that he wasn't afraid, the man became fierce, protective... unforgiving. The dagger was cursed, you see, and all the good intentions in the world have trouble standing up to ancient, powerful curses."
"The son didn't like it," Neal stated. "The way it changed his father."
Emma and Henry both turned to Neal.
"You know this story?" Henry asked.
Neal nodded. "I know some of this part of it," he agreed with melancholic reluctance. "I didn't know the story about Peter Pan, or every part of what happened with... the wife. But I know some of what comes next."
"Will you tell us?" Henry asked eagerly. "Miss French, you're a great story-teller but..."
"You want a story from your papa," Belle finished with a smile. "I suppose I can understand that. How about I just fill in bits that Mr Cassidy doesn't know then?" she offered.
Henry beamed back happily, and turned hopeful eyes on his father.
"Okay, so... They made a deal, that if the son could find a way to break the curse without it killing his papa, then the father would let it be broken, and the boy went off looking for a way to get his papa back to the way he was," Neal started. "He went to the Reul Ghorm, a powerful fairy, and asked her for help. She said that the only way his dad would be free and himself again would be if they went to a land without magic, and she gave the kid a magic bean."
"You're skipping bits," Belle said, "but I guess skipping over the time that the man rescued his son from Neverland and Peter Pan doesn't mean much," she allowed. "He only fought through the unforgiving nature of his curse to remember that he would do anything to protect his son, who he still loved with his whole being. Remembering of course that Pan took the hearts of boys to prolong his life, and was his own father."
"Dedicated dad," Emma noted. "So the kid's got a magic bean, and wants to start a new life with his dad, just the same way the dad had done when he was a kid... Elle, can we get some names here? It's a little confusing. The only character with a name is Malcom/Pan."
Belle was silent for a moment, and weighed in her mind telling them the names.
"After he gained magic, Malcom's son became known as the Dark One," she finally admitted, her master's name carefully protected. "And the wife had named their son Baelfire."
"So what happened with... the Dark One... and the magic bean this time?" Emma asked, struggling with the title when she would have much preferred a name.
"He broke the deal he made with Baelfire," Neal said unhappily.
"He got scared," Belle countered gently. "He'd been through a magic portal before, and it had ripped his father from him, rather than brought them together as he had hoped. He also knew that in a land without magic, he could not protect his son. He would be nothing more than a lame spinner again, and in a new, frightening world. How could he care for his son like that?"
"He let go," Neal reiterated, shoulders hunched. "Baelfire went through the magic portal alone, and he felt betrayed."
"While on the other side, the portal closed up after him, and the Dark One at once scrambled desperately to follow, feeling again the pain of being left by one who he loved," Belle offered.
"Sheesh, abandonment all around then," Emma noted with a grimace. "That really sucks."
"Ah, but the father was not what he had been, for now he was the powerful Dark One, and he wanted nothing more than to be with his son again," Belle declared with all the drama of a great storyteller. "He went to the Reul Ghorm, the same fairy his son had gone to, and he asked her for another magic bean to follow him. Remember, this was in the days when magic beans were only a little less common than diamonds. Still, she said that there were none left to give, and told him – with far too much pride and satisfaction in her voice – that he would never see his son again."
"Well, she's a bitch then," Emma muttered under her breath.
"The Dark One would not be deterred though," Belle continued. "He was determined that he would find a way. He went again to the Seer, the one who told him his actions on the battlefield would leave his son fatherless. She told him that he would, eventually, find his son again. So, even though centuries passed, he never gave up. He is still looking for his son, and wants nothing more than to hold that boy, to know that he is alive and happy, and to apologise over and over and over and to beg for forgiveness, because he found a pain that was just as terrible as the pain of abandonment. Regret."
For a while, they none of them moved or spoke. Then Emma reached out to Henry and pulled him into her arms. He clung to her. Emma reached out to Neal next, offering her forgiveness in the simple gesture of an arm extended. Neal didn't need a second invitation. He was by her side and with his arms wrapped around both of them in an instant.
Belle silently excused herself and left the little family alone together. They had some issues they needed to hug out, and she needed to check on Rumplestiltskin.