Chapter 14
A/N. Check out "Exiled"'s new cover, by Emilie Brown! Many thanks, Emilie, for artwork that captures perfectly the moods I tried to convey with this story. Coming up on the end: there's an epilogue after this chapter. Thanks to all who've read this story and especially those who reviwed it.
Her energy renewed, Regina begins her verbal assault afresh as soon as Emma unfurls herself from the Golds' couch in the dawn light. She alternates between threats, warnings (her favorite theme being Rumplestiltskin's trickery) and complaints about the uncivil way she's been treated. Emma hauls her into the bathroom and flips on the light only to discover the electricity isn't working any more. She realizes then that it was Gold's magic that powered this house; she renews the power so they can have light and hot water.
"You got five minutes to do your business," the sheriff informs Regina, then positions herself in the open doorway with her back to the prisoner.
"How do you expect me to attend to 'business' with my hands still cuffed?" Regina protests, but the sheriff shows no mercy, answering, "You're a smart woman, Your Majesty. Figure it out."
Taken aback by the phrasing, which she's sure she'd heard somewhere before, Regina stops her griping and. . . takes care of business.
By the time the women emerge, Belle and Rumple are in the kitchen, preparing pancakes and sausage. Emma catches some of their soft-spoken conversation.
"I'll need some help re-adjusting: Archie's and yours," Rumple is saying.
"How do you feel," Belle asks, "without the magic?"
"Slower. Older. Aware of how many things in the world can be bumped into or tripped over or cut upon." He lifts his chin to show where he's cut himself shaving.
They greet Emma as she leads Regina into the kitchen. "Pancakes this morning," Belle announces.
"And boar sausage. Made it myself," Rumple boasts. "The slow way. Boar's got a strong flavor that takes some getting used to, but you can always—" he flicks his wrist, poising his palm to receive a conjure, then remembers and clears his throat in embarrassment. He reaches into the refrigerator to procure a bottle. "You can always douse it in ketchup," he finishes awkwardly.
Belle pauses in her batter mixing to lean her head briefly against her husband's shoulder. "It'll be okay," she says softly.
He kisses the crown of her head. "Yeah."
Emma pretends not to notice; she feels a bit embarrassed herself, having magic she doesn't want when he, who does want it, can't have it. Roughly, she plunks Regina down at the table, in the same chair as last night, and locks her down.
"Coffee, tea or coconut milk?" Rumple pours drinks for everyone, then begins frying the sausage. Emma notices he's spending a lot of time poking unnecessarily at the patties, but she says nothing: he's earned some private thinking time. Belle too is unusually quiet as she fires up the griddle, and that's when Emma has to intervene, because she's gotten to know this couple pretty well over the years: silence is no stranger to Gold, but it's an unwelcome inhabitant to Belle.
"Hey, uhm, I'm sure my mom will want to organize a baby shower right after we get back," Emma tries. "In fact, don't be surprised if she doesn't even let you unpack first."
Belle offers a half-hearted smile. "She's sweet."
Emma gets up to set the table. She watches her hosts move around the kitchen in the commission of their chores; unlike herself and Bae, who tend to goof around a lot, Belle and Rumple seem to speak to each other in soft touches as often as in quiet words. The Golds are a waltz—whereas the Swans are a slam dance.
As the first round of pancakes is browning, Belle brings down a Tupperware sandwich box and offers it to Emma. "Here, put the dagger pieces in this. That way, if you fall when you jump through the portal, you won't get poked."
"Thanks." Emma sits down to do as Belle suggested. She studies the cold, charred bits of leather and metal as she drops them into the container: amazing to think this thing was older than the Sphinx or Lucy the Cavewoman or anything that exists on this planet. It's even more amazing to think of the wars that were won or lost, the cities and lives destroyed, the kingdoms that rose and fell at the hands of those who controlled the dagger. Someday she'll ask her father-in-law about the history of this dagger, the men who possessed it and the men who were commanded by it (or were there some women too?), but not today. It's too soon.
Emma tries to imagine something that means as much to her as she suspects magic does to Rumple, so she can then test herself: would she give it up for Henry? But it's a futile game, for nothing she's ever owned would be a great sacrifice to lose.
"Hey," she suggests, "Blue being Blue, I'm sure this isn't the only bean she produced. What's to stop you two from coming back here sometimes, like a camping weekend? Some people go to Yellowstone; the Golds go to Neverland."
Belle occupies herself with dishing up the pancakes so she doesn't have to answer. "Sure," Rumple says, "I'm sure we'll do that sometimes, when Serenity's old enough." But there's no enthusiasm in his voice.
Belle tries to lighten the mood. "So, Emma, what's changed in the time we've been gone?"
"Well, let's see." Emma conjures a tin of cinnamon to sprinkle on her pancakes. "Henry's in middle school. Bae's the night editor for the Mirror. Phones have gotten smarter, TVs have gotten wider, computers have gotten smaller. Cars can park themselves now. And you can talk to your stove, tell it what settings to use. We finally opened the library and it's where all the cool kids hang out now. There's a 'help wanted' sign in the window." She glances meaningfully at Belle.
"Not for long."
"You think you'll reopen your shop, Gold? It's all still there—except what Regina pilfered."
"I simply made use of things no one wanted," Regina argues. "It's called 'recycling.'"
"It's called shoplifting, and you'll return them," Emma argues back. "So, Gold? Going back into business?"
His back remains turned to the table as he drains the grease from the sausage. "No, I have a hidden talent for folding nappies, so I think I'll become a househusband." He fills a platter with the sausage and places it on the table. "You ladies go ahead with breakfast. I want to. . check on the smoke house before we go." He leaves the house without looking at anyone.
"He just needs a moment," Belle apologizes, seating herself. "It's not the loss of Neverland; it's the loss of magic. Once we get back and he sees Bae again, he'll start to get used to it." She smiles faintly. "And so will I." She lifts the platter. "Sausage, Regina?"
After the dishes have been washed and put away, Belle empties the refrigerator, dumping the contents into her garden. "From whence it came," she pronounces, then corrects herself. "Well, some of it was conjured. Let the wild animals have it all."
"That big backyard at Gold's house is just beggin' for a garden," Emma says, but Belle only nods. Emma slides a comforting arm around Belle's waist. "You'll have time to plant before the baby comes."
"Did you know, Emma, I never did learn to drive?" Belle blurts. "Between getting kidnapped by my own father, getting shot by Hook, then Pandora's Box and the Darlings—" she suddenly drops her head onto Emma's shoulder and begins to sob.
Emma conjures a hanky for her and pats her shoulder. Wisely, the sheriff doesn't try to talk her out of her tears. She just lets Belle cry.
"I just feel so sorry about the magic. I don't know why," Belle sniffles when she's finally regained control. "He's going to be better without it; he'll see that and he'll be glad he gave it up. Eventually. And it's what I always wished for him—well, not so much that he lose his magic, but his curse. . . .And we'll have our house and Bae and Henry and the library and Granny's hamburgers and I can learn to drive and he'll be so happy, taking care of the baby. . . ." She starts to sob again.
"It's just the hormones. Pregnancy screws with your emotions," Emma offers.
"Don't tell him, Emma." Belle pulls herself together with one last snuffle. "That I cried. I want him to think I'm happy, because I am."
"Sure." Emma gives Belle's waist a squeeze. "Hey, soon as we get back, I'll ask my dad to teach you how to drive. Behind the wheel of that tank of his, you'll be the queen of road."
Belle forces herself to smile. "Sure, and when I have my license, you and I will go car shopping. That boat of Rumple's is nice, but I want something zippy."
"A convertible," Emma suggests. "A bronze Stingray."
"Let's go back inside," Belle pockets the hanky. "We left Regina alone long enough."
The three women stare into the vortex that Rumple has opened with the synthetic bean. "Everybody ready?" he asks cheerfully, and Emma thinks he might really feel it now. He's been asking about people in Storybrooke ever since he came back from the smoke house and brightened considerably at every mention of Bae or Henry. Belle's probably right, Emma thinks; with family to focus on, he'll get used to it all eventually.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Regina huffs, thrusting her bound wrists toward Emma, who feigns ignorance. "Well? You're not going to leave me like this, are you? I might get hurt when I fall."
Emma shrugs. "I have a first-aid kit in the jail." She gives Regina a little push. "You first."
With another huff, Regina jumps, neatly tucking and rolling as she falls into the vortex.
"Maybe something for Belle, though?" Rumple prompts, and Emma conjures one of those padded suits used in self-defense classes.
"I feel like the Pillsbury Dough Boy," Belle giggles, but she takes Rumple's hand and with a last glance back at their cottage, they leap.
Emma peers after them. "I thought magic was supposed to be painless," she grumbles. "Here goes nothin'." Then she jumps.
"Crap," Emma mutters, picking herself up from the center of Moncton Street. "Forgot about the time difference." They've arrived, according to the library clock, at one a.m. and the town's long gone to bed. There's no Welcome Wagon to greet them, nor a party waiting at Granny's; not even a stray dog comes out to see the new arrivals. "Hope you're not too disappointed."
"It's better this way," Belle says. "It'll give us time to acclimate." She tugs at the padded suit she's wearing. "Emma? Will you remove this?"
"Sure. Sorry." In a puff of smoke, Belle is now wearing a t-shirt, leather jacket and jeans that reflect Emma's taste, but the Golds refrain from comment.
"Sheriff's office first." Emma starts walking and her prisoner, surprisingly subdued, tags along. "If you'll come along with me, after I lock Regina up, I'll take you over to the Mirror to see Bae."
"That's fine," Rumple agrees. His step increases; Belle can't remember a time in this world when she ever saw him move with such alacrity.
As they walk, Emma points out the new downtown shops: Ella's Bridal, Jared's Jewelry ("but not that Jared," Emma says quickly, to her guests' confusion), Bibs 'n' Babes, Blackwell's Medical Equipment, Renfield's Funeral Home. "Since time started moving again, we suddenly had need for these businesses that nobody needed before."
"You said 'we,'" Belle observes. "Do you think of Storybrooke as home?"
Emma blinks. "Yeah. I guess I do."
As they round the corner to Main Street, a tall form steps out of the shadows and plants himself before them. "Good evening, ladies, Your Majesty." He bows, the appendage that's replaced his left hand gleaming in the streetlight. His tone chills. "Crocodile."
"Hook, what the hell—"
"It's about time," Regina grumbles. "What kept you?"
He grins, but his patented smile wins no one over. From his leather coat pocket he produces a vial, the contents of which glow orange and turquoise.
"Hey, you stole that from my shop." Rumple complains.
Hook produces a silver dollar from his pocket and tosses it at Rumple's feet. "Now it's paid for." He nods at Regina. "Your wrists, love?"
"You're interfering with the law, Hook," Emma warns. "I'd suggest you consider three little words: 'I've got magic. You don't.'"
"That's five words," he corrects. "Really, Swan, I'd expect better of a graduate of the public school system." He unstops the vial and pours its contents over Regina's handcuffs. Magic sputters and fizzes a moment, then the handcuffs pop open and Regina summons her magic, causing the jail jewelry to vanish.
"Surely you didn't think I'd spend the night in jail, did you?" Regina smirks. "When you have your little court date set, send word to my home." She slips her hand into the crook of Hook's arm. "Until then, I have a business to run. My attorney will be by in the morning to pay my bail." With a flourish of her hand, she and Hook vanish.
Emma sniffs. "Joke's on her." She glances at Rumple. "You're still the only lawyer in town."
"She'll be hard pressed to find representation, then," Rumple comments. "Unless she conjures it."
"If she does, I'll conjure help of my own," Emma says. "Marshal Dillon and Judge Roy Bean."
There's a single light on in the newspaper office, but as Emma and the Golds approach, the Mirror suddenly goes ablaze, its glass doors fly open and a body careens out. "Em!"
"Nealfire!" the sheriff squeals, allowing herself to be literally swept off her feet. "I missed you, babe" they exclaim in unison and kisses are exchanged. Questions and answers fly: "You okay?" "I was only gone overnight." "No injuries?" "Nope, except Regina stepped on my toe when I arrested her." "Did you have to fight her?" "Magic fight. Belle's hand got burned, but everybody else is okay. Regina got away, but I can pick her up when I need to." "We won't wo—"
Bae suddenly falls silent, staring over Emma's shoulder at her companions. He sets her down and extends his hand hesitantly to his father. "You came back."
Rumple takes a single step forward, his face full of longing, but he accepts the handshake as a poor substitute. "Hello, Bae."
When their hands connect, Bae's face crumbles and he lunges forward, grabbing Rumple, pulling him in, gulping down tears. "Papa. Welcome back."
"Forgive me, Bae," Rumple whispers, stroking his son's hair. "I can never make it right, but I'm asking anyway: forgive me."
"If you'll forgive me too," Bae asks.
Rumple stares in confusion into his son's eyes. "Whatever for? You did what any father would do to protect your son."
"But you gave your word and I didn't believe you."
"You had reason not to. I let you down horribly, too many times." Rumple holds a hand out to the sheriff. "Emma, if you please—?"
"Oh, sure." Emma digs in her jacket and finds the Tupperware, which she hands to Rumple.
"This should help." Rumple passes it to Bae.
"No, it's not a sandwich," Emma chuckles.
"No," Rumple says, "it's a token of good faith."
Bae drags his visitors into the light and warmth of the office. Emma's grinning as Bae pops the lid on the Tupperware.
"Is this—Papa, is this the dagger?" Bae picks up a metal fragment, tracing his finger over the scrolled 'R.' "Papa?" He looks up in shock. "It is!"
Rumple nods.
"Your magic?"
"Gone."
"Damn." Bae leans against a desk, inspecting the contents of the Tupperware. "Damn, Papa."
"It'll be okay."
Bae sets the sandwich box aside and throws his arms around his father again. "That's somethin'. That's really somethin'."
"Let's go home," Emma suggests. "I could use a beer and a bear claw."
There's no fuss, and the Golds prefer it that way.
They move back into the mansion as quietly as if they'd just been on a Hawaiian honeymoon. The place is filthy with dust—Belle couldn't be happier. She has the library by day and the pink house by night to take care of. Even better, Bae sold off the Caddy, so she and Rumple now need to buy a new car, and he leaves the shopping up to her and Bae: he's preoccupied with converting his downstairs study into a nursery.
Archie comes by on the first day they're back home; he takes them to lunch at Granny's. They're stared at, but Archie confronts the gossipers head-on: he takes his charges by the elbow and walks them around the diner, re-introducing them. "Just back from Neverland," he says, fixing any critics with a dare-you stare.
Only Granny doesn't back down. "Stay away from Henry," she warns, but she brings them the meal they've ordered.
"Give her time," Archie says.
"If she doesn't come around, she doesn't come around," Rumple says philosophically.
"She'll come around when she hears about the baby," Belle answers.
David and Snow drop over in the evening, bringing fresh-baked cookies and apologies that Rumple quickly dismisses. He doesn't want to talk about the past three years, he says. No, it's not that he wants to put Neverland behind him; he just doesn't want to talk about it. He and Belle exchange a meaningful glance: Neverland is theirs alone. So David talks to Belle about cars and Snow talks to Rumple about the nursery, and that night, as they ready for bed, the Charmings wonder how that happened: Belle doesn't seem exactly the car-crazy type any more than Gold seems the bassinette-and-crib type. "Times are changing," Snow shrugs. "People are changing," David adds.
When people ask her what happened on Neverland to change her husband so, Belle has a simple answer: "Serenity's coming."