A/N: Some dialogue taken from S1E21: An Apple as Red as Blood. I'm taking the tack that, back in S1, Regina wouldn't have tried to get into Mary Margaret's apartment again after planting the knife, and therefore wouldn't be aware of August's added security. Also, I quoted a few lines from the last chapter of my earlier fic, Heartstrings near the end.

Chapter Fourteen

The zipper sounded impossibly loud in the small apartment at the back of the library. Belle didn't have many possessions; unlike the other residents of Storybrooke, she hadn't spent twenty-eight years in a home of her own, replete with furnishings, clothing, keepsakes, and mementos. She'd obtained more than half of her wardrobe from Rumple that first day, when Jefferson had freed her from her cell in the hospital basement and the curse had broken. She'd lived in his house for nearly a week and then, he'd arranged for her to take possession of this—already furnished—apartment. She'd bought a few minor items: some throw cushions for the sofa, a welcome mat, another bookcase… Rumple had given her a number of knickknacks to decorate her mantle shelf—including the ginger jar she used for petty cash. Father had given her some potted plants and vases for cut flowers. But, once she'd boxed up her books—minus the one she'd loaned to Astrid—apart from the bookcase, all of her worldly possessions fit easily into the lone suitcase.

It wasn't even her suitcase, she reflected with a pang. Well. She supposed it was, since it belonged to Rumple, she was his wife, and he certainly wasn't selfish with his possessions. Not his non-magical possessions, at any rate.

She looked around the small apartment once more. Already, it felt alien to her, a temporary dwelling she didn't expect to return to. The few signs of habitation that remained—a pink hooded sweatshirt on a kitchen chair back, a 'to do list' on the refrigerator door, some cosmetics in neutral tones on the bathroom ledge, were Astrid's.

The fairy was out with Leroy tonight and Belle meant to be gone by the time she returned. She glanced at her wristwatch, just as someone rapped politely on her back door. Or was it the front door? She wasn't entirely sure; it was the door that opened on the lane behind the library, not the one that opened into it. She just thought of it as the back door or, on occasion, the private entrance. And now, she was leaving, so it didn't really matter how she thought of it anymore. She pulled the door open and smiled at the man on the other side. "Good evening, Marco."

Marco took one hand off of the hand-truck he was gripping to doff his cap. "Are you ready, Belle? Or do you still need some time to finish up?"

Belle looked around the apartment once more and smiled. "No," she said softly. "I'm all finished here."

"So, just the boxes and the bookcase, then?" he asked genially. "I'll load them into the truck for you."

Belle moved aside to let him enter. "I can help you," she murmured.

Marco made a scoffing sound. "Please. The day I can't manage these few things will be the day I turn my business over full-time to my son." He bent to lift one of the boxes and grunted in surprise.

"Please," Belle said. "I'm sorry; that must be the one with my dictionaries."

Marco shook his head. "It's not a problem. But," he added, "I suppose if you insist…"

Belle forced herself not to smile as she helped him load up.

Ursula shook her head disapprovingly as she watched Cruella load up a capacious cloth shopping bag. "When I said that the price we got for this room was a steal, I didn't mean we should walk off with the towels," she snapped.

Cruella didn't turn around. "Really, dahling," she drawled. "We're on our way out to who-knows-where and we're not about to be out in public until we know the lie of the land. And if I'm going to be living in hiding," she said decisively, "I'm going to need sheets and towels."

"Wait," Ursula said. "Sheets? Oh, no, no, no, 'darling'. That's going too far. There is no way in the watery abyss that you're going to be able to fit those in that little tote."

"But they will fit in a garment bag," Lily said, startling them as she closed the door behind her.

Ursula turned around to face her. "Do I want to know what you're going to do with the clothes you had inside it?" she asked. She'd wondered why the young woman had trundled the thing along on the train from Manhattan; Lily's clothing so far had seemed to run extremely casual. Nothing that would suffer from being stuffed inside a knapsack, to her mind.

Lily smiled. "Who says I had anything in it?" she asked.

"You planned this?" Ursula demanded.

Lily shrugged. "Not this exactly, but I thought the bag might come in handy if we needed to store something." She cocked her head quizzically. "Cruella's right. We're going to have to hole up somewhere, we may not have all the essentials, and if we take these sheets and towels, we'll be miles away by the time they realize anything's missing. Or would you rather grab everything we're going to need once we get where we're going, when we already have no idea what to expect? I mean, what if, once Emma broke the curse, the place went totally medieval and started putting shoplifters in the stocks? Or hanging them?"

Ursula glared and spun away from both women. "Just remember," she snapped, "if you get caught, I don't know either of you."

"Dahling, until you can dress a little more fashionably," Cruella rejoined, as she squeezed the clock radio into her bag, "I'm not exactly about to broadcast our acquaintanceship either."

Ursula flung up her hands in irritation and went to see if the other women had already cleared the toiletries out of the bathroom.

Emma looked around the table, her eyes stopping finally on her mother. "I know you're trying to make amends for the past," she said. "Don't think it's not appreciated. But I'm not so sure bringing back someone who can roast you alive is a good way to start."

"I defeated her once," David reminded her.

"Yeah, and I killed her once. That doesn't mean things will go as well if we face her again. Seriously? It's great that you want to do this, but… don't."

"Emma's right," Regina said flatly. "You two need to look at the big picture. Maleficent's likely to be fighting mad if she comes back. If we can't calm her down, then after she's done making martyrs out of the pair of you, she just might decide to take a leisurely flight across town." She paused for a beat before adding, "Raining fire down on everything she passes over. If the two of you want to risk your own lives, that's one thing. But you're not about to risk the rest of us. You want to wait for Tiny to raise another crop of beans and find a nice empty realm where you and Mal can have it out? Fine. Otherwise, we leave her where she is and you can try out your apologies on her daughter when she arrives."

"I'll be there, too," Emma said. "We were friends once. Maybe we still are. Or can be."

Rumple nodded. "I think that's a wiser solution than awakening what is nigh-certain to be an angry dragon. Something I'd hesitate to consider, even if I still had my former magic. Without it," he shook his head, even as he turned once more to Snow and David, "what you suggest is tantamount to suicide."

He turned then to the Apprentice with a slight frown. "In fact, from everything I've read on the subject, if Maleficent's daughter does manage the transformation, she will have the strength and powers of a mature dragon, but the knowledge and control of an infant. In other words," his frown deepened, "virtually none to speak of. Subduing her is likely to prove rather difficult."

"Well, we can't just kill her, if that's what you're suggesting," David said.

"We might not have a choice," Regina said quietly.

The Apprentice cleared his throat. "Fortunately," he murmured, "I've summoned reinforcements. They're likely to arrive here at some point tomorrow…"

"Is it just me," Emma remarked, as they were getting their coats on, "or are we getting more traffic across the town line now, when Ingrid's barrier should technically still be keeping the outside world outside? Not that I'm complaining," she added hastily.

"It's an interesting observation," Gold nodded. "And while there's no cause for complaint, one might argue that any change to the status quo might be a reason for concern. This town was never meant to accommodate outsiders."

"I'm not sure Maleficent's daughter qualifies as an outsider," Snow murmured. "I mean, she was born in our land. Or at least, she was in the middle of… hatching."

"Yes, but the Apprentice was not. And these two allies of his… how much has he told them? How far can we trust them, for that matter? It sounded to me as though he's been out of contact with them for a number of years. Perhaps their allegiances are not as he believes."

David sighed. "It wouldn't be the first time we got suckered," he admitted, "but for now, let's prepare a welcoming committee. Hope for the best, but be ready for the worst." He looked at Gold. "If you have any suggestions, we're happy to hear them."

Gold shook his head. "I'll need to give the matter more thought. But speaking from personal experience? If Maleficent's daughter means us harm, we may need to subdue her before any attempt to dissuade her can be undertaken. But if she herself is uncertain of her motives, greeting her with suspicion and hostility is likely to provoke a reaction in kind."

"And we may not know her intentions until it's too late," Regina said.

"It wouldn't be the first time that sensible caution backfired catastrophically." He glanced at Emma. "Just how much faith do you place in that talent of yours?"

Emma hesitated. "It's let me down before," she admitted, "but if it tells me someone's lying, it's always been right before. It just… won't always tell me." She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry to bring up a couple of bad memories but," she turned to Regina, "When you gave me that turnover and told me you were okay with the compromise I was suggesting, I didn't sense any lie. I guess, because you assumed I'd eat it and be… sleeping."

Regina shook her head with an arch smile. "Not exactly. If you'll play back the conversation, I think you'll find I never actually said I agreed to it…"

The turnover was almost finished baking and Regina was thinking about how she was going to get Emma to eat it. The sheriff wasn't stupid; she'd be suspicious of any purported peace offering. Regina debated sneaking into the apartment and leaving it on the table with a forged note:

Emma,

Thought you might like this.

—Mary Margaret

No, too risky. If Mary Margaret came home first, the plan failing would be the least of Regina's problems. Once Emma and Mary Margaret realized that someone else had been in their apartment, they'd start trying to determine who. They'd probably recall that an alleged murder weapon had also been planted in their living space and wonder at a connection. And while Regina had needed to reach into another realm to retrieve the cursed apple, the fact that she possessed an apple tree would certainly arouse Emma's suspicions.

She wished that the sleeping curse would work more than once on the same person. Then she wouldn't need to sign the note, and it wouldn't matter which woman ate the turnover. Either way, a thorn would be out of her side. But no, it had to be Emma.

Leaving the turnover at the sheriff station was out of the question. There were too many cameras and, while Regina knew their blind spots, after Sidney's little stunt with the bugged flowers, she wouldn't put it past the sheriff to have rearranged them or installed new ones.

Using Henry was completely out of the question. Sidney had taken numerous photographs when Emma had first come to town, including one that showed her son tossing away an apple that—going by the expression on Emma's face and the position of her hand—the sheriff had clearly been holding a second earlier.

And then, the doorbell rang, she went to answer it, and found Emma on her doorstep.

"We need to talk."

Regina didn't need to hide her surprise. But she forced herself to smile and invited Emma inside, thinking that maybe this was going to be a lot easier than anticipated. So, she heard the sheriff's hasty speech about ending their vendetta, her (unexpected) promise to leave town, and the terms of her agreement.

She had to admit that they sounded reasonable. If Regina hadn't retrieved the apple, if the turnover wasn't already in the oven, she might even have accepted them. Or gone to her vault later that day to retrieve the heart of one of her former soldiers and instruct him to tamper with Emma's car. It was an old car. All sorts of things might go wrong with it, with nobody suspecting foul play. But if she miscalculated, if the soldier was sloppy…

She'd narrowly escaped implication in Katherine's disappearance. She didn't want to risk anything tying her to Emma. And so far as she knew, for all this realm's technological advances, there was no piece of scientific equipment capable of detecting a sleeping curse. Yes, when Emma was found comatose with the turnover beside her, there would be an investigation. There would be tests. But the only elements they'd detect in the turnover would be cinnamon… and raisins.

"…Let's be honest," Emma was saying. "We both know the world where I'm not in his life no longer exists, and there's no one who can do anything about that."

The time rang then, finally, and Regina said quickly, "You're right. Would you mind following me for a moment?" And as she led her into the kitchen and took out the turnover, she continued, "So, what are you proposing?"

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. Just figure it out as we go."

"But he's my son," Regina stated, and Emma agreed.

When the sheriff left, the turnover went with her.

"I never actually said I accepted your terms," Regina finished. "I just didn't make a big thing about saying I didn't."

Emma's eyebrows shot up, but she only nodded. "Actually, that proves my point. My talent can always spot a bald-faced lie. And," she tilted her head in Gold's direction, "after dealing with you a few times, I'll admit I've started turning words over in my head before taking them at face value."

Gold nodded back with a slight smile, completely unoffended.

"The thing is," Emma said, "when something is implied instead of said outright, my superpower won't kick in. And," she sighed, "just like with magic, a lot hinges on belief. If you believe that something is true when you say it, then whether it actually is doesn't matter. I'll read that as an honest statement. So," she took another breath, "if Lily lies to me outright, I'm pretty confident I'll catch it. But if she thinks she's telling me the truth or," she nodded toward Regina, "she words things in a way that I can misinterpret what she actually means, I could miss something."

"Does she know about your gift?" Gold asked seriously.

Emma sighed. "Yeah, I told her when we first met. Maybe she's forgotten, but I wouldn't bet on it. And the last time I met her? She was pretty good at keeping things from me."

"A pity," Gold replied. "I was hoping it might prove to be more of an advantage, but if she's aware of it, then she's likely to be on her guard."

"Well," Snow broke in brightly, "at least we know she knows. That's something."

"Moms!" Henry called, approaching at a run. "Is it okay if I go to the arcade with Nicholas and the gang?"

Regina considered. "Did you finish your homework?"

"Yes."

"Any tests tomorrow?"

"Nope."

She looked at Emma. "What do you think?"

Emma frowned. "Well, it's a school night, but it's still early. I… guess if he's home by ten?"

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "I would have thought nine-thirty, but since he's sleeping at your place this week…" She smiled at Henry. "All right. Ten it is."

Henry beamed. "Thanks, Moms."

"Ten," Emma repeated, firmly. "And call if you're running late!" she called after him as he jogged back toward his friends.

She shook her head with a smile when he pretended not to hear her, not missing Regina's nod of approval.

Ursula was grateful for her seatbelt. As soon as they'd hit the interstate, Cruella had accelerated to eighty miles per hour, windows open to the winter night air, as the wind whipped her hair back behind her.

"We're gonna get pulled over!" she warned, yelling to be heard over the gusts of icy air.

Cruella laughed. "Don't worry, dahling. The laser jammer is still under warranty!"

Ursula groaned and tried to pull her head down inside the upturned collar of her coat turtle-style. "I feel so relieved," she muttered, wondering when and how she'd become the mature member of their ghastly little trio.

"Hey, kid," she called, trying to turn her head toward the back seat while keeping as much of it inside her collar as possible, "you okay back there?"

There was no response. Ursula glanced into the rearview mirror. "Lily!" she exclaimed, this time loud enough for the young woman to glance up, startled. She laughed incredulously. "How can you read and not be carsick, especially as fast as we're going?"

Lily shrugged. "High speeds never bugged me," she replied. "Give me a break; it's boring back here. I've already done the alphabet backwards and forwards."

"What?" She turned to Cruella. "Roll up the windows, Cruella; I'd like some intelligent conversation."

"I can hear you just fine, dahling," Cruella beamed.

"I said, intelligent, Cruella dear. Come on, it's freezing and we're not all wearing fur, here."

Cruella pouted, but she did roll the windows up. Ursula sighed with relief. "That's better. Okay, Lily, what were you saying about the alphabet?"

"You've never…?" Lily exhaled. "Just a stupid game I sometimes do on the road to pass the time. Looking at the road signs and trying find the alphabet in order. So, first I look for an A, once I find one, I look for a B. J's are pretty scarce. Sometimes, I make it harder; like it only counts if it's on a green highway sign, not one of the blue ones for tourist attractions."

"Scintillating, I'm sure, dahling," Cruella drawled.

"Well, as long as you find it fun," Ursula said dubiously, surprised to find herself siding with Cruella, as Lily went back to her book.

A moment later, the younger woman sat bolt upright with a loud expletive.

"Lily?" Ursula asked.

Lily sucked in another breath. "No way!" she exclaimed then, eyes wide.

"What?" Ursula demanded.

For answer, Lily passed her book—the same book she'd shown Ursula several days earlier—toward the front seat, her fingers, pressed to the inside back cover. "The… the endpaper was peeling away and this was underneath it..."

Ursula accepted the book and flipped to the back. "A map?" she said, looking at it.

"Of Storybrooke," Lily breathed.

"Looks like somebody didn't want you to have all the details until you were ready," Ursula murmured. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Cruella," she said, for once without condescension, "once we cross into Maine, get off the interstate and switch to Route One. It'll get us up the coast. Something tells me that these people might be watching the main road in. But Route One goes up along the shoreline. If there's a place where we can get off the road and onto the beach…"

"They might still be watching," Cruella warned, suddenly serious as well.

"They might. But we're in the northeastern United States in the middle of winter. The tourist season is over. The fishing season is long over. And everything Lily's told us points to their not really expecting visitors to start with. Oh, they'll probably still be keeping an eye on the usual points of entry, though they might not bother with a regular patrol if security cameras will do. But we'll be likelier to avoid notice if we sneak in the back way, wouldn't you say?" She hesitated. "And if, when we get into town, we discover that there's more magic about than just the protection spell around the perimeter, the closer we are to the ocean, the better the chances of my being able to tap into some of it."

Cruella smiled slowly. "At least, with these temperatures, I'll be driving on snow and ice, not sand and mud. Route One it is."

Rumple was pensive on his drive home. As usual, the heroes had asked for his help. They'd been hesitant about it, far more so than they'd been in the past. But, refreshingly, they hadn't asked for more assistance than he'd been willing to give. Nobody had asked the price of his aid, neither seriously nor sarcastically. And when he'd voiced his reservations, they hadn't shrugged them off. Nobody had called his caution cowardice or expressed sorrow that, without magic—at least, so far as they knew—his ability to be of use to them was far more limited.

The town might be facing a new threat—or an old one—in short order. But for the first time, Rumple felt that, while he was no hero and doubted he ever would be, for once, he and Storybrooke's Heroes weren't merely uniting against a common danger. They were truly on the same side.

Unbidden, a wondering smile spread his lips. It froze slightly as he pulled up to his house and saw the light on in the living room. Belle had arrived. And as much as his heart leaped to know that she was there, he still worried. It might be too soon. It might be for the wrong reasons. It might be his usual fears and disbelief standing in the way of his happiness once more.

And he'd never know for certain if he sat out here in his Cadillac all evening. He drove around the corner to the narrow lane that led to his detached garage. Not entirely detached; an underground passage connected it to his cellar so that he wouldn't need to brave an icy path in the dark with his ankle. Still, it would have been a good deal easier if the curse could have given him a house with the garage attached. Or created a town in a warmer climate, where one could park out on the street in winter without concern for impeding an overnight snow plow. Next time, he thought with no small irony. Meanwhile, if walking some fifty-odd yards from his car to his living room was the greatest hardship he'd need to face in the next week or so, he would count himself fortunate.

Belle had spent the better part of the last few hours settling in. For now, she'd taken back the room that Rumple had given her when she'd first emerged from the hospital when the curse broke. There would be time for greater connection in the future, but as much as she might have wanted to move completely back into his life and pick things up where they'd left off, she knew that Rumple was wise to maintain some distance, yet.

This second chance they were taking had not come about easily. And it had only come about when both of them had acknowledged that their previous relationship, for all the hope and promise that had gone into it, had never been as solid as either might have hoped. That first day in the shop after Rumple had felt recovered enough from his ordeal to reopen for business, they'd finally had their first real conversation since New York. And they'd finally admitted that things couldn't go back to the way they had been.

"But, Belle," Rumple had added, just when she'd finally been ready to accept that she'd truly lost him, "would you truly want to? To a marriage built on a foundation of deception and distrust? One where we each hid the parts of us we didn't want the other to see, stifling them until—as you've just noted—they finally broke free from our control and lashed out in the most painful way possible? One where neither of us probed or questioned too deeply out of fear of what we might uncover? Because, that was what we had, wasn't it?"

His words had struck a chord deep within her and she'd come face to face with a truth she'd been shying away from, nearly from the start. They loved each other, truly and deeply, but love alone wasn't enough to build a marriage on. Not when she was so certain of his feelings for her that she thought she could take them for granted, threaten to leave him if he didn't do as she wished, compel him to do her will when he would have refused, and then think that a tearful apology would wipe the slate clean. And not when he was so terrified of losing her love, so certain that—given his previous experience—she would eventually tire of him and walk away, no matter what he did, that he lied to her, tricked her, and eventually created a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But even as she'd admitted how right he was, she'd also caught the slightest note of hope in his words. Because love, however true, might not have been enough of a foundation to support a marriage all by itself, but it was a start. It was hope. And then, she'd heard her own voice saying, "What if we were to start fresh? If we built a new foundation, one created from mutual trust and honesty? On talking things out instead of assuming we each know what the other would say. On…"

And for the first time in weeks, she'd seen it. That plain, open, sincere smile that was reserved for her and her alone. And she'd known then that however long and hard the road ahead might be, the destination would be worth it.

She was reminding herself of that, now. Because Rumple keeping her at arm's length, only letting her in a bit at a time, and only so far and no farther… hurt. And as much as she told herself that after everything she'd put him through, it was understandable, even deserved, it still hurt. Just like it hurt that he was turning more to others for support, when once he would have confided in her alone.

Belle's hand flew to her mouth. I wanted to be everything to him. I wanted him on my terms and never once considered whether he had any of his own. Am I hurt now that he's shutting me out more? Or am I resentful that, with more support, he's less dependent on me? Her gaze fell on the mantle shelf, where Rumple had set the puppets she'd so recently made to try to convince him to give them another chance and she picked up the last one she'd crafted. 'The monster,' she'd called it. "I guess it takes one to love one," she murmured. "Because if I could take his love and use it against him so cruelly, then I deserve the title as much as he ever did." Her eyes grew wide. "But if he's no longer the Dark One… if he's not a monster anymore… then where does that leave me?"

Behind her, she heard the cellar door open and she whirled, startled, to see Rumple standing there, his lips parted in a welcoming smile and nervous hope in his eyes. "Belle," he greeted her warmly, slowly spreading his arms as though he couldn't quite be certain that such a display of affection would be welcomed.

She crossed the distance between them with alacrity and practically fell into his embrace. "Rumple!" she whispered, closing her eyes and tilting her face toward his for a kiss.

For a moment, all was right with them and the world. A moment she wished would never end.