A/N: Sorry this update took longer than I expected. I wanted to make sure I got the scene with Jefferson, Gold, and Emma right. It was tricky, but I think it worked well. Maybe you guys can tell me.

In any case, there is a whopping long chapter waiting for you. Hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter Twenty-One

The night was always darkest just before the dawn. It seemed the dawn had finally risen.

Belle always knew when the Queen had left her castle—be it for a journey or some other important occasion—because that was when Grace chanced visiting her. It was those days she looked forward to most.

Often she'd come presenting a basket of food she had scrounged up from the kitchens, passing handfuls through the bars of the cell to Belle. Buttery warm bread, cherry tarts, a goblet of water that was blessedly cool on her dry tongue.

Even better, Grace had the kind sense to smuggle down a book for her to read from the Queen's library. They both doubted the Queen would ever notice it was gone—she didn't seem the type to come home and settle into a good book. Belle always accepted it as she would a gift and hid it under the hay so the Queen would not find it.

It was a miraculous thing, having Grace to talk to during the slow days. Mostly she would share stories of her awkward dinners with the Queen and complain about her new dress, but Belle savored every bit of it. She never realized how lonely she was in that cell until Grace showed up.

More miraculous than that was the day Belle's laughter started to come easier than it had in a while. It was so strange to her ears now, as if it belonged to someone else. The last time she had truly laughed was…with Rumpelstiltskin.

Less and less she relied on the enchanted mirror, though she did catch certain events.

Belle had witnessed the extravagant wedding of one fair Snow White and Prince Charming—that had made her smile to see such happiness in the world until the Queen crashed the party ranting about an end to happiness. She had also watched Rumpelstiltskin dance with a young girl named Ella and she had wished it were her in his arms.

Now the mirror lay forgotten under the hay.

Grace kept her informed—she told her about the outside world, the latest kingdom parties and weddings, the Queen's comings and goings. Belle recanted her story of imprisonment with Rumpelstiltskin and more than once held a little tea party with Grace.

Together, the two of them managed to find a shred of happiness in an otherwise dismal place.

"Could you ever..." Grace started only to pause and stare down into her cup of lukewarm tea. A rosy blush touched the child's face. Belle waited patiently. "Do you think you would want to…be my mother?"

Grace's brown eyes were still downcast as she quietly sipped her tea. Belle knelt frozen inside the cell, unsure whether she heard the girl right.

Beyond that was pure sympathy—this poor girl was reaching out for someone, anyone who would listen or care. It didn't surprise her that the "someone" Grace was looking for wasn't the Queen.

The question pounded in her ears, echoing endlessly. It squeezed her heart until she could not properly breathe. Oh, the poor girl. Is there no one left to care for her?

"I don't think I'd be much of a mother behind these bars," Belle evaded truly answering the question. Grace was clever, though. She lifted her gaze and appeared more serious than anyone Belle had met before. The Queen had, at the very least, stripped this girl of her family and childhood.

"If you weren't locked up, would you want to? If we went out there and found my father…" There was a pleading note in Grace's voice.

The girl was aching to regain the life she once knew, Belle could tell. Never had she cursed someone before, but as she observed little Grace bearing so much sorrow on her shoulders, she silently added one for the Queen. How could she do this to a child?

"Grace, I would so much like to find your father and return him to you. But I'm afraid my heart cannot belong to him. You know I was…I am in love with someone else," she carefully explained, trying not to hurt the girl's feelings. Jefferson had the potential to be a friend, but that was it.

Grace's face contorted with sadness and the teacup shook in her hands, causing some to rain down on the dusty ground.

"I know," she whispered. Belle realized that Grace had already expected that answer. She had just been hoping—and that was all she could do.

Setting her teacup down with a tiny clink, Belle reached through the bars to lay a hand over Grace's small, trembling one.

"Grace, if I truly were your mother, I'd be quite proud of you," she assured Grace, whose head rose in surprise. Belle bet the Queen was not the type of woman to ever grant a phrase such as 'I'm proud of you.'

"Really?" Grace's lip trembled and her bright eyes widened. She looked like she was doubtful of it. Belle smiled warmly and tucked a loose strand of chestnut hair behind Grace's ear to keep it from falling into her face.

"Absolutely. You're so brave, smart, and compassionate. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their daughter." Grace blinked away the water in her eyes and returned Belle's smile. Belle meant every word.

Just then, the torches flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows along the walls. The flames bent sideways in their holders before extinguishing completely, shrouding them in darkness.

Grace's breathing quickened an instant before a shattering of glass. The teacup must have fallen from her hands. A tight squeeze enveloped Belle's hand. Grace was holding onto her for dear life.

"What's happening? Belle?" Grace cried out, her tiny fingernails fiercely digging into Belle's palm. Belle swallowed the moan of discomfort and squeezed back to let her know it was okay.

"I'm here, Grace. I'm not sure what happened. It's too dark in here," she answered. The darkness was so thick; she couldn't even make out Grace on the other side of the bars. Better yet, where were the actual bars?

Belle used her other hand to rub her eyes, though it did little to help. Her eyes just couldn't quite adjust to the supreme blackness.

There was a squeak and a scrabbling of nails on the dungeon floor. A shrill scream pierced the air and Grace's hand slipped from Belle's. Instantly, heart drumming in her throat, Belle was on her feet and gripping the cold bars.

"Grace? Where are you?" Another scream and a tapping of feet as Grace moved around in the darkness. She was moving away from Belle's cell, but Belle had a hard time placing her exact spot. "Grace?"

"Rats! There are rats and they were climbing over my legs!" Belle glanced down at the floor for anything moving, but to no avail. They needed light.

"Listen, Grace. I need you to climb the stairs and open the door to the dungeon. It will give us some light," Belle calmly told her, all the while scanning the blackness before her for any signs of a moving figure. Was Grace pressed against the wall? Huddled in a corner? Silence. "Be brave, Grace," Belle encouraged her.

Another moment passed before there was a light shuffling of feet across the floor. The feet paused near Belle's cell and there was a raw scratching. Soft steps sounded on the stairs, echoing all around Belle. That's it, Grace. You can do this. Be brave.

Without warning, there was the sound of a rough tumble and a groan. It sounded like an avalanche in the heavy silence of the dungeon. Belle's hands wrapped around the bars and she twisted her head in the blind direction of the stairs.

"Grace? Are you alright?" There was a hiss of pain and the soft steps were climbing again. That was good.

"Yes. I fell on the step," she said before a stream of light burst into the room. Belle blinked and then saw that Grace had grabbed the basket of food—she was using it to hold the door open. She was a clever girl, indeed.

Belle scanned the room, taking in minute details as her eyes adjusted once again to the light. Grace's knee was bleeding from where she'd landed on it. Shards of glass scattered the floor, a few pieces having leaped into Belle's cell. Whatever happened, it was over now.

"Everything will be alright," Belle sighed. As her eyes lifted to Grace's face, she realized that Grace wasn't looking at her.

Grace was stiff in place, staring wide-eyed at the dungeon door. Belle tried to crane her neck, but could not see what had startled Grace. Slowly, the child stumbled backwards down the steps, her face paling significantly.

"Belle," she whispered fearfully. And then Belle saw it.

Clouds of thick purplish smoke flowed in through the dungeon, sifting around Grace's legs and consuming everything in sight. There was only one thing that could be responsible for such an occurrence: magic.

Grace rushed over to the cell and gripped Belle's hand again, closing her eyes against the oncoming wave of thundering smoke. Belle held her close, arms circling her as best she could to comfort her.

"What is that?" Grace glanced over her shoulder at the haze that was quickly closing in on them. Belle could only watch as it towered and swirled like a vortex. The walls vanished from sight, the stairs were no longer there. It seemed to suck Belle towards it like a whirlpool, her belly flopping.

Magic. It was the only explanation. And this…this was power unlike any she'd ever seen. The Queen was the first one to come to mind. What has she done?

The cloud wrapped around them and it was getting harder to hold onto Grace's hand. Grace shrieked, but the sound was lost amongst the whipping of the smoke in Belle's ears. Everything was covered in purple and glowing abnormally.

Belle coughed against the onslaught of smoke and suddenly Grace's hand had jerked from hers. Belle gasped and frantically reached out to grab the girl, but she couldn't even see her anymore. Her mind became fuzzy and a cold chill seeped into her lungs.

"Grace!" It was the last word that escaped her lips before the smoke smothered her completely and she blacked out. Before she woke up in a new world-a land without magic.

Ow…my head…

Emma's eyelids fluttered, though opening them was proving impossible. They felt like two steel doors that refused to budge. Her head was spinning and her stomach was a coiled spring that wouldn't quit bouncing. Her throat was rough sandpaper at best and every muscle in her body was weak, tingling with pins and needles. A metallic taste invaded the roof of her mouth—she seriously craved Listerine.

Even with her eyes closed, she made an effort to discern her surroundings. She remembered the cabin and Isabella…and then nothing. Blackness, blackness, and more blackness. How long had she been out?

There was something smooth underneath her, rubbing against her cheek. The couch? Yes, she was lying down, her legs crossed over one another.

Emma tried to lift one of her hands to her throbbing head, but that was too great a chore. The clink of chains confused her. Her hands were uncomfortably bound by something cold and metal. Bound…by her own handcuffs.

She had really gotten herself into a ditch this time, didn't she?

Miraculously, her eyelids parted and all she could see was blurry brown. Water filled her eyes and she had to blink a couple times. Her vision cleared and she saw that the brown was the cabin's ceiling. I'm still in the cabin. I wonder if that's good or bad, she thought albeit sluggishly. Slow as a snail, her mind.

Gradually, Emma made a low groan in her throat and awkwardly struggled into a sitting position. Sinking her cuffed hands in her lap, she blinked sleepily against the bright light in front of her. Yellow and orange….a fire? A fire…in the fireplace.

Once she could properly see, she noticed a figure sitting in a chair near the fire, facing her. Her stomach plummeted as she instantly recognized him through the abnormal stupor. Yep, my situation just got a hell of a lot worse.

It was Jefferson. And he was holding a gun. No, correction: her gun. And he was aiming that gun straight at her.

She wished she could have laughed and said the gun wasn't loaded, but she had loaded it before leaving the station…when? Yesterday? A day before? There wasn't even a calendar to clue her in.

"Hello, Emma," Jefferson cheerfully greeted her like she was some old friend. In his mind, they probably were. A mad smile curved his lips. Jefferson looked the same as she remembered—all he was missing was his hat.

"Moffou," Emma mumbled incoherently. Why couldn't she speak right?

She tried to open her mouth, but something sticky was preventing her from doing so. Sticky. Duct tape. She tried to lift her arms to peel it off, but her limbs were like Jell-O on her lap, flailing and bobbing. What was wrong with her?

"Sorry, didn't catch that," Jefferson pitilessly mocked her. "If you promise to behave, I'll take off the duct tape," he said, motioning the gun to her mouth. Emma narrowed her eyes threateningly. God, if only I could actually move! If he comes near me, I have to try. "You know what? It's no fun talking to a silent Emma."

Jefferson got to his feet and sauntered over to her. Bending close to her level, the enticing scent of him filled her nostrils. She tried to reach up, to at least grab him, but her muscles failed her.

"Now, I know you're not the screaming type. Not that it would matter out here. No one would be able to hear you and I know you're smarter than that, Emma." In one swift movement, Jefferson gripped the edge of the tape and ripped it off her mouth. Her lips stung for a moment before sweet air tunneled through her lungs.

"Ow! Would it kill you to be gentle?" Nothing but a rasp; cruel nails grinding down a chalkboard. Emma tried to touch her lips, but her arms barely rose a few inches. Oh, God…what the hell did Jefferson do to me? Drug me? The fogginess of her mind, the unresponsive muscles…yes, he definitely gave her something.

"Anyway, what were you saying, Emma?"

Jefferson took his seat again and stared at her expectantly. His tone was overly considerate, as though he were some kind of therapist wanting her to unleash her inner thoughts. Hah, that was a joke, wasn't it? A terrible contradiction considering he was the only mad one here.

Emma drew in a fresh gale of breath and cleared her throat to be free of the rasping.

"I said…not you." Jefferson pressed a hand to his chest as though her words had pierced his heart. Emma rolled her eyes—that much, she was apparently capable of handling, even if they did feel a little sore.

"That's very rude. After all the fun we had last time," he feigned hurt. Emma's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Was he serious?

"Fun? You drugged me, tied me up, threatened me with a gun kind of like you're doing now, until my apparent mother round-house kicked you out of a two-story window. How is that fun?"

This man was insane—there was that unpredictable spark in his eyes. Wildfire consuming a black forest. Jefferson merely shrugged as if the only thing she accused him of was stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

"It seemed entertaining to me. Oh, but I'm mad, aren't I?" Jefferson pointed the gun at his head and smiled, though he lowered it a second later. Emma's head lolled and there was that throbbing again. God, she was groggy. Her body could barely move—it simply sat there like a sack of potatoes.

"Can't argue that point," she mustered up the strength to shoot back. The smile vanished and the gun slightly tilted toward her.

He wouldn't, she thought, but how could she really tell with someone who was clearly unstable? Yet somehow, Emma knew it was a bluff. Six rounds and I can barely lift my arms, never mind dodge. If he wanted to kill me, he would've done it already.

"What do you want with me? All I'm trying to do is my job. Oh, let me guess: you want me to believe your side of the story."

Jefferson's dark eyes were unimpressed by her mockery. His lips tightened into a thin line. Surprisingly, the gun swiveled to something over her shoulder. The air shifted around her as she felt eyes boring into her back like daggers.

"His favor, not mine," Jefferson coolly stated. Emma craned her neck as best she could and saw Gold stepping away from the window, an amused grin dominating his lips. I'm trapped in a cabin with two crazy people. Three, if you count Isabella.

"Emma," he drawled, circling around the couch and stopping a mere foot from her. His cane tapped the side of her foot. "Glad to see you're awake. I thought I might have to kiss you," he quipped.

He reached a gloved hand out to stroke her blonde hair, but Emma wrenched her face away from him. A jolt of pain shot through her head and she clenched her eyes. Gold made a small humph and dropped his hand.

"Do you mind?" Emma jiggled her bound wrists. The cuffs were creating red grooves in her skin.

"We all know how resourceful you can be," Gold replied, wandering to the fireplace. She'd take that as a 'no.' He bent forward and tossed another log into the flames. I hope he burns his hand off. Crazy pawnbroker.

"Where's Isabella?" Emma wearily glanced around for her, but saw no sign of the girl. Did Gold move her again? Hide her somewhere safer? No, she didn't think he'd stray that far from her, especially now that she was subdued. Isabella had to be close-by.

"Belle is outside reading," Jefferson offered. It was then Emma noticed that daylight was streaming in through the windows. A thin frost coated the glass, signaling that it was still chilly outside. I've been out all night? Or longer? How hard did Gold hit me? "Such an open mind…unlike you."

Emma shifted her gaze to Jefferson and sent him a biting glare.

"You helped her escape," she accused him in a low voice. She could feel two sets of eyes on her, but she didn't look away from Jefferson. It was too overwhelming, concentrating on both of them.

"What's your point?" Jefferson arched forward in his seat. Emma shook her head, though it weighed a ton. He wasn't even going to deny it.

"My point is…why?"

Emma's voice broke over that one last word. It came out in the form of a plea, and that alone made her wince. Her will was immovable; it would not bend to anyone, including Jefferson. How dare he think otherwise, wielding the gun in an attempt of control over her.

Gold was still and observant on the edge of the fireplace, apparently satisfied with letting Jefferson wave her gun around like the madman he was. Jefferson was the mad dog here, while Gold stood idly by holding the leash. Gold's the one I have to worry about. The man never misses a trick. So, how do I make him drop his guard?

"She's a friend," Jefferson flatly waved it off. Emma's eyes snapped onto him and she scoffed. If Gold had never crossed paths with Isabella, Jefferson sure as hell didn't. She swore under her breath, though it came out as a gurgle.

"Sure, she is. She's been locked up and a bookworm before that. Supposedly, you've been stuck in that house and the only reason you're here is because things started changing. The only time you come out is at night when you're begging to be hit like a road sign. I doubt you two crossed paths."

"You're not sending her back," Gold abruptly intercepted. His face was controlled as marble, his tone meaning to leave no room for argument. Emma always had a tough time biting her tongue, thick and disoriented as it may be.

"It's my job," she argued, her voice rising with confidence. "What do you expect me to do? You're a hypocrite—you're the one who put me in this position in the first place!"

Gold's jaw clenched and his cold brown eyes aimed daggers at her. She was pretty sure he wanted to hit her again with that cane. Go ahead, do it. Give me another reason to fight back against you. That's not the way to win me over.

"If you send her back, Regina will rip out her heart. Literally," Jefferson snapped, shooting to his feet. The glow of the fire cast a shadow over his face as he towered over her, but Emma fearlessly met his stony gaze. Despite herself, she laughed.

"Oh, you are madder than I thought. You can't literally rip someone's heart out! News flash: that only happens on The Vampire Diaries." Emma's body was shaking hysterically, her nerves a jumble as they seemed to come back to life. The handcuffs clinked together, reminding her that she was their prisoner.

"How do you think the Sheriff died? Coincidence?" Jefferson's lined face betrayed no sign that he was pulling straws out of thin air. He was dead serious. What the hell does Graham have to do with this? Surely he doesn't think…

Emma glanced at Gold, who was silent during Jefferson's ranting. His cold brown eyes were nearly black as they drank her in. You are just as mad as he is if you're buying into this, Gold! Or are you using him because he's mad?

"He had a heart attack! I watched him die in my arms!" Jerking her head forward, she tried not to let her frustration get the better of her. Slow breaths, Emma. Calm down. Breathe. "Oh, yeah. You are mad. If anyone deserves to be locked up in a psyche ward, it's you. Maybe you can take Isabella's place."

Her throat was raw with anger and disgust. All the while, the details in the corner of her eye never escaped her notice. A window to her left, along with the door. Nothing useful on the table. She had to escape, but she couldn't leave Isabella with two men as unpredictable as Gold and Jefferson. There I go acting like the savior again.

She realized that Gold had spoken up and—in his general air of power—he commanded her attention.

"It is for Belle's best interest, dearie. If you send her back, Regina will win. Is that what you truly want?" He knew she hated it when Regina won unfairly as much as he did. And Regina did it so often, even with Henry. Who was to say that she wouldn't lock up an innocent girl for some masochistic reason?

"Okay, I get it. You two are the dynamic duo protecting Storybrooke from the 'Evil Queen's' wrath. Right," she sarcastically retorted. And Leroy's the poster boy for safe driving, she mentally added. Jefferson sneered at her.

"We're doing a hell of a lot better job than you are, Sheriff," he thundered over her.

She was about to open her mouth to protest when Gold crossed to her and settled on the arm of the couch. She tried to scoot away from him, but his hand landed on her shoulder, firmly holding her in place. His touch burned through her clothes.

Clothes…her leather jacket was missing. Emma's eyes darted around. There it was, hanging up by the door as if she were part of the family. That had better be the only missing clothing. As she thought it, she realized her boots were missing, too, leaving her with bare feet. At least she could scrunch her toes.

"Tell me, Emma. What have you done against ole Regina? Enlighten me," Gold challenged her, his accentuated voice hardly above a whisper.

Emma curled her fingers into hooks and scoured through her mind for something to prove him wrong. Of course there had been times when she'd bested Regina on her own. Did he think she fully relied on his help?

"I…I reunited Ava and Nicholas with their father," she announced. Gold arched an eyebrow as if to say: that's all? Jefferson chuckled from his spot near the fireplace.

"My late congratulations," the hatter remarked. "Anything else? Tick, tock, tick, tock…"

Emma searched for another smart answer. She would have said that she had become Sheriff, but that had come with Gold's help, as did Mary Margaret's release from jail. Supposedly. She glared at Jefferson, heat traveling up her neck.

"No? That's because Regina is winning and you're too busy following the rules. You need people like us, Emma. People who are capable of doing the things you're too afraid to do."

Emma's head jerked back as if he'd slapped her. The meaning came across loud and clear. Gold patted Emma's shoulder, but it was not for comfort. It was for pity and mockery. There, there. You know he's right.

"Excuse me?" You're lucky, Jefferson. If there was a time when you deserved to be hit over the head with a telescope, it's now. Jefferson smirked her way, his teeth gleaming pearly off-white in the glow of the raging fire.

"You heard me. Or should I say it out loud? Coward," he taunted in a sing-song voice. Beside her, Gold tensed visibly and his knuckles pulsing around his cane. Apparently, she wasn't the only one offended.

"I despise that term," he muttered under his breath. Jefferson aimed a disdainful stare at Gold and Emma felt the uncomfortable air between them like knives at a dartboard.

"You would," he returned sharply.

Emma eyed the two of them and a new realization formed in her mind. Jefferson and Gold don't enjoy each other's company. They're just putting up with each other for my sake. Well, since they're distracted…

Emma surreptitiously studied the table in front of her—on it, around it for any sort of weapon. It wouldn't match a gun, but anything was better than nothing at all. Her eyes roamed as the two men stared each other down.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when Gold clamped his hand on her shoulder even more fiercely than before.

"Don't bother searching for a weapon, Emma. You see, I took the liberty of…Emma-proofing the cabin," he informed her. A proud smile touched his lips, the kind that made Emma's skin crawl. She glared back at him defiantly.

"Emma-proofing? Hah, you're cute," she snapped, urging him to release her shoulder. He did, only to rub that hand across his jaw with a malicious smile.

"I'm glad you noticed," he replied. Emma's stomach churned at the insinuation. Jefferson sighed vehemently, obviously not having the patience to hear Gold placing himself on a pedestal.

"That's not what I meant," she protested, but Gold cut her off with the raise of a hand.

"Intent is meaningless, Emma." Bite your tongue, bite your tongue. No need to make an enemy out of Gold any more than necessary. Sometimes that pawnbroker could be just so…irritating. And the fact that Jefferson seemed to share the same view only added fuel to her resourceful mind. The enemy of my enemy, perhaps?

"So what exactly is your deal with Isabella? Her and Jefferson are just friends…but what about you?"

Emma turned her full focus on Gold, who had straightened up considerably on the edge of the couch. He fixed his tie and smoothed down his suit, which was bordering perfect, anyway. Show off, she grumbled inside her head.

"Well, I don't like to kiss and tell…but a cabin in the woods certainly has its uses." Emma suddenly wished she hadn't asked. Jefferson had turned away and was swiping a hand across his face in exasperation. That makes two of us. Who knew we had so much in common?

"I did not need to picture that. It's enough to drive ten men mad," Jefferson openly complained, shaking his head as if to shake the image right out. Gold chuckled as if truly amused by their reactions.

"You mean…you and her…" Emma slowly tilted her head to gaze down at the couch where she was sitting. In an instant, she was struggling to stand even though her legs wobbled beneath her. The drug seemed to be slowly wearing off.

Gold waved a hand for her to sit.

"Take a seat, Emma. It happened elsewhere," he said. With Gold's hand shoving against her arm, she collapsed back down onto the couch. She was sure he was telling the truth, but if he was she'd still rather not know about it. The last thing I need is having the details of Gold's love life in my head. Pleasant.

"And by elsewhere, you mean…" Jefferson glanced down at the floor and shook his head violently. "Okay, I really did not need to picture that! And I slept on that floor last night!" Jefferson paced back and forth unnervingly. Emma grew vastly uncomfortable with both of them.

"Whatever. What exactly do you want from me? Are you going to kill me?" Doubt clouded her voice, though that gun wasn't looking too friendly now. If only there was a way to make Jefferson drop it. Last time, the weapon barely left his hands.

Gold's cane was nudging her boot again. That's probably why he let Jefferson handle the gun. Gold doesn't need a gun when he has that cane. Ow, head.

"Oh, Emma. Haven't I told you before? I like you. My wish is not so…unfortunate. All I want is for you to talk to Belle, to understand that she does not belong in that cell. Simple, yes?" Gold smiled knowingly down at her.

She knew he had power over her, much as she hated to admit it. If he wanted, he could force her to forget Isabella French even existed. All he needed was that one favor. So why is he acting like I have a choice in the matter? Sake of manipulation?

"Is that my favor?" Gold's lips thinned and his brow furrowed as he studied her intently.

"I'd prefer not to rely on my favor just yet. I'd prefer it if you willingly came to Belle's aid. You are one to defend the weaker ones, aren't you? That's one of the things I like about you," he crooned, caressing her face with the back of his hand.

Emma gazed straight ahead, not really looking at Jefferson and not really seeing the flames, either. She sat in defiance, her breath quickening with anger.

"Oh, come now, Emma. Don't force me to waste one of my precious favors. I will," he whispered near her ear.

He was making it seem like she had a choice. But if she stuck her head under the surface of the calm water they were inevitably rocking on, she knew turbulent tides were swirling underneath. She knew there was only one answer he'd accept. There was only one way that he would unlock these handcuffs and release her. You're not giving me a choice at all. It's always manipulation with you, Gold.

"And what if I say hell no?"

Faster than she could follow, Gold's hand gripped her chin and forced her to look his way. With his hand holding her chin tightly, she was forced to stare into his brown eyes. His teeth were bared at her—he never liked to hear the word 'no' apparently. Another reason why Isabella cannot stay here.

"No one breaks deals with me, dearie," he hissed. His fingers dug into her skin painfully, until she was sure there'd be bruises the next day. Jefferson grimaced from the fireplace. Emma had almost forgotten the hatter was there.

"Aw, let her go. She'll talk to Belle easily enough," he confidently assured Gold.

It was another long moment before Gold eased up on her and removed his hand. It ached from where his fingers had grabbed her. Those brown eyes were now glittering with distrust for Jefferson.

"What makes you so confident?" Jefferson smiled at Emma and cocked his head at her in pure fascination.

"Simple. She's becoming intrigued. Curiouser and curiouser."

So, what did you all think? Hmm?

Of course, I have my awesome readers to thank for giving me such good reviews last time! Here's a shout-out to my reviewers: Grace5231973, Bluecanbegreen, Princess Zelda98, prttykitty7728, Slytherclaw5298, Nightmother, Cris Coursey, thedoctorsgirl42, DragonRose4, and Guest.

For the anonymous Guest, can I just say that your review had me laughing so hard? Now I have a mental image of Belle spraying Rumpel in the face like a cat every time he does something she doesn't like. (-;

Until next time, my lovely readers!