Rumplestiltskin would have been content—mostly—to have the conversation on the front steps, even if it meant the neighbors might look out and see him sitting there. That was assuming they recognized the man in the oversized leather jacket and ill-fitting clothes as Mr. Gold.
But, Belle seemed to feel vulnerable, out there in the dark. She was the one who led him inside, though she looked around uneasily after stepping over the threshold. She was looking at the floor where the torn up bits of her shirt had been lying.
"We could talk in the parlor?" Rumplestiltskin suggested. Not here—and not his den. He wondered if Belle would ever be comfortable in that room again. He was ready to burn his desk, the room, and every bottle of scotch in the house if it would make her feel better.
He was ready to go away and never come back if it would make her feel better. Rumplestiltskin tried not to look at the ugly shirt hiding Belle's too thin frame or think of the child growing inside her. He would go back to New York and panhandle for half-empty beer bottles and cigarette butts if that was what Belle needed.
They sat down on the sofa. He thought about fetching tea but was afraid to leave her alone, as if she would vanish or break into pieces if he stepped away for even a few seconds. He could just wave his hand and make tea appear, but he didn't think Belle would appreciate a show of magic right now.
They didn't talk about the big things, not at first. Rumplestiltskin told Belle about the mask and how he'd made it. He mentioned one or two things about New York and some things about how he'd come back. Other things, he wasn't quite sure how to bring up, like how he'd gotten what he needed for the mask and why no one had seen more than one Knave of Hearts wandering around the city.
Belle, being Belle, just asked. "So, where's Will?" Not, What have you done with him? or Is he alive? She trusted him that far or else she'd gotten much better at hiding suspicion.
"Back in Wonderland," Rumplestiltskin said. "With his wife, Anastasia." He looked at the mask in his hands, wondering if he should give the reassurance she hadn't asked for. "I had to play fair with him to make this," he told her. "It carries memories, bits of his life—or reflections of them," he added hastily in case she thought he had literally taken those from Scarlet, stealing away all his memories of family and friends—of the woman he loved.
He had to make sure Belle knew he wouldn't do that.
"He still has the originals," Rumplestiltskin went on. "It had to be that way. You don't want to wear a mask like this made from the memories of someone you've—" he wouldn't say murdered, "—someone you've harmed."
"Could you kill a man and make a mask some other way? One that wouldn't hurt you?" Belle sounded tired and disinterested. The question might have been nothing more than a stray, tired thought. Except this was Belle, and she wouldn't ask something like this unless she cared about the answer, even if she seemed too exhausted right now to know that she cared.
He remembered Dr. Hopper telling him that honesty was the only way. He still doubted the cricket knew as much as he thought he did, but—but—
Belle looked so fragile, he was afraid the smallest lie would break her—or break the slender trust that seemed to holding on between them. He remembered being a child and thinking he could safely touch a cobweb if he only did it gently enough, but they were always destroyed as soon as his finger brushed against them. He was afraid he could destroy what was left between him and Belle with a single breath or a badly spoken word.
He gave her the truth. "There are masks like that," he admitted. He didn't give her the details. Making them was a grisly process and not one he'd ever resorted to. "They have their own price. I never felt like paying for one."
"Did you send him through with something from the shop? Was—was Will the one who hit Keith? Or was that you?"
"It was me. The mirror—it was a magic mirror that sent him home—was in Maleficent's cave, beneath the town. Regina might have had some idea of using it to keep an eye on her, not that she was able to use Sydney that way in this world."
"Maleficent. You brought her back, didn't you?"
"You might say she brought me back. Part of her was alive outside of Storybrooke. Once I found her—she was in the basement of the New York Public library—we were able to work together to come back. How did you know about her? She didn't bother you, did she?"
Belle shook her head. "Aurora saw her."
And, knowing Belle, she was more worried about Aurora than about herself. "Maleficent won't harm her," Rumplestiltskin said quickly.
She searched his face. "Would you care if she did?"
He heard the currents under that question, loud and clear. Would he sacrifice Aurora the way he would have sacrificed Hook? The way he had sacrificed the fairies and had come close to sacrificing Emma?
He didn't know the answer to that, not anymore. But, he could gave Belle what he could. "She won't her," he assured her. What he was about to say was Maleficent's secret, but he thought Belle had a right to it. If Maleficent disagreed, she could talk to him about it. "Do you know how a fairy loses her wings, Belle? How Astrid, the fairy your friend, Leroy, loves, almost lost hers?"
Oh, he loved it when her eyes went big like that. He loved being able to surprise her, too. "You're saying . . . Maleficent loved someone?"
Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Stefan, Aurora's father. Till someone cast a spell that made him forget."
He expected Belle to look stunned at that announcement, and she did—but only for a moment. Then, she nodded her head, fitting it together and taking it one step farther.
"You gave Snow a potion that made her forget Charming."
"This wasn't my work, it was the fairies. And a crude job they made of it, too. It just erased the time from when Stefan began to fall in love with Maleficent to the time he woke up and found himself visiting his uncle's castle. They told him Maleficent had held him prisoner and he'd been freed. If he ever suspected the truth. . . ." Rumplestiltskin thought of waking up in the darkness in Zelena's cage when the second curse was cast, with no memory of the past year, though he could feel some of the injuries Zelena had left him with. He'd suspected enough of the truth before the witch came to check on him and confirm it. He tried to imagine waking up, seeing the same signs and marks, and being told by people he trusted Belle was the one who had put them there—and having no memories of Belle to tell him those were lies. "He never knew he'd wanted to be with her."
"Did he?" Belle asked. She was toying with the hem of the shirt they'd given her in hospital, to replace the one Keith had taken off of her.
Had Maleficent done to Stefan what Keith had tried to do to Belle? And what Zelena had done to him?
"I think they did. I met them, once. Curiosity has always been my besetting sin, and it's not often you hear of a fairy quitting the sorority. I pretended to want a deal, said I wanted information on the yearly pickup of fairy dust. Maleficent told me to stuff it, as I recall. She wouldn't betray her sisters, not then. When I pretended to be all menacing and evil, Stefan drew his sword on me." He grinned at the memory. "You would have loved it, Belle. Prince Charming couldn't have done better, the brave, little princeling facing off against the evil wizard.
"Yes, they loved each other. It may not have been strong enough for what happened after, but they really did love each other."
She looked at him, her eyes full of sadness and loss. She was broken, he thought. His beautiful Belle was broken. "Then, why wasn't it enough?" she asked. "Why did they lose everything, if they loved each other like that?"
He heard her unspoken question: Why did we?
"I don't know. Stefan was told lies and he believed them even after he should have been questioning them. Maleficent was angry. She struck out even though it only made things worse. I don't know if different choices would have saved them."
"I was angry with you," Belle whispered. Her voice was cobweb-light. "When I sent you away. I was hurt and angry and I didn't stop to ask questions or let you answer them. And what I did to you—I'm sorry, Rumple. I'm so sorry."
"I lied to you," Rumplestiltskin said. "Why should you have listened? Why should you have trusted anything I said?"
Her face spasmed with pain. "Because I had the dagger," she whispered as if each word burned in her throat. "Because I didn't have to give you a choice about telling me the truth."
He felt as if each word were a wound he'd given her. He reached out, putting a hand tentatively on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
Belle shook him off. "Don't," she said. "Don't you dare apologize for what I did."
"I hurt you, Belle. I never meant to, but. . . ." But, there was nothing else he knew how to say, that it was his fault for breaking her trust in him, for using her trust in him, as if she were just another tool or potion from his shop. He took her hand, linking his fingers around it as if he were praying.
X
Belle tried to find words. She thought of what her mother used to say, Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow. But, this wasn't about being brave. She thought about Gaston, brave enough to charge at Dark Ones and dragons with nothing but his sword. They were trapped in a dark maze, and waving a sword wasn't going to get them out.
Belle's grip tightened around Rumplestiltskin's as his fingers closed around hers. The only way out of this was with the truth.
Belle thought back to the day when everything had gone wrong. "Do you—do you know why I was angry?"
He gave her that ironic, half-twist of a smile he had when he was amused and hurting. She thought about what it meant that she knew that smile so well. "I thought finding me about to murder Jones had something to do with it. And learning I'd lied to you about the dagger."
"It wasn't," she whispered. "Or—it didn't start with that. It wasn't anything—anything heroic. Or brave. I found the gauntlet. You remember? The one you traded for me." As if he might have forgotten. She felt tears suddenly building up in her eyes and fought the urge to cry. She'd been so stupidly emotional lately. Since he was gone. She put her hands around her stomach. And since other things.
But, she couldn't cry, not now.
"Did you know what that meant to me, then? You gave that up for me. Or I thought you had. Not just gold or a bit of magic. Something you couldn't replace. Something I knew you'd worked and schemed to get ahold of. Later, I realized it might have been one of the things you hoped would . . ." She thought of Rumple's centuries long quest and how it had ended. Her voice fell to barely a whisper. ". . . would help you find Bae.
"I thought you'd given all that for me. But, you hadn't." She looked at him, not sure if she should ask the question burning in her throat, not able to hold it back. "Was any of that real? Was it just a trick, a joke? Having them kidnap me, threatening to kill me, just so you could show up and pretend to save me? Was that all it was?"
She was crying. She'd promised herself she wouldn't, but she could feel the tears burning down her face. Then, Rumple's arms were around her, and he was pulling her close. He smelled different, she thought. When she'd met Will Scarlet, he's smelled of aftershave and the distinct smoke-and-drinks scent that clung to anyone who'd passed through The Rabbit Hole. Now, he smelled the way he had in the Enchanted Forest, leather and fire and a wild tang she had always thought of as magic. It was comforting and familiar.
But, this was also like the time he had held her after she had used the dagger on him. What she'd thought was the dagger. Did it matter if it had been real or not? Did it make it any less a betrayal? He had forgiven her even though she had used him—tried to use him—the same way Zelena had.
Her betrayal had been real, even if the consequences weren't. Did that make his forgiveness any less valuable? Any less precious? Any less real?
"It was real," Rumplestiltskin said. "What they did, what they threatened. And giving them the gauntlet, that was real, too.
He moved back so he could look her in the eyes, searching her face like a man desperately looking for something he had lost, begging her to understand. "I couldn't let it stand, what they had done. Belle, I couldn't."
"You . . . broke a deal?" It was the one sure thing everyone knew about Rumplestiltskin. When he made a deal, he kept it. Maybe in his own, warped way—and always with a fine attention to small print—but he kept it.
"We didn't have a deal," he said, voice rough and angry. "They tried to blackmail me with your life—your life, Belle. If I let that stand, how long before they tried again? Or someone else heard the story and tried in their place? When we found Robin Hood robbing , my castle, he put an arrow through me. What if I hadn't been there? What if you'd been alone when he broke in and you were the one he attacked? Gods, Belle, what if the next thief to try robbing me had murdered you?"
"But. . . ." she still felt hollow inside when she thought about the gaungtle. It still felt like a betrayal, like a lie. "You didn't tell me. You let me think you'd given it up to save me."
"I know." He bowed his head, his hair falling into his eyes for a moment, hiding them. Then, he looked up, letting it fall back and meeting her gaze. "I . . . cared about you. Even then. Maleficent and her friends thought you were . . . just another bauble. A jewel in my collection. Maybe worse. A toy. An ingredient for a spell. And I let them think that. But, if I'd told you . . . I always have a hard time lying to myself when I'm with you."
"I . . . think I understand that, now," Belle said. "I didn't before. But . . . I am so tired of doing everything alone and it never being enough. I'm tired of feeling like each day is harder to get through than the last and knowing there's no one to help me. Even if the wanted to, there's nothing they can do.
"I want to stop being angry with you. I want things to be the way they were before. To trust you and know you'll always be there for me.
"But, I want to stay angry, too. I know I hurt you. I know what I did was wrong. But, I remember the way I hurt when I found you in the tower, when I knew how you'd lied to me—worse, how you'd used me—and it hurts all over again."
"Can we try?" Rumple said. "Can we . . . I don't know, go to Archie for marriage counseling? I promise not to turn him into a snail. Or a cricket. Or anything."
She had to laugh, he looked so desperately sincere. "I want to," she said. "I want to start over. Or—or start from where we're at. I don't want to—to forget the mistakes we've made. But, maybe we can still find our way back."
"I want to try," Rumplestiltskin said. "Whatever it takes, Belle, I want to try."
He drew her close again, his arms circling around her. She felt so safe when he held her like this. It made her want to give up all her fears and trust what she felt could last forever. But, they needed more than that. Belle wasn't certain what it was they needed, but it was more than what they'd had before. It wasn't enough, not yet. She knew it wasn't enough. All the same when Rumple kissed her and the distance seemed to vanish between them, she could believe that it was.
X
Killian had been tugging on his belt for what seemed like hours, not that he could check his watch (not that people in this world seemed to use watches that much, but Killian had picked this one off the captain of one of the first ship's he'd sacked and had sentimental streak for it).
If it hadn't been for the look Scarlet gave him when he threatened to gut anyone who cut Killian down, he might have ignored what he'd said. It wasn't exactly an uncommon threat. All right, there'd been the way he said, not quite the crocodile's mad way of speaking, but similar.
Still, it was that look. It was too knowing and mocking. Scarlet knew what he was saying and he knew how it would sound to Killian. Whatever was going on, it was time for Killian to lie low until he knew more. He'd win Emma back after that. It wasn't like she hadn't caught him in a few bad moments before. He'd been able to talk his way past it. He just needed to get away before Scarlet—or whoever had taught him what to say—got back.
But, to do that, he had to get loose. To get loose, he had to get his hand out of his belt. But, so far, nothing he did put a dent in it, and none of the guys from The Rabbit Hole had been back. He'd even tried pulling himself up to gnaw on the thing, but all that had done was give him a toothache and a numb hand.
That was when two women came walking into the alley.
One of them looked like she might be as old as the crocodile but without the advantage of magic keeping her wrinkles at bay. The other was much better, at least by the alley's dim lights. Good curves, nice hair, and what looked like unwrinkled skin from here. On the downside, she was carrying a baby in one of those silly, strap on carriers he'd seen women use in this world. But, the old woman looked like she had a free pair of hands. She ought to be able to watch the brat for a bit. . . .
Except Killian had more immediate worries. He gave them his most charming smile, hoping they would be able to see it. "Ladies! How lovely to see you! And how fortunate. I seem to find myself in a most embarrassing predicament and wonder if I might beg a little of your time?"
"Well, well," the older woman said. "Would you look at this, my dear? How completely unexpected. Did you have any idea when we started down this alley that we would find anything like this? My goodness, he looks like a codfish hanging in the market."
Killian decided he didn't like the older woman, but he gave an appreciative chuckle. "Oh, yes, very amusing. My mates and I had a bet that I could get myself out of this and beat them to The Rabbit Hole for drinks. They, er, seem to have forgotten me."
"Oh, I see!" the old woman said. "Of course. I quite understand. They made a bet and, being high-spirited boys—wouldn't you think they were high-spirited boys, my dear?" she said to the younger woman before plowing on without giving her a chance to answer. "Being high-spirited boys, they decided to, er, leave you hanging. Perhaps we should be on our way? We wouldn't want to interrupt your fun and games."
"Oh, er, you know how it is," Killian said. "They've probably forgotten all about me. If you could just get me down from here. . . ?" He tried very hard to look charming and piteous, shooting a few glances at the other woman.
"Oh, that quite wrings my heart!" the older woman said. Killian gritted his teeth. She had the most annoying voice. But, she was coming close, and that was all that mattered.
Except that the woman stopped short, putting a wrinkled hand to her chest. "Oh, my stars! Captian Jones! My dear, our poor codfish is Captain Jones! You remember Captain Jones, don't you? Captain Jones, we haven't been formally introduced, but I believe you met one of my godchildren—I say godchildren, but my sister, Jaunice, was the godmother. Poor Jaunice. I'm afraid she's gone, now. Such is the way of this world—and most other worlds, I suppose. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And, you, poor Captain! Didn't I hear how you were almost reduced to dust? A sad, sad state of affairs. Not that I can't relate. There are days when I felt as if I were little more than a pile of cold ash, myself.
"But, Jaunice is gone, and I feel a certain obligation to stand in her place in this matter, not that it isn't a tad awkward. But, sometimes, one must simply rise to the occasion. . . ."
She was obviously senile. Killian needed to get the other woman talking to him or he'd be hanging here till next summer. "Goddaughter. Would that be the lovely lady standing beside you? Good evening, madam. Have we met before? I'm Captain Killian Jones—"
"I know who you are," the woman said in arctic tones.
Uh-oh. Killian tried to look delighted. "Princess Aurora! It's wonderful to see you. I don't suppose you could give a hand to an old comrade-in-arms?"
"Comrade-in-arms? You tried to kill me."
"What? I never—"
"You locked me in a hole without food or water, then left me to die."
"You got out of it, didn't you? I knew you would. I just let Cora think—"
"Don't insult our intelligence," the old woman said, her words clipped and cold. "That cage held Rumplestiltskin himself. You didn't expect her to get out."
Killian licked his lips. All right, time to play a bigger card. "The man who tied me up is working for Rumplestiltskin." It was a good story, anyway. "You know what the Dark One did to me. He's evil. He—"
"He what?" Aurora demanded. "Tore out your heart? And then what? Did he make you lead your friends into a trap? Did he betray everyone in this town to a heartless witch? Or help a pair of murderers plot to kill everyone in Storybrooke?"
"I gave your heart back!"
"Oh, that's right. In the middle of a fight, you tossed it to a warrior who felt honor bound to protect my life at all cost, something you might have heard in the two months you'd lived in the same village as her. Not that I can ask anyone from there. But, you know that, don't you? You were there when they died."
"It's not like I had a choice. Cora—"
"A choice? I would have died before betraying one soul to Cora. You couldn't do that for a hundred."
"She'd have killed them, anyway! What difference would it have made?"
"What difference would it have made? You'll never know, will you? You'll never know if you could have saved any of them. If nothing else, when they saw their husbands and wives and children slaughtered, they wouldn't have died knowing it was because they risked their lives to trust you, to protect you, you—you coward!"
"I'm no coward, princess. Cut me down, and I'll show you."
Aurora pulled out a knife. It had a golden hilt and a white, steel blade that glittered in the moonlight. "Oh, you want me to cut you down?"
"Gently." The older woman caught Aurora by the arm. "We discussed this."
Right, don't try to smooth talk the princess. Killian turned his attention to the older woman. "Thank you, madam. I, uh, may have had some misunderstandings with the princess here, problems I am anxious to set right. If you would just give me a chance to prove my sincerity? And cut me down? I assure you—"
She laughed. It was a deeper sound than he would have expected from such an old woman, smoother and richer than he would have expected. "Handsome but quite brainless. Such a pity. My sister was the princess' godmother—her fairy godmother. Do you have any idea who I am?"
"Your . . . what are you talking about? All the fairies went in the hat."
"Not all of them. Two escaped." She carried a large purse slung over her shoulder. Reaching in, she pulled out an egg shaped paperweight with a small figure inside. "This is Sister Astrid, as she's known in this world. Unfortunately, Reul Ghorm is the only one who can undo this spell, and she's in the hat. But, there's one other fairy, a fallen one. But, we're in no position to be picky, are we? And I can get her out with your help, Captain."
"Oh?" Killian eyed the paperweight uncertainly. "Er, always glad to be of assistance. And, after I've helped you?"
The woman shrugged. "Nothing. I won't leave you tied up, if that's what you mean. Don't worry. This won't harm you, though it may inconvenience you for a while."
"Inconvenience me? How do you mean?"
But, the woman ignored him. "Princess, the knife, please?" She held out her hand. Aurora took her knife and pricked the old woman's finger, letting a drop of blood fall onto the paperweight. A faint, rose light began to build inside it.
The old woman examined the results and nodded. "Good. Your turn." Aurora looked at the woman, searching her face for . . . something. Killian didn't know what.
The old woman, however, seemed to understand it. "It's . . . all right," she said. It took her some effort to get the words out. "If—if you don't want to do this, I—I won't make you."
"Is it safe?" Aurora asked.
"I told you everything. It's safe. For you."
"You just told Jones it won't harm him."
"It's true. It won't harm him. Ask Reul Ghorm," the woman added bitterly. "She'll tell you how unharmed Astrid is. But, this won't do anything to you."
Aurora studied her a moment longer. Then, resolutely, she took out the knife and pricked her finger. "Just like old times," she said, letting the drop fall on the egg. The glow turned from rose to pink.
"All right," the woman said, turning her attention to Killian. "Your turn."
"I, uh, think I'd rather not."
"I'm sure you wouldn't."
"If you're a fairy, you're not supposed to harm the innocent."
"I'm amused you consider yourself innocent. But, I'm not that kind of fairy. My name's Maleficent. Perhaps you've heard of me?" She grabbed Killian's handless arm and pulled it down, pushing up the sleeves of his coat and shirt, exposing the skin. "Now," she told Aurora.
Aurora nodded and drew the knife over Killian's arm, letting the blood come out and fell on the egg. It blazed, red and bright, like a ship burning at sea, Killian thought.
And, then, he knew nothing.
X
Aurora was still blinking, trying clear the spots from her eyes, when Maleficent shoved the egg into her hand, reaching down to help the young woman crouched on the ground to her feet.
"Astrid?" Maleficent asked. "You are Astrid, aren't you? Are you all right?"
"I—yes, I'm Astrid. Where am I? What am I doing here?"
Maleficent explained, fussing over the younger fairy, needing to be assured over and over again that she was all right. There was something in her face, something that reminded Aurora of herself when she held little Philip.
Oh, no. That wasn't possible.
Was it?
Maleficent had told her Astrid was half-human, a rarity among fairies. "Rarer than a dwarf falling in love," she'd said. That was why Reul Ghorm had left Astrid behind while the other fairies looked for a way to stop Ingrid's curse, her magic was too unpredictable. That was why she'd needed Aurora's blood after she'd laid the rest of the spell in place on the egg. "If she were pure fairy, mine would be enough," Maleficent said. "But, she's not. That's why I need yours."
It had sounded like only half the tale, but Aurora had agreed. Now, she thought she had the rest of it.
"Belle Gold believes she can free the fairies if she has Astrid," Maleficent said. "She couldn't do it with me—part of the price of losing my wings—but Astrid will be good enough." She'd grimaced. "Unfortunately, that means she'll be undoing my work soon enough. Unless you'd like a new paperweight?"
Aurora looked down at the glass in her hand, finally able to make out the details. Instead of a woman, there was a man inside, a man with only one hand.
X
Later, they were lying together in bed. Rumplestiltskin had been willing to take the guest room, but Belle had wanted him here. Much as he wanted to take her in his arms and try to make her forget all the pain that lay between them, he knew that wasn't the answer. After Keith and everything else, he knew Belle felt safer not being alone, that was all. Besides, she was too tired. She'd been asleep before her head hit the pillow.
He held her close, willing her to feel safe and secure. They were trying. Today. Tomorrow. The day after that. They would keep trying, rebuilding what they'd had, making what they wanted.
He wanted to say something profound, about fighting for her or being brave, maybe about making the right decision. He thought of the Charmings' little mantra, how they would always find each other, but he was hoping desperately not to develop the same habit those two had of always misplacing each other.
In the end, he leaned over, his lips brushing against her temple. "I love you," he said. "No matter what, I will always love you."
Not profound, not deep, certainly not something that would be quoted in one of Belle's favorite books. But, it was the truth, bedrock and solid.