Chapter 14

Paul shrugged. "Well, our gear hasn't been touched," he said, sounding unperturbed. "Think we can bring it all back in one go?"

Lily tilted her head, her expression incredulous. "But the bed," she sputtered. "Without it, how are we going to…?"

"Chill your beans, luv," Paul said with infuriating calm. "It's not like we don't know who nicked it. We're gunning for her already; this just gives us some added incentive." He shrugged again. "Besides, it's not as though she can use it."

"Rumpelstiltskin," Lily found that it was easier to use that name if she wasn't saying it to its owner's face, "said that if they'd had more time, they might have been able to undo that part of the spell. If time's as wonky here as everyone's been saying…"

"Well, that's more than I know," Paul admitted, "but say you've the right of it and the Black Fairy can rig things so's I'm not the only one the magic works for. Still won't help her."

"You don't know much more about magic than I do," Lily countered. "How the hell are you so sure?" Her confusion shifted to irritation. "And why are you smiling?"

Paul was indeed smirking. "Simple, luv," he said. "The Black Fairy might have the bed, true. But the bed was never enchanted in the first place." He reached into his jacket pocket with a merry twinkle in his eye. "It's all in the knob."

"You brought it with you?" Lily exclaimed, starting to smile herself.

"If you have to ask me that, I can only surmise that you're like to leave your car keys in the ignition when you're off to the shops." He thrust the knob back into his pocket with a grin. "Come to think of it," he added thoughtfully, "my siblings and I—back before they convinced themselves that we'd dreamed it all up, I mean—sometimes wondered whether the knob would work if we were to screw it onto some other bedpost, but Charles's and mine didn't have posts; our headboards and footboards were just curved iron rails. And as for Carrie, well, she'd inherited a canopy bed from our cousin Phoebe. It'd've taken a ladder to get high enough to try and we didn't have one in our flat."

"I thought you said you sent the bed into the past?"

"Yes, in the end, but when Miss Price first put the spell on the knob, we had ourselves a few adventures to start. Then," he chuckled, "things went awry in a way we couldn't explain without mentioning magic—which Aunt Beatrice wouldn't have believed anyway—and she shipped us all home to London in disgrace. I packed the knob up before we left for the station and it went back with me. Then, two years later, Mum was trying to board us somewhere for the summer holidays and, by coincidence, Miss Price was looking to board a child or two for the summer. Really, it was all what you'd call serendipitous. She didn't know we'd be the ones to respond to her advertisement, but when we did, she naturally agreed to all three of us. And back we went, knob in hand, to find that she'd bought the bed it belonged to from out of Aunt Beatrice's estate sale—she'd passed on some months earlier, Aunt Beatrice, I mean. So, I had the knob and Miss Price had the bed and before the summer was out, we were off in Restoration London and things kind of went from there." He shrugged. "Anyway, when Miss Price put the spell to the knob, the bed wasn't anywhere near her. Well. I guess 'near's' relative; it was in the same village, but a few streets over. The bed's just a bed and always was." He let that sink in. "So, really, while this seems like it ought to be a problem, it's not. Either we'll beat the Black Fairy proper and be able to look for the bed at leisure or, we'll at least get your missing friends. Then if it means leading a merry chase with her and her minions in pursuit, at least they'll just be chasing us through her home and not this whole realm, till we find the bed."

"Assuming she hasn't stashed it somewhere else, you mean."

Paul rolled his eyes. "There you go, looking on the bright side again, luv. It's no wonder you haven't found a husband yet."

Lily made a rude gesture, but Paul only chuckled once more.

As prisons went, the Underworld wasn't such a terrible one, Hades reflected. Not when it was yours to rule over, at least. He ran it according to his whim, decorated it to his taste, and had countless subjects to cater to his every will. The only thing wrong with it, really, was that he couldn't leave.

Well, that and sending something from this realm to another posed something of a challenge.

Fortunately, though, it was one he could meet. While travel from this realm to another was difficult, it wasn't impossible. Zeus's power, vast though it was, hadn't sufficed to confine him here. All the same, a visit to Fiona's domain would not pass unnoticed and once she marked his presence, she wouldn't rest until she determined his business there. He wouldn't tip his hand so far. Not yet.

But while he himself couldn't travel to the Dark Realm, that didn't mean he couldn't send something in that direction. If the right means could be found. Hades made his way to the lower level of his palace, where he maintained a rather special collection.

Magical energy, he reflected, possessed a life all its own. And when an artifact of immense power was destroyed, that energy found its way here. He ignored the Author's quill, the enchanted wardrobe, and the forget-me-knot, stopping before a tattered, out-of-shape, and somewhat smoky-smelling black top hat. The lord of the Underworld smiled. He might not be able to travel to another realm, but he could touch it. And with the hat's help, he could use it to transport a most particular item.

When the time was ripe.

"It's really good you could join me up here, Belle," Fiona remarked pleasantly. "I think the fresh air is doing you a world of good."

Belle gave her captor an uneasy smile. "It's more the quiet," she corrected.

"Ooh, baby keeping you up, nights? I'm afraid that taking her away now will do you no kindness in the long run. Considering that your own little one is certain to demand the same level of attention," she went on with a little laugh.

Despite herself, Belle flinched. For all her mental pep talks about how tending Lyncoln was good practice, somehow, she'd pictured a quieter, sleepier baby. One like Neal Nolan, in fact. A good baby. After all, she was a good person; shouldn't she expect a—

Babies weren't 'good' or 'bad'. They just were.

What was 'good' anyway? Babies didn't cry out of spite; they cried out of distress. That wasn't a bad thing, for all it was frustrating and upsetting for the caregiver. But Snow and David were good people and Neal wasn't nearly as frustrating and upsetting as…

Belle had a sudden urge to slap herself. She had to stop thinking this way. A memory surfaced now, of one of the last times Snow had asked her to sit for Neal.

"He's due for his feeding at six and that'll probably take a bit under an hour. So, why don't you come by around seven-thirty; he should be sleeping by then. We should be home for ten. He might wake up a little before we get back, but just give him his bottle and, with any luck, we'll be in the door before he finishes…"

Snow scheduled her time around Neal's, Belle realized. Neal had never screamed and carried on while Belle looked after him because Snow always tried to arrange for Belle to come at a time when Neal would be asleep. Belle had never had to deal with his shrieking for a solid hour, but that didn't mean Snow didn't.

But Snow always looked like she was handling everything fine, just taking it all in stride. She was such a good person!

And me? I'm… still working on that.

Villains didn't get happy endings. Belle knew that. But while she wasn't a villain, she didn't think she was much of a hero either. And thinking back on all the things she'd done wrong over the years, she was hard-put to think that she was as close to being one as she'd supposed even a year ago.

And she had always felt an attraction to Darkness, fight it though she'd tried to.

Rumple had always said that 'Destiny was Destiny' and she'd never believed him. But maybe there was a reason why she'd been drawn to him. And why she'd let Anna fall. And why she'd selfishly kept her mother in harm's path while she'd run into the library to rescue a book she'd read so many times she could have rewritten it from memory.

Maybe there was a reason that things never came out right for her.

Maybe she'd been destined to be a villain all along.

Standing atop the curtain wall, consumed with worry, Belle didn't notice the triumphant smile that formed on her companion's lips.

'The box,' Killian found, was a squat metal cube, about four feet by four feet, situated close enough to the cook fires to keep him pressed to the opposite wall of it. He'd been in worse situations, but he'd had an adult's size and strength then.

He gritted his teeth. There was no point in railing about what couldn't be fixed. Instead, he had to devote his energies to what could be. His clothing, for example. Leather sleeves and trouser legs were rather ill-suited to being cuffed and rolled. He'd thought to ask Graydon about obtaining some tool—however blunt and crude it was likely to be—with which he could cut the hides. Meanwhile, he'd used some of the frayed threads from the worn blanket he'd been tossed the night before to try to tie the rolled-back cuffs to his limbs. His sleeves were holding, but being dragged to this cramped version of a brig had set his trousers trailing on the ground on the journey.

"Hey!" a voice whispered. "You okay in there?"

Killian brought his face to the narrow slot that was the box's sole source of light and air. "Marga?"

"Not so loud, clot," the girl retorted scornfully, still in a whisper. "Just making sure they haven't cooked you, yet."

Despite himself, Killian felt his blood run cold. "Is that why I'm here?" he asked, whispering now himself.

"Nah. They just want to take the fight out of you before they bring you to her."

"Her. The Black Fairy, you mean."

"Who else?" Marga retorted scornfully. "They only send off the ones as have magic. None of them've ever been back."

"I don't have magic," Killian said.

"You talked to the snake. And it bit the overseer what was lashing you; that's what they're saying. Anyway, it don't matter if you do or you don't. They think you do, so you're off to her." She blew a bit of air out her nostrils. "Guess your code won't help you none."

Killian smiled. "Oh, I wouldn't say that, love. That code has rules for battle in it, as well."

"You're going to fight the Black Fairy," Marga scoffed. "I think the heat's cooked your brains ahead of the rest of you."

"We'll see," he allowed. "So. Did you just come here to taunt me, or was there some other reason?"

"I work kitchen detail," the girl said. "Make this last; I might not be able to get you more." A water-skin slid through the slot in his prison wall. It was less than half-filled, Killian realized. Had it held more, it wouldn't have been thin enough to slip through. But it was water and, if it was tepid, it was still far better than nothing. He took two greedy gulps before he realized that he needed to make it last as long as he could.

"My thanks," he said.

"Thanks don't feed me or save me from lashes," Marga retorted.

"No," Killian agreed, coming to a decision. "But this might." He passed her the vial of dreamshade. "Be careful with it, love; it's deadly poison. But I doubt I'll be close enough to use it on the Black Fairy and if it should be found on my person, it'll surely be confiscated."

Marga took it gingerly. "How much do I…?"

"On a weapon, even the merest scratch means death. Perhaps in a moment. Perhaps in a day. Perhaps even a bit longer, but there's no cure to be found for it in this realm." He hesitated. "Sorry to say, I don't know its effectiveness if eaten or drunk."

"You keep it," Marga said grimly, passing it back. "The overseers make us taste the food before they eat it, so that's out. And if the taster can somehow avoid the poisoned bit, they don't all eat at once. Soon's the first group keels over, the second'll kill twenty of us for every one of them. Only reason they didn't do it when the snake bit Matcho is because they're twitchy about magic."

Killian shook his head. "I've no magic, love. I was as surprised as you when the serpent acted."

"Well, don't tell them," Marga retorted. "Long as they think you might've used it, they'll handle you more gentle-like." Her eyes widened. "I have to get back. I've spent too long here. Good-bye, clot. Maybe we'll meet again."

Killian gripped the water-skin fiercely. "And good luck to you, too, love," he murmured softly, even though he knew that she was already too far off to hear him.

"Gone," Regina repeated, her dismay plain on her face as she took in Paul and Lily's report.

Paul shrugged. "It'll save us walking back to the ship after we defeat her, now, won't it?" he said.

"It may not be the setback it appears to be at first blush," Zelena admitted. "This is the Black Fairy's domain. We were never going to take her by surprise. All she's done is ensure that we can't just grab our missing people and leave; we'll have to defeat her as well. And considering that she's taken my daughter," a vicious smile curved the witch's lips, "well, let's just say that if she wants a battle, she's getting one."

"There is a difference between knowing our plans and being able to prevent them," Rumple spoke up, his voice calm and deliberate. "Ideally, it would require careful planning—"

"It still does," Emma interrupted, sounding a bit surprised that he was suggesting it might not.

Rumple turned to her, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards as he clarified, "Casting the Dark Curse also required careful planning, but this time we shan't have two centuries to refine our strategy. We'll anticipate what's likely to await us as best we can and we'll take what precautions we must, but we will need to act—and sooner, rather than later." He shook his head and continued worriedly, "My mother's dream manipulation tactic… I don't like it. Belle is a good deal stronger than she knows, but that strength can be turned on us if she can be swayed to the Black Fairy's purpose. Under normal circumstances, I'd be less concerned; such indoctrination takes a great deal of time. Interfering in Belle's dreams will give her that time."

"Maybe," David said slowly, "but I can't help thinking that if I could reach through to Snow after she'd drunk that potion, when I barely knew her…" He paused, and it was plain to the others in the room that he was trying to find the right words. "Look, all I'm saying is that you called it: True Love is the most powerful magic there is. And right now? That's one thing the two of you share. The Black Fairy's going to lose. I know she is. No matter what she tries to pull, True Love will win."

Rumple thought he knew better. No matter how much the others might try to encourage him, they had no idea of the threat that they intended to face. But in that moment, the prince sounded so utterly convincing, that Rumple found himself nodding his head, his reservations temporarily vanquished. Then David broke eye contact and they all began trickling back. More to stem that trickle before it became a wave to engulf him, he said, "Perhaps, you're right."

And as he heard his own words pierce the quiet of the shop, he felt a stirring of the same stubborn hope that had spurred him on toward finding Bae, as the years dragged past and the prospect felt slim. Perhaps. Perhaps, he was.

"You know," Fiona said thoughtfully as the two stood atop the castle rampart, "I believe I know what my son saw in you."

Belle tensed and willed herself not to reply. Her captor was just waiting for her to take the bait and ask 'what'.

The fairy sighed, though whether it was from irritation or wistfulness was impossible for Belle to discern. "I think there's a part of him that keeps trying to reconnect with the destiny I cut him from."

Despite herself, Belle heard her own voice saying, "Sorry… what?" From out the corner of her eye, she saw that the fairy was smiling.

"Oh, yes. My son was born to be the savior."

Startled, Belle turned to face her captor directly. "Rumple," she repeated. "The savior?"

"Indeed. But the same prophecy that foretold his destiny also foretold his fate. My son was doomed to die in a battle against a great evil. To spare him such an end, I severed him from that which had been ordained. You see, Belle, it's easy to think of Darkness as a harsh master, but it's Light that demands self-sacrifice of its saviors. Noble, I'm sure. And often an act of love. It's just… well, it's not very pragmatic, now, is it?" She giggled slightly. "Darkness has always allowed for substitution. A… proxy, as it were. Quite a neat loophole, if you ask me. And if there were any loose ends left undone, well, one's free to tie them up instead of trusting to a successor to finish the task. Light is very good about giving second chances, but there's practically no end to the number of opportunities Darkness allows!"

"Light gives more than two chances," Belle protested.

"I'll concede that much," Fiona said at once, still beaming. "But for all that patience is a virtue, Light does tend to run dry of it, first. The Blue Fairy is practically Light's greatest champion, second only to its current Savior. And yet, how many times has she thrown up her hands and left an erring soul helplessly adrift?"

"Wait," Belle remembered. "Y-you took her heart. You can't blame her for—"

"Sparing her the anguish of vacillating back and forth before making the decision she knows she must? Well, perhaps not. But she's hardly the only Hero ever to turn her back on a supplicant pleading for help, is she?"

Belle felt her knees wobble as memory crashed in upon her. That night at the town line, she'd been so angry. So hurt. So betrayed. So…

"Please, Belle! I… I… I'll make it up to you. I… I… I've changed once before. I can do it again!"

No. No, she didn't want to remember this. But in her mind's eye, she saw Rumple cowering before her once again, and she heard her own voice, thick with pain and fury, flinging his plea back in his face. "You've never changed."

"Please!"

How many times had he begged her? How many times had she rebuffed him?

"No. It's too late. Once, I saw the man behind the beast. Now, there's only a beast. Rumpelstiltskin, I command you to leave Storybrooke."

He'd struggled. He'd fought like she'd wanted him to fight when she'd tried to break through to him in Zelena's cellar. Then, she'd thought that if he hadn't already been beaten down, if he'd loved her enough, if he'd believed hard enough… It hadn't been enough in the cellar and it wasn't enough at the town line. He'd still fought the compulsion as long as he could, pleading with her to change her mind, reminding her that he wouldn't be able to return, falling to his knees while she'd turned her back on him and on the last of his cries.

"Belle, please! I'm afraid! Belle! Belle! No! Belle! Belle! Please!"

Now, Belle closed her eyes and wrung her hands. Blue didn't have her heart. What was my excuse? Anger, betrayal, self-righteousness… All of that came from my heart. The 'good' heart Father and Mother constantly praised me for. She tried to remind herself of what had prompted her actions. She'd come across Rumple a split-second away from crushing Killian's heart, demonstrating clearly to Belle how wrong she'd been about the man she'd married. But… She'd had the dagger. She could have stopped him without banishing him. Her heart had gotten in the way. She blinked. No. No, that wasn't right. If her heart was the problem, then where did that leave Blue? And if it wasn't, then…

"C-could we go back inside, please?" she asked faintly. "I'm feeling a bit queasy."

Fiona laid a solicitous hand on her arm. "Of course, dear," she said with a concern Belle could see was genuine. "I think the breeze may be a bit stronger today. Let's get you back to your room; you need your rest."

Belle hadn't even noticed a breeze, but she nodded gratefully and let the fairy lead her back along the rampart to the doorway through which they'd first emerged from the castle into the humidity of the Dark Realm's mid-afternoon.

"All right," Regina said flatly, after Zelena bit her lip, turned, and headed back to the shop. "Do you want to tell me what's really on your mind now that my sister's gone?"

Robin heaved a sigh. "I'm not entirely sure I do," he admitted. "It's… Well, this whole…" he moved his hands apart, flailing them slightly as he groped for words, "this entire… situation is…"

"Complicated?" Regina supplied dryly. "Welcome to the club."

Robin didn't return her faint smile. "Complicated," he nodded. "Not to mention messy, deplorable, murky… I don't know what to do. I know my duty is to… What I mean to say is…" He sucked in his breath and exhaled. "I have a code, Regina. One I must live by."

"I'm well aware," Regina informed him tartly.

"Yes, but…" He took another breath. "It's not… helping me this time."

"Not the first time that's happened either."

"No," Robin shook his head. "No, when I thought Marian had come back… That was different. I knew what my code demanded of me then. I chose not to fulfill that demand—and I don't regret it," he added quickly, with a cautious smile. "But perhaps, I regret not regretting it. A little." He winced. "Not that I'm complaining about… us," he added hastily. "We both understood what we were doing then. Unlike, well, what happened between Zelena and me," he went on, shifting uncomfortably.

"I know," Regina said, dropping her snark and turning serious.

"I thought that for Lyncoln's sake, I could move on from there," he continued. "It's not as though the child's to blame for the circumstances of her conception. But…"

"But…?"

"My code reminds me that I have a duty to be a father to my daughter. But it also reminds me that I must do what's right for her. Initially, when first I took responsibility for Lyncoln, I perceived those two directives to be in harmony."

"They were," Regina said, eyes widening. "They are."

"Are they?" Robin asked. "Lyncoln is my daughter and I will always protect and provide for her. I had a hand in her conception and, no matter how I feel about those circumstances, she is still my child and I'll never deny her. But when Roland was born, I found that intertwined with my new responsibilities toward him was a thread of overwhelming… love. And with Lyncoln, try though I have, it's been duty alone. When Roland was born, I scarcely left his side for a week. It was only when Marian told me flatly that she needed some time alone with our son that I took it on myself to waylay a merchant caravan—and even then, I hurried back as swiftly as I could. With Lyncoln, I ensured that she was being looked after by a reliable caretaker, but I feel as though, in the short while that she was in my care, I spent more time trying to avoid my daughter than spend time with her. I care about her in much the same way as I would any infant. But I don't know that I love her."

Regina shook her head and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Not everyone bonds instantly. It can take time. And you were just barely getting to know her." She lowered her eyes for a moment. "Shortly after I got Henry, I almost gave him up. Okay, it was because I realized that his biological mother was probably going to be the one to break my curse, but I never would have looked into that if I hadn't been trying to find some reason why we weren't… connecting."

Robin's eyebrows shot up. "You knew his mother was…"

"Well, I took a potion to make myself forget or I never would have bonded with him. I'd have been too worried about the future."

"And in my case, I'm too… discomfited by the past. But I don't want to forget it; if I did, I'd be at a disadvantage if I were to find myself in similar circumstances again. In hindsight," Robin continued, "I suppose there were clues that Marian wasn't who she seemed. If I were to forget that I was duped once…"

"I understand."

"Meanwhile, I suppose I'm grappling with the notion that Lyncoln's best chance may not be with me. At least, I think I need to determine whether she's better off with a former outlaw who will protect and care for her, or a witch who will protect, care for, and love her."

Regina nodded sadly. "Well, since you're not asking for my advice, I won't give it. But I do understand your dilemma. And I'll support whichever decision you make." She paused for a beat. "So long as it isn't indecision. Children need stability. I have a feeling that Lyncoln will manage just fine with you, with my sister, or with some sort of shared custody arrangement. She won't do as well if she's constantly being fobbed off between the two of you without rhyme or reason, depending on whether you want to try living with her this month." She smiled again. "If you worked out something like what Emma and I have, where Henry alternates weeks between us, that would be very different."

Robin nodded quickly. "Of course, you're right." He took another breath. "Well. There's no point in making a firm decision now. First, we need to get her back. And then, I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"

"Yes. But it's not premature to consider your options, even if you can't commit to one quite yet. It's a great deal better than not thinking about them."

"I know."

Belle sat uncomfortably across the table from her mother-in-law. She was wearing the fusty gray dress again and, despite the cool air currents blowing through vents in the black-stone walls of the dining room, she was perspiring.

"You're not eating your cutlet," Fiona observed. "I trust it's not overcooked?"

Belle shook her head and took a bite, chewed and swallowed. "It's very good," she said with her best court smile. Truthfully, she barely tasted it. She was trying to remember the path she'd taken to get here, knowing that it might be handy, should she somehow find an opportunity to escape. She'd been kicking herself earlier when she'd realized that at no time since Fiona had taken her from her cell had Belle noted any guards. If the only thing keeping her confined was a locked door, then maybe she'd have a chance after all.

"You're not still upset over our earlier conversation?" Fiona asked, sounding somewhat distressed. "I hadn't realized the sore spot I'd hit until afterwards."

"After," Belle repeated. "You mean, you didn't…?"

Fiona laughed. "Oh, Belle. I don't know whether I'm flattered you think I'm all-seeing—or dismayed that you think I've nothing better to do than spend all my days observing you. Really, there are so many matters more deserving of my attention; matters that concern those who are of use to me or those who pose a threat. But really, you're just here to keep Rumple distracted. So long as I hold his heart—ready for the moment that he's ready to reclaim his Darkness and stand at my side—you're really almost incidental to my strategy. Almost," she added. "There's still the matter of my grandchild-to-be, of course. But otherwise? Well, you're a delightful dinner companion, Belle, but I'd hardly categorize you as any kind of threat." She laughed again and Belle lowered her eyes with a faint flush.

"Oh," she murmured. "I-I see." I see that, like so many others, you're underestimating me. I see that I might be able to use that to my advantage. I see that while you might not recognize me as a threat to you, the reverse does not hold true. And I see that rather than wait passively to be rescued or attempt to slip away and hope I can find a portal out of this realm, it may fall on me to stop your plans from succeeding!

Belle saw it all so clearly. All, that is to say, save for the quietly exultant smirk on her mother-in-law's face.