He hadn't hit Moe hard. In truth, he'd been aiming more to disorient him than actually to knock him unconscious. But he was out just long enough for him to tie his hands together in front of his enormous belly. With the final knot, Moe French began to come around. He groaned and blinked his bleary eyes looking around to figure out where he was and what was going on when he realized his hands were tied and finally spotted him. His eyes widened in fear, and he felt pride swell up inside of him at the image. It did make him feel like his old self again. No! Better than his old self! Because this was what he'd always wanted to do to Belle's father after he'd heard the news, he'd always wanted to kill him, to make him afraid, to let him feel the same desperation his own daughter might have felt before she'd been compelled to take her own life. And he didn't need magic to do it…glorious.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Anger reared its head again, tearing through him like a dozen knives at those words. Those words…those exact fucking words. They made his chest constrict and tighten as he recalled a moment in time when he perhaps could have changed the course of history, could have spared Belle's life, and changed the outcome of all this.

So, what are you going to do to me? she'd asked.

Love you, if you'll forgive me…how he wished he'd replied with those words. Instead, he was here, leering over a fat old man, and doing the one thing he hated to do…wish.

He ripped a piece of duct tape from the roll he'd just purchased and placed it over the former King's mouth. "We're going on a little trip," he explained as he moved to the driver's seat. "And once we've arrived, we'll have a nice little chat. Unless, of course, you'd like to tell me where it is before we begin?" He glanced over his shoulder only to see Moe watching him with scared eyes. He neither nodded nor shook his head. Coward. "Didn't think so..."

It finally started to rain while they drove out of town. The once former King made muffled noises the entire way as if he was trying to speak with him, but it was useless with the tape over his mouth. He ignored the moans and groans of his cargo, kept his eyes on the road, and continued to drive to what he had already decided was "the perfect spot" for interrogation. It was a place away from others, a place deep in the woods, a place that Moe French could scream all he liked, but no one would hear him.

His false memories told him that this cabin had been in his family since his Aunt had bought the land. His family had meant to start some sort of vacationing business with it, but they kept one of the better cabins for personal use. He had "memories" of coming up to this place as a child, but the truth was that he'd never been here before. Though he knew the layout, knew all the furniture, knew what was inside every single drawer in the kitchen, he'd never stayed here. Mr. Gold wasn't one to take vacations or time off of any kind. He preferred to be working in town. And so, the cabin had gone unused all these years.

As he pulled into the long driveway for it, he smiled. It was good that he'd finally found a decent use for it.

He shut off the truck's engine and pulled his gun out once more to give it a check. Only then did he lower himself down to the ground and begin his stroll to the back of the van. He had a plan, a good plan. But part of knowing how to plan was assessing the riskiest parts of that plan. Getting Moe into the van had been risky. But getting him from the van to the house…that was riskier.

He was smaller than Moe and obviously less mobile. He could only imagine what it would be like if Moe decided to run into the woods. He'd be lost, obviously, or fall and injure himself, and there would be very little he could do from there on his own. He could call Dove, but he wanted to keep Dove and anyone else away from this situation. If he had to bring someone else in, it wouldn't end the way he wanted it to. He had a gun, if Moe decided to run, then he could shoot, but he didn't want the man dead. If he was dead, then his answers were gone. Maurice was a coward. At least that was his assessment of him in their land. Unwilling to do what was necessary until it was too late, unable to make difficult decisions, even unable to chase after his only daughter once she'd made the decision and the sacrifice for him. The monster hadn't even had the balls to send a soldier to do his dirty work. Maurice was a coward. For his sake, he hoped that Moe would be too.

At the back of the van, he pointed his gun at Moe. "Walk!" he shouted, trying to sound as angry and intimidating as possible. He couldn't shoot him, but he wanted him to think that if he tried anything stupid, he would. He watched as Moe edged himself out of the back of the truck, finally sliding to the ground with a weighted "thud." Then, gun pointed at his back, he ushered the large man to the door and pointed him inside.

"You see, here's the thing…" he explained as he let Moe French into the cabin, "I don't normally let people get away."

He slammed the door, letting Moe jump at the noise. Then he took a look around. He'd never been here in his life, not once in the twenty-eight years Storybrooke had existed…and the cabin smelled like it too. It was musty. The air was damp and stale all at once, in desperate need of a breeze and the smell of rain to clear it out. It was dusty too. Everything in his life was dusty. Odd how he'd never noticed that in his life. It would have driven Belle crazy. Now, the dust mocked him. It made her absence so much more palpable than it had been a few moments ago. And just like that, it was as if he could suddenly see the holes, the places in his life that she belonged but were left unfilled. The library across the street from the shop. The dust all around him. Anger and rage that built inside of him unchecked and unsoothed. Conversations he'd never get to have with anyone. Teacups that were unchipped, meaningless. One of those things he had hope he could fix.

He took the duct tape off of the man's mouth and sat him down on a low bench against the wall, one that would ensure he was always taller and capable of towering over him. Then, against every desire he had, he set the gun down. He had to. He wanted too much to kill the man responsible for the death of the best person he'd ever known, the greatest love he'd ever experienced. He wanted him to die just as she had…but he needed him alive. And looking around this place, seeing and feeling the places she was not, even here, he felt his temper stir. He was smart enough to know that if the gun were on him, it would be too tempting to use it if he frustrated him. For getting him to talk, his cane would do the trick. Annoying and cumbersome as it was, over the years, he'd come to find just how effective a tool it could be.

He grabbed a chair for himself and dragged it over to Mr. French as he whined. "Let me explain, okay? Let me explain."

Explain…explain what, exactly? Why he'd stolen items of value and taken one cup that was both worthless and priceless? Explain why he was alone? Explain why the daughter who had loved him, sacrificed her life for him, had been held against her will in a tower for that sacrifice. How she'd been tortured? How he'd stood by and watched that beautiful light inside of her dim to the point that she felt she had no other choice but to throw herself from the tower and jump to her death? He didn't want to hear it. There was no suitable or acceptable explanation for any of it.

"Oh. Well, that is…fascinating. Truly fascinating!" he exclaimed sarcastically. Then took his cane and pressed it into the man's throat.

Poor Moe gagged. He flinched away from it, brought his hands up to defend himself as best he could, but there wasn't much he could do against him. Not much, but listen and give him his answers. If he couldn't have Belle, he would have her cup back. It was all he had left of her. He'd be damned if he was going to take it away.

"I'm going to let you breathe in a second, and you're going to say two sentences. The first is going to tell me where it is. The second is going to tell me who told you to take it. Do you understand the rules?"

Moe didn't respond. Of course, that could have had something to do with the fact that his cane was pressing down on his windpipe. In that case, he'd take his lack of a response as a response.

"Good. Let's begin."

He pulled the cane from his throat, and Moe French eased, gasping in breath after breath of air. He leaned forward and waited. Two sentences. He hadn't been joking. All he needed to hear were those two sentences, and he'd be content. He'd let the man go, or at least that was what he told himself he'd do. He didn't fear persecution from him! Moe French had just as much of a spine as King Maurice had. He just needed to know where Belle's cup was and if it had been Regina who suggested he take it!

Finally, Moe opened his mouth. "I needed that van..."

"Ah-h-h-h!" he interrupted as anger and excitement mingled inside of him, and he took hold of the cane at the bottom, turning it into an altogether different object. In his pocket he felt his phone vibrate, there was a phone call coming in, but he couldn't be bothered to answer because he was in the middle of something. He didn't know how much he'd wanted Moe French to defy him until just that moment. Now that he had, there were a few lessons he'd been dying to teach him.

"Now, you see, that is not a good first sentence!" he cried before bringing the head of the cane down on him.

Lesson one: pain.

"Ow! Gold! Listen!"

"Tell me where it is!"

Lesson two: reward sacrifice, don't kill it!

"Ow!" he screamed as he hit him again. "Stop!"

"Tell me where it is!"

Lesson three: respect.

"Ow! Stop! It wasn't my fault!"

A shiver ran through his body at those words. "'My fault'? What are you talking about, 'my fault'?"

Fault. He wanted to talk about fault?! Fantastic!

Lesson four: whose fault was it that he was alone? Whose fault was it that they were both alone? That he was the way he was? Whose fault was it that so many in Storybrooke would hold their loved ones close tomorrow night while all he held close was a damaged cup made of porcelain?!

His.

"You shut her out. You had her love, and you shut her out!"

Lesson five: good parenting!

French screamed again as he delivered the blow.

"She's gone. She's gone forever – she's not coming back. And it's your fault!"

Lesson six: kindness.

"Not mine!"

Lesson seven: acceptance!

"You are her father!

Lesson eight: personal property!

"Yours! It's yours!"

Lesson nine: strength.

Lesson ten…love.

He lost track of the number of times he hit him after that, completely forgot to remember what the lessons were supposed to be. The world faded away as he administered blow after blow after blow. He didn't know the words coming out of his mouth. He became numb to the ringing of his phone blended together with the yelps coming out of Maurice when he suddenly felt a hand close over his wrist.

Emma Swan.

"Stop!" she ordered.

He looked at Moe, and suddenly, an image surfaced in his mind, a picture of Belle smiling at him after she'd begged him not to kill Robin Hood, and he hadn't. Calm broke over him like a breeched damn at the memory, and the fire inside of him extinguished. He cooled as he remembered her face, remembered the feel of her when she'd thrown her arms around him and what she'd helped him to feel stirring inside the now empty place in his chest.

He stopped. Belle didn't give him a choice. Neither did the Swan.


This was a difficult chapter to write on several fronts. First of all, it's an incomplete scene. It's paired with flashes back to Rumple at the castle, basically going on his destruction-spree. There were a lot of gaps to fill in, and I had to figure out a way to write around what is basically "he hit Moe French a lot." Of course, this chapter offered the same difficulty that the chapter of Rumple back at the castle offered. I can't ever imagine being this angry or wanting to hurt someone to this degree. So I did my best to step into Rumple's shoes here. Ultimately, I felt like those lessons were great ways to solve both problems. I hope it was enough.

Thank you so much, Alarda, for reviewing the previous chapter. This is an important one so I'm nervous about what you'll have to say. I hope that it's decent enough and makes sense given the situation. Fingers crossed you like it. Just a quick little logistical thing, this weekend is a holiday weekend in the US of A, and I have some very awesome, very safe, socially distanced plans for the weekend holiday! So, I'll be back on Tuesday! Sorry to leave you here for a little bit, but if it makes you feel any better, part of my plans includes getting more of the 2B fiction written. All magic does come with a price. So, I will see you back here Tuesday, and until then, make good choices, don't drink and drive, buy low, sell high, and Peace and Happy Reading!