A/N: References and dialogue from S1E19: The Return.

Chapter 35

"Your color's a bit better today, I think," Belle said, smiling.

Rumple finished his porridge—a food so far removed from the gruel he'd endured in captivity that he wondered that they were both made from oats—and set down the bowl on the table, then extended his hand to her. "There's a terrace off the solarium," he said. "Dr. Whale's been encouraging me to avail myself of it." He frowned. "I don't suppose you might find something a bit more suitable for me to wear?"

Belle hesitated. "I-I could do that," she said slowly. "I mean, I can't go into your house, I don't think; not if you've a protection spell about it, only…"

"You've been able to get inside the shop?" he asked. At her nod, he smiled. "I think you'll find a spare suit of clothes in the back room. I generally kept one there for emergencies." Antiques were often quite dusty, he reflected. And lanolin stained.

Belle smiled. "Yes, I think I've seen it hanging there, now you mention it." Her smile fell away then, as she went on, "but do you think it'll still look… right?"

For a moment, Rumple didn't understand her. Then, he felt his face grow warm as he realized that, thin as he was, he'd probably look a perfect scarecrow in it now. "Well," he murmured after a moment's pause, "I'm sure there must be something hanging there a bit more dignified than a cotton gown and a bathrobe."

Belle nodded, noting that Rumple hadn't mentioned using magic to alter the suit to fit properly. "I'll see what I can find," she said. "Uh… I guess it probably won't be your usual style."

Rumple snorted. "You might ask Regina about the garments I was wearing on my return here. For the last two years and then some, that was my usual style. I'm quite certain that whatever you bring will do quite well."

Belle nodded. "All right, then," she said. "I'll head to the shop after I leave here. And when I come back, perhaps we could go out on that terrace together."

"I must confess, I was hoping you'd suggest that," Rumple said, and though his expression was serious, there was more than a hint of a smile in his voice.

Regina found him alone in the solarium when she and Henry stopped by a bit later. "No offense, Rumple," she said tartly, after he'd explained that he was waiting for Belle to return with more suitable attire "but I've seen the clothes you keep back there. Not only are they not your style; I don't actually think they're anybody's."

"Yes, well, they were created by the curse," Rumple murmured. "And it would seem that the curse has a bit of a sense of humor."

"It must, if it provided bellbottoms and zoot suits," Regina deadpanned. "I may have recently made the switch to Light magic, but even so, I can appreciate the leverage potential obtainable from a single photograph."

"Mom…" Henry cautioned, and Regina sighed with mock disappointment.

"I suppose I'll forgo the temptation," she said. "Meanwhile…" A frown creased her face for a moment. There was a flash of light and several neatly-folded garments appeared on the chair beside her. "I know elastic isn't generally your style either," she said, shaking out a pair of dark slacks, "but under the circumstances…"

Rumple's eyebrows lifted. "Well, they're certainly a sight better than the scrubs I was offered earlier," he said, pleasantly surprised. And while a cable-knit sweater wasn't at all like the suit jackets and ties he'd been wont to wear both here and in the early twentieth century, it would, at least, grant him a measure more dignity than the clothing Regina had referenced previously.

"I thought you might see it that way," Regina nodded. "Well. I'll leave Henry with you while I have a chat with Dr. Whale."

"You're not ill, I trust?" Rumple asked.

Regina shook her head. "No, just curious as to the progress of the vaccination initiative. I shouldn't be too long." For a moment, Rumple thought that she was going to say something else, but then she seemed to catch herself, and rose from her chair with a quick smile.

Henry scooted closer, his phone already out of his pocket, and she smiled to see Rumple lean over to look at the screen, his expression one of unfeigned interest. She still wanted to know what had become of her sister. Truthfully, she rather thought she did know, but she still wanted confirmation. However, instinct told her that now wasn't the right time. Especially not when she'd just done him a favor. With anyone else, such an action might predispose the recipient to tell her what she wanted to know. With Rumple, he'd almost certainly see it as contriving to have him owe her a favor. And maybe it was, in a way. But that wasn't the main reason she'd done it, not this time.

In any event, she didn't need her questions answered today. Down the road, it would be another story.

She glanced back once over her shoulder as she made her way out of the solarium. Neither Henry nor Rumple looked up. She shook her head tolerantly. Then she went off to look for Dr. Whale.

Rumple realized that Henry had been waiting for him to make his move for well over five minutes. The lad had found an old Scrabble game on the shelf below the coffee table and they'd been trying the physical game for the last half hour or so. He mumbled an apology and placed his word, realizing too late that he'd left two triple letter squares wide open. Henry used both, and while one was wasted on a vowel, the other was under a Q.

"You okay?" Henry asked. "I mean, if you're tired, we don't have to finish."

"I'm not," Rumple assured him. "Forgive me. I… suppose my mind's been elsewhere."

Henry pushed the board away slightly. "We can always go back to playing the computer game," he said. "It sort of seems more okay to take longer between moves."

Rumple smiled. "It's an option," he allowed. "And I am sorry. I…" He hesitated. "You know, Henry, when I was back in the land of my birth, there was so much I wanted to change, so much I thought I could set right. But each time I thought about it, I also realized how many things only came to pass because I was trying to reach Bae. Without that incentive," he said, his eyes softening a bit, "events would have transpired rather… differently."

"You mean, there wouldn't have been a curse. O-or Storybrooke," Henry supplied.

Rumple nodded. "And there were many… lives that would have gone rather differently, had I not interfered in them. All so I could craft that curse." A faint smile curved his lips. "There was a moment, though, when I thought I really could have it all. That is to say, if I could convince my younger self, the… me from that earlier time not to make the mistake I knew I'd made, well then, there'd still be a way for subsequent events to mostly transpire as I knew they had. Well," he said softly, "most of those events, anyway…"

Rumple kept turning the pieces over in his head, but no matter how he tried to arrange them, the picture still came out the same. Bae wasn't happy in the village and he no longer felt safe. And Rumple was painfully aware that his son might truly not be, not with his younger self growing more irrational, seemingly by the day.

Had he been this volatile back then, back now? Or was his very presence here making his younger self worse? He was ready to keep away, even to leave the village for now, if it would help matters, but he didn't think it would.

"You're quiet," Talorc noted, punching down the dough.

Rumple made a noncommittal sound.

"Not that you're usually one to act the chatterbox," the vendor added gruffly. "But if there's something on your mind, I guess I've had enough coin from you these last months to hear you out."

A kind offer, Rumple reflected, but not one he was about to take up. And then, he saw another figure approaching.

Talorc saw her too. "Ah. And here comes someone even less talkative than you are. Hello, Honora," he greeted the newcomer. "I think you must know my granddaughter," he added, turning back to Rumple. "She's recently started working for your nephew, I believe. Not sure how much truck I take with the stories that are spreading but one thing I know for a fact is that he pays her a fair wage. Don't rightly know if my son could feed her on what's left of the farm if she didn't have that income."

Rumple managed a smile, as the girl cheerfully set a pail of soft cheese down on the counter.

Talorc moved over to inspect it. "You tell your mother I'll be by tomorrow to settle up for this," he said.

Honora shook her head, her hands making clear and comprehensible gestures, though her pleasant expression never faltered.

"I'll be by," Talorc repeated. "Gods, girl, I pay all my suppliers; I'm hardly about to make an exception for family."

Still shaking her head and grinning, Honora set a second pail down. Then she turned and hurried away.

"Off to your nephew, I suppose," Talorc rumbled. He tilted his head curiously. "Are you all right, Gilitrutt? You look a bit pale."

Rumple blinked. "Oh, I'm well enough, I suppose," he said. "Tell me, am I to understand that your son is a dairy farmer?"

"Well, it's my daughter-in-law doing most of the dairy farming now," Talorc said. "My Bentham does what he can, but the Ogre War… He's not the man he was when he set out for the front. But," the vendor said decisively, donning a pair of quilted mitts and taking a metal tray out of the brick oven behind him, "at least he returned alive." He smiled wearily at Rumple. "They just need a few minutes to cool," he added, "and then I'll wrap up your four."

"Yes, of course," Rumple said. "And if I wanted to purchase a bit of milk, have they a booth in the square?"

Talorc shook his head. "The renting of the spot, that's an expense they can't meet now. Mostly, they sell to other vendors who know to come by for it; Honora just brings me the cheese as a favor to family or I'd do the same. But if you were to head down the west road and take the second turning southward, five minutes walking that path and you'll find the farm. I shouldn't imagine they'd refuse your money."

Rumple murmured his thanks. He did his best to listen to the pie maker's conversation and nod in the right spots until the pastries had cooled. Then, with another expression of gratitude, he made his way down the road Talorc had indicated. And even though he knew that there was no real need for it, once past the village proper, he quickened his pace to a brisk trot.

Rumple had never spoken much with Bentham, but he knew him by sight. That would have been the case, even had they been living in a large town instead of a small village; half the man's face was a mass of scar tissue and one arm hung like a slab of useless meat. He'd taken an ogre's kick and lived, but the spiked sole of the creature's boot had disfigured his face and the blow had also shattered his collarbone. It had never healed right. It was less clear whether Bentham's mind was as it had been. His speech slurred a bit and he spoke slowly to make himself understood. He'd never been known for quick wits before going to the front and he tended to keep close to his farm now and avoid contact with his neighbors. Still, his wife Solara was, as Talorc had mentioned, quite capable of running things. And hopefully, Rumple reflected, capable of understanding the danger.

He took a breath as the farm gate came into view and made his way up the path.

Solara hailed him from the barn. "Good day to you," she called, hurrying toward him. She frowned. "Is that Rumpelstiltskin?"

Rumple smiled. "It's not the first time I've been mistaken for my nephew, goodwife. I'm called Gilitrutt."

"Master Gilitrutt," Solara nodded, and Rumple could tell that she was committing the name to memory. "My father-in-law speaks well of you, I recollect. And how might I assist you?"

Rumple hesitated for a moment. He didn't know whether today was the day that Honora would overhear something she oughtn't—that was, if she'd ever overheard it at all. But his younger self would believe she had, and he'd do what he thought he had to in order to keep her from revealing it.

He was still debating whether to interfere. He knew that Honora's death would be the final straw that would send Bae to seek out the Rhuel Ghorm. If he prevented that, would Bae remain until it was too late and the younger Rumple cut off all avenues of escape for his boy?

My younger self turns peddlers into snails and steps on them. If Honora isn't his next victim, someone else will be. It's only a matter of time.

He'd really taken things much too far in these days, Rumple reflected. Most of those excesses probably hadn't been necessary. Nearly three centuries later, everyone knew about the dagger and here he was still. Whatever Honora knew or didn't know, whoever she might tell or not tell, the secret was going to get out. He'd lasted this long. And the girl didn't have to die for having been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Your daughter," he said tightly. "Is there a way that you can get her out of the village for a while?"

Solara frowned. "And why would we want to do that?"

Rumple took another breath. "I presume you've heard the talk about my nephew."

"One of the advantages to living on the outskirts is that we hear less idle gossip," Solara remarked. "And for what I do hear, I tend to discount more than half of it."

"Well," Rumple said seriously, "I pray you'll heed this talk. For your daughter's sake…"

Convincing Solara took time. Time enough for her husband to come out of the house to find out what was keeping her, and for Rumple to deliver his warning again. Finally, though, Bentham spoke.

"Cohr's Aw-oh," he said, and it took Rumple a moment to translate.

"Cotter's Hollow," he repeated slowly. "You've family there?"

"My sister," Solara admitted reluctantly. "I still think this unnecessary. We… the farm hasn't had a profitable year in a long time, and even though the tax relief's welcome, we've had to sell off some of our stock, while the army requisitioned others. I'm told those will be returned to us eventually, but I'm not holding my breath. Honora's wages help a great deal and sending her away might well cost her her position."

"And keeping her where she is may cost her her life," Rumple said quietly. "My nephew…"

"Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't harm a mosquito that was feasting on him," Solara said.

"He would now," Rumple said, even as he felt a rush of warmth wash over him. How… why had he always assumed his fellow villagers believed the worst of him? More and more, he was coming to see that he could have reached out to most of them at any time and they would have clasped his hand in friendship. Could his pariah status truly have been only in his own head (and perhaps, Milah's taunts) all this time?

"Cotter's Hollow," Bentham slurred again, but Rumple understood him better this time. "A short visit." Really, if Rumple focused, it was fairly easy to make sense of his words. Bentham fixed him with his good eye. "You. Tell your nephew this. So if you're wrong, he knows this was your idea. My Honora, she's a good girl. A hard worker. You keep her job for her or you find her a better one."

Rumple smiled. "If she loses her position through my interference, I'll hire her myself for the same wage." His smile faded. "In fact, I think it would probably be a good idea if you all left tonight. A very good idea." At least, he reflected, he knew that his younger self would wait until the morning after he suspected Honora of overhearing about the dagger. He'd catch her at home before she left for work, while Solara was milking and Bentham… Truth be told, he didn't know where Bentham would be. Perhaps, in the barn as well, or in the bedroom—the farm had been built in more prosperous times and the farmhouse was no one-room hovel. At any rate, Rumple recollected, when he had decided to neutralize any threat the girl might have posed, he'd caught her alone. But if his younger self came tomorrow and found her gone, he'd want to know where. And he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

"Perhaps, I'm as… wary and suspicious as I'm accusing my nephew of being, but you haven't seen him these last weeks and I have. If he does come here and she's not about, I can't vouch for your safety, should you remain."

"Honora's given no indication that she's witnessed any such unpredictable temperament," Solara protested

"Would she, though?" Rumple asked. "I don't mean to offend, please, but I can't help noticing that in our conversation," he inclined his head toward Solara, "you've spoken far more than your husband has. It's been my experience that people who have difficulties with communication tend to initiate it only when absolutely necessary. And your husband," he nodded toward Bentham, "can get his point across rather more clearly than your daughter."

"We go," Bentham said, more clearly than anything else he'd articulated until now. "Ank u."

Rumple smiled sadly. "You are most welcome."

Solara sighed. "I'll have to ask the neighbors to see to the milking and trust they'll have it done by the time the first customers arrive." She reached for her shawl, hanging on a hook by the door. "I suppose one will be happy to sell it for us for a commission we'd rather not spare, but if we must..." Her voice trailed off and she smiled resignedly. "Perhaps you might help my husband pack a few things?"

Rumple nodded, glad for the opportunity to linger. He wouldn't feel relief until he saw Honora and her family safely gone from Pen Marmor. "I should be happy to."

Solara gave him a curt nod, donned the shawl, and hurried out the door.

Rumple turned to Bentham. "Have you carry bags or should we bundle your things in blankets and bedding?" he asked practically.

The younger Rumpelstiltskin ate his breakfast porridge and tried to ignore the silence of the teen seated across from him. Bae might have thawed somewhat since that night in the forest, and he certainly seemed more relaxed now than he had last night. Rumple shook his head ruefully at the optimism of youth. Bae seemed so certain that there was a way to free him from his power beyond the obvious fatal one. Rumple doubted it. The closest thing he knew of, after talking to the other voices in his head, was some sort of hat that could cleave him from the dagger so it could no longer command him. An intriguing thought; one he'd definitely need to explore one day, but thankfully, the artifact in question wouldn't remove his power, just the thing that could keep it—or, more to the point, him—in check. But something that could separate him from the power? He didn't believe that existed. He didn't mind if Bae tried to find it anyway; it gave the lad something to do besides chafe at his restrictions.

Perhaps, Rumple allowed, he could do something about those. He had an errand to run, one best taken care of privately. But while he was dealing with that bit of business, it would do no harm to let Bae have some fun with his friends. He'd be close by in case of any trouble, and after that business the other day with the peddler, he didn't really expect there to be trouble.

"What would you say to a bit of fresh air, son?" he asked.

Bae perked up at once. "You really mean it, Papa?"

"Well, so long as you're with your friends and not off by yourself, I think it should be fine." He smiled tolerantly. "Let's clear away the dishes; I'll wash, you dry. We can be on the road in half an hour."

Bae's answering smile was even bigger than it had been last night, when the two of them had struck their deal.

The farmhouse was deserted. Rumpelstiltskin looked about half-frantic, half-furious. The little minx had overheard. She was probably off selling his secret to the highest bidder! Or seeking out some hero-type to hunt him down or planning to drug his food tonight, so she could get the dagger off him, or…

He heard a tread behind him and a hearty voice called, "Solara? I'm here to settle for the cheese! Solara?"

He turned to see the open, honest face of the pie vendor from town. Talorc. Talorc… who was Honora's grandfather. "Where," he said slowly, "is she?"

Talorc's eyes widened. "Solara? I have no idea where she might be if not the barn, and I checked there." He frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Just paying a call," Rumple said, trying to sound calm. "Looking for your granddaughter. Where is she?"

The vendor shook his head. "I've not seen her since yesterday morning." Something about Rumple's expression made him flinch and he swallowed hard and added, "Dark One."

"And she didn't leave you a note?" Rumple asked sarcastically. "Nobody left word with you?"

"No…"

"No reason for such a hasty departure?"

Talorc swallowed again. "What are you asking me?"

Rumple's thoughts whirled and spun. It was just possible that the merchant didn't know anything about this after all. If only he could be sure!

Actually, Zoso's voice spoke in his head, there is one. His heart. Take that and, if you do it right, it will command him as surely as that dagger can command you.

Rumple blinked. How? he asked that inner voice. Show me.

Zoso did.

"Dark One?" Talorc asked uncertainly. Then he seemed to collect himself. "I-I'll make inquiries in the village," he said, backing away.

Rumple snapped out of his thoughts. "Not… so… fast," he rasped, crossing the distance between them in an instant. "I think you might know where they've gone!"

"No!" Talorc cried. "I swear—"

"Even if they didn't tell you, I bet you've still got an idea. Now you're going to tell me what it is or I'll make you tell me!"

"Please!"

If he did this right, Rumple thought, as he plunged his hand into Talorc's chest, he'd have all the answers he needed in a moment!

He didn't do it right.