Belle hummed to herself, stirring the pot on the stove. The meatballs bobbed amongst the thick, peppery tomato sauce, bubbling pleasantly over the flames. She smiled, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot. Fuck, she was talented.

Seriously, though, she told herself as she carried the table settings to the dining room. I am one classy bitch. I mean, I'm smart…beautiful…nice as fuck, and I make the best goddamn meatballs in town. I love being me.

"Belle?" Rumple's voice called out musically. "Belle, where are you?"

"Dining room," she answered, not looking up from her task of trying to identify salad forks from regular forks (they literally looked exactly the same…unless she'd just grabbed a shit ton of salad forks. Or regular forks. Oh, who the fuck cared!)

Rumple strode into the dining room, fixing one of the buttons on his vest. "So, what's our angle for this dinner?" he asked. "Are we going for trying-to-impress-you-with-how-goddamn-classy-we-are, or casually-rich-and-loving-it?"

"We're going for, Rumple-is-pretentious-enough-to-wear-a-suit-every-day-so-we-might-as-well-get-fancy," Belle responded swiftly, moving onto plates.

Rumple pouted. "I thought you liked my suits," he said, nudging her.

"I never said I didn't," Belle said. "Doesn't mean it isn't pretentious. But it's okay, Rumple—you're rich. You can afford to be pretentious."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "I don't think there's a charge for being pretentious," he remarked. "If there was, Regina wouldn't be able to afford that big fancy house or that forest hobo she's harboring there."

"Not a fan of Robin, I take it?" Belle asked.

"He's an idiot," Rumple grimaced. "You know how I feel about idiots."

"I know how you feel about idiots," she sighed.

"Speaking of, how's your bestie?" Rumple asked with a snarky smile. "Still miserable, I hope? Perhaps threatening suicide?"

"Don't know, haven't talked to him," Belle shrugged. "Why?"

"I just know he had his session with Archie today," Rumple said. "I was hoping it was devastating."

"Well, I didn't hear anything about it," Belle said.

"I should call Neal," Rumple mused. "Hook will have told him every gory detail…and I want them all." He nodded slowly to himself. "I should call Neal."

"Invite him over," Belle suggested, turning around to go back to the kitchen. "We never have any family dinners with him, it'd be nice to have one."

"It would, wouldn't it?" Rumple said, rubbing his chin. "All right, yeah. I'll give him a call, guilt him into coming over—"

"Don't guilt him."

"That's the only thing that works on him. I have to." Rumple pulled out his phone, running his fingers over the keyboard. "I think I'll go for the 'never-see-you-since-you-got-a-girlfriend' schtick."

"Be nice!" Belle called after him. "Or he won't come!"

"I've got it handled…"

She listened as his footsteps walked slowly out of the room and scuffed down the hall. "Neal? Hey, how are you?…Good, good. Belle made meatballs, so if you want to come by…Oh, screw Emma, who needs—? Funny, Mr. Jones, very funny—get the hell away from the phone before I jinx you over the line…Neal, come on, I never see you anymore…Yes, I know I just saw you earlier, but that wasn't socially…"

Belle went back to her sauce, stirring dutifully. Sauce had to be monitored carefully, or it would burn. Just like David's had at the Christmas party because Snow didn't watch it. Well, Belle smiled smugly, I know better than to abandon my sauce on the stove. Then again, abandonment is probably the only thing David and Snow are good at—ooh, BURN! She chuckled at her own joke, then immediately felt horrible.

God, that was a terrible thing to say.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

I might be going to Hell, she thought with a frown. Actually—no, I'm fairly confident I'm going to Hell.

"…if I told you Henry was coming by?" Rumple was saying as he drifted back into the kitchen. "Yeah, I invited him over…Because I like spending time with him, and I like spending time with you…What are you so suspicious for? Am I allowed to care about my grandson? Is that allowed?…I'm not getting defensive—Hook, get away from the goddamn phone, I can hear you breathing! And that's not only obnoxious, it's depressing because it means you're still alive! Stupid bitch."

"Oi," Belle frowned.

Rumple lowered the phone with an apologetic smile. "Not you, sweetheart, I was talking about Hook."

"Oh. Well, that's okay, then." She started to turn around, but changed her mind halfway and stretched out her hand for the phone, motioning for him to pass it to her. "Let me talk to Neal a sec."

"What? No, I'm talking to him."

"Just let me talk."

Rumple sighed, but passed the phone over all the same. Belle plucked it out of his fingers and cradled it between her ear and shoulder, so she could multitask.

"Neal?"

"Belle?"

"Hey," she said. "What's up?"

"Uh…nothing, really. Dad just called me, and he started saying something about meatballs, but he kinda lost his thread, so…"

"He was supposed to invite you over for dinner," Belle said. "I made a lot of food, and Henry's coming over, and I thought it would be nice if we did a family thing. You know, me, Rumple, you, Henry. I suppose I could ask Regina, too, but I don't know what pregnant chicks eat."

"Think they just eat normal food."

"Yeah, I guess…meh, I don't really want to have Regina over, though. She's too intense, it disrupts my aura. Anyway—" Belle cleared her throat—"you should drop by."

"I don't know…"

"I'll make Rumple behave," Belle promised. "Besides, you got better plans?"

"No, but I got Hook here, and he's really…You know what, screw it. I'll come over."

"Neal," she heard Hook admonish in the background. "You can't leave me alone, I'm desolate."

"Let me talk to him," Belle said swiftly, hearing Neal exhale in exasperation. "I'll shut him up."

There was a mumbling over the line, a few scuffling sounds, someone breathing right into the mouthpiece; then, Hook's voice: "Hello?"

"Stop bitching and let Neal come over," Belle said directly.

"I want to come, too, then," Hook countered. "You don't know the hell I've been through today. I need my best mate, you are not taking him from me."

"Look— I've already got the father and the son coming over, so I'd really like the set. So if you could find it in your heart to stop your incessant neediness for just one evening, I'd appreciate it."

"Do you want to know what I've been through today?"

"Frankly, no."

"Well, then, you'll just have to trust me that I need Neal. So it's either both of us, or neither of us."

"Meet me halfway—I pick one of you. Spoilers—it's Neal. Tell him to be here by six."

Emma twisted the handle and shouldered open the door to Neal's apartment, balancing the bag of groceries on her hip.

"Hey," she called out, tossing the keys on the table and setting the bag down. "I saw you guys were down to your last jar of olives, so I stopped by the store and got you some—"

"Neal's not here."

Emma turned around, frowning at a very morose-looking Hook. "What do you mean, he's not here?" she said, slapping his hand away as he tried to peek in the bag. "Where is he?"

"Having dinner with his dad," Hook said flatly. "I was not invited."

"Well, when is he coming back?"

"Presumably after dinner."

"And how long is that going to be?"

"I'm not Neal's personal secretary," Hook said through clenched teeth. "I don't know. But I'm sure, you and I—should you make the unsavory decision to stay—will have the place to ourselves for several hours."

"Ugh." Emma curled her lip, turning away. Fucking great. That's all she wanted, was an evening alone with Mr.-Third-Wheel.

Hook tore the paper bag open with his hook, ignoring her exasperated protests, and started picking things up to examine them. "You can leave, you know," he said.

"I know," Emma said witheringly. Technically, she could. Except Henry was over at Belle's, and now, apparently, so was Neal; and that left her with the options of Hook (ugh) and dinner with her parents (double ugh, because there was two of them). God help her, but Hook was actually the better option, in terms of the ugh factor. Mathematically, anyway.

"I'll stay a while," she muttered grudgingly, pulling her coat off.

"I beg your pardon?" Hook said disdainfully.

"I'll stay a while," she repeated. "Wait for Neal, watch your T.V… whatever."

"No!" Hook said, slamming his hand on the table. "I'd rather be alone with my angst this evening, thanks very much!"

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Let me guess— you got Ruby coming over for your weekly make-up sex?"

"Actually, no," Hook said coldly. "I am currently dealing with some personal conflicts, several of which disturb my relationship with fair Ruby, so sadly, I will not be—"

"Doing disturbing things to her, okay. Good for Ruby." Emma brushed past him on her way to the couch (none too gently, for good measure). Hook followed her, looking rather indignant.

"You're not even going to ask me about my personal conflicts?" he demanded.

"I don't really care about your personal conflicts," Emma shrugged, swiping the remote off the side table.

Hook dropped onto the couch beside her, frowning. "I always listen to your personal conflicts."

"You are my personal conflict," she said immediately. "See—I'm conflicted over whether I want to slowly poison you and get away with murder, or put an axe through your head and take pride in it."

"Wow. That got dark, fast."

"Fast?" Emma sucked in a breath. "No, that's been simmering for a while, my friend."

"You've been plotting my murder for a while?" Hook said, raising an eyebrow. "How long?"

"Long enough," she winked.

Hook looked at her for a long time; then closed his eyes, exhaling. "God, I hate you."

"Aww…." Emma smiled. "I hate you, too."

"No, seriously. I hate you."

"Seriously. I hate you, too."

"I don't even know why. I mean, we used to be friends, right? We used to get along."

"Ish."

"But I see your face now, and I just…" Hook made a vague throttling gesture with his hand. "I'm just filled with hate."

"Got it."

"It's almost sad. I'm sure it would be a lot sadder if I didn't hate you so much that I don't miss being friends with you, but it's sad."

"Why are you still talking about this?" Emma said, starting to get a little fed up with him.

"It's been an emotional day for me, I went to therapy. My brain's still working on self-reflection mode," he explained, gesturing vaguely to his head.

"It must be exhausted."

"Ha. Fucking. Ha." Hook glared at the throw pillow next to him, needling his hook into the small hole in the corner. "You realize, everything fell to shit between us once you started dating Neal."

Emma narrowed her eyes, drawing back as far as the couch would allow. "What are you implying?" she asked, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer. So help me God, if he's going to start drudging up that "Choose me, Emma" bullshit again—

"I'm implying, that you hog Neal." Hook twisted his head, directing his glare at her now. "Just because you're his girlfriend now, doesn't mean you get to have him. He's my best mate, and you take up all his time with all your couple-y bullshit, and I never get more than an hour with him at a time."

"Oh, Neal," Emma exhaled in relief. "Okay…"

"Of course, Neal," Hook scoffed. "What, did you think this was about you again? Typical. You are so self-centered."

"Hey," she said, rather stung. "You're the one who followed me around for two years, it wasn't that far a leap."

Hook snorted derisively. "Oh, that…"

"Yes, that."

"Well, I shouldn't wonder if that was about Neal, too."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Okay, we all know how much you love Neal—"

"I do. He's the actual best." Hook looked around the apartment, smiling fondly. "He often jokes about how irritating I am and how tempted he is to smother me in my sleep, but that's how best mates talk to each other. We say the most horrible things…out of love."

"I'm sure you two trade the cutest death threats, but I'm fairly confident that two-years-ago was about me," Emma said reasonably. "I mean, you were fighting over me. You guys made speeches and everything."

"Here's the thing, though, love: I makes speeches about everything. I once delivered a twenty-minute epic poem dedicated to Ruby's ankles."

"Her ankles?" Emma shook her head bewilderedly. "What are you,, like, an ankle-guy?"

"No, she's just got really pretty ankles. Delicate, you know?"

"Ah."

"Exquisite. Graceful. Lovely."

"Oh, God, you're not reciting the poem, are you?"

"I can, if you—"

"NO."

"Then stop distracting me!" he huffed. "I keep losing my thread! I've got a shit attention span as it is, and with you introducing all these conversational tangents, I'm never going to get my point across! "

"Then shut up about Ruby's ankles, and fucking get to it!" she retorted. "Jesus…"

"My point is, I had a little visit with Archie today," Hook said primly. "Needless to say—but I'll say it, regardless—it was emotionally devastating and I learned some things about myself. I'll spare you the intimate details because I hate to see what kind of emotional destruction you'd try to rain down on me with that information in your hands, but basically, I have a very specific profile when it comes to love. And you don't fit, darling."

He seemed to think this was more than enough explanation: he folded his arms in satisfaction, smirking at her. Emma frowned, feeling rather confused.

"Okay," she said slowly. "But that doesn't mean—"

"No, no, no, it makes sense," he insisted. "Think about it: before the whole Neverland fiasco, did I act remotely in love with you?"

"You made a lot of suggestive remarks."

"You're right. I did. I also made a lot of suggestive remarks to Mulan, an obvious lesbian. And Aurora, who I also thought was a lesbian. And Snow, who was a straight-up bitch. Hell, I made suggestive remarks to David, and I'm not even into guys. Not usually. I'm bi-curious, I guess. I've done some experimentation—"

"You're drifting again," Emma cut through.

"—but like I was saying, suggestive remarks and love are hardly the same thing. You know when I started singing a different tune? Right around the same time that I learned that Neal was Baelfire. Funny, isn't it, how you got a million time more interesting after I found out you were closely connected to him?"

Emma tilted her head, thinking it over. Now that he mentioned it…

She had known that Hook and Neal had a past that existed long before her. She had known that Hook had cared very deeply for Neal and felt protective of him. She had known that they had parted on devastatingly bad terms, and Hook had carried it with him…

…And somehow, it had never occurred to her that Neal had anything to do with Hook's spontaneous explosion of feelings for her. She'd never once questioned that she was simply that desirable.

Shit, she really was self-centered, wasn't she?

"But you hit on me all the time," she argued, rather reluctant to admit to her ego. "And you made so many speeches about love and—"

"If you were at all interested in my personal conflicts," Hook interrupted, "at this point, you would understand how pathetically desperate for love and attention I am. And desperation clouds the mind…confuses things…And I refuse to be judged by Neverland," he added, suddenly. "I was upset. I thought Neal was dead, and I'd lost all my chances to make up with him, and to be fair, Emma, you're still one hot little mamacita. So I made some bad decisions, as I am wont to do, and that's all I want to hear about it."

Emma closed her mouth, having opened it in preparation to bring up exactly what he had just said. It was becoming more and more possible that…this love triangle hadn't been about her.

"So, you're saying…you got close to me…because I was the closest thing you had to Neal?"

"It seems far more likely than the alternative, doesn't it?" Hook smirked. "I mean, to give it to you straight, Swan, most of the time I can't fucking stand you."

"Wow. Don't hold back or anything."

"It's true. Neal is the glue that holds this little trio together, and when he's not here, things fall apart. He's the mutual friend, you know?"

"He's more than just my friend," Emma snorted. "I mean, I don't know what kind of relationship you have with your friends, but I'd say we're a lot more than just friends."

"You slut."

"You're a slut."

"I am, but you're a slut, too."

"Fine. We're both sluts."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine." Hook shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know what Neal sees in us."

"I don't know what he sees in you, but we've kinda got this always-going-to-love-you thing going, so…" Emma clicked her teeth. "That's probably what he sees in me."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Hook said nastily.

"No, there's not," Emma said, gleaming meaningfully at him. "No. There's. Not."

"I loathe you, Swan."

"Back at you, buddy."

Belle beamed around the table at three generations of 'Stiltskin men (was she allowed to call them "her boys"?): Rumple, Neal, and Henry. It was funny, seeing the similarities between them they didn't even seem to realize they had: Neal and Henry had the same expressions, flickering between bored disdain and silent satisfaction in being the coolest ones in the room; and then, Neal and Rumple had the same crooked smile, the one that flitted across their faces briefly, as if at an inside joke. Henry and Rumple…well, there was something there. They kept glancing over at each other, as if they were in on some secret that no one else in the entire universe was privy to.

"So," Belle said, picking up her fork. "You boys are awfully quiet. What's new? What's interesting?" She took a bite of pasta, raising her eyebrows expectantly. "Henry? How's school?"

"A major pain in my ass," Henry said flatly, pushing half a meatball around his plate. "I literally want to murder my entire class."

"That's my boy," Rumple beamed, ignoring Neal's exasperated, "Dad, really?"

"Why do you want to murder your entire class, Henry?" Belle continued politely, twirling another forkful of pasta.

"Because it's high school," Henry scoffed. "I hate everybody."

"Oh, Neal, he sounds like you!" Rumple laughed, and leaned across the table to explain to Belle. "When he was Henry's age, he used to come home every day, muttering about how much he hated all the other children in the village—"

"No, Dad, I used to talk about how they all hated me because you went around turning people into slugs and stepping on them," Neal said tensely. "Having the Dark One for a father didn't exactly win me a lot of popularity contests."

"No, it didn't," Rumple agreed. "You know what won you those contests?" He pointed at him, and waggled his finger. "Your charisma. You're very charismatic, Neal. You get it from me."

Neal immediately looked at Belle, his expression clearly saying, You better say something before I punch him. Belle forced a smile and cleared her throat, clattering her fork against her plate with unnecessary vigor.

"So, what else is going on?" she said. "Rumple, any interesting customers today?"

"Not really. Bumped into that Lily woman, on my way out from the drugstore," Rumple said, fishing through his food. "Well—more like, I was assaulted by her. She comes up out of nowhere, starts asking me all these questions about Henry and magic—I told her, I says, 'Sorry, dearie, but that's strictly confidential.' And she goes, 'Well, you promised me I would get my mother back.' And I told her, we're working on it, necromancy is very complicated, blah blah blah…She was very rude, about the whole thing. I didn't care for her demeanor at all. And then—" Rumple shifted in his seat, looking around the table conspiratorially—"and then, she starts asking me questions about Emma. Asks me, how serious things are between you two," he added to Neal, whose frown was growing steadily deeper. "And I says, 'Oh, they're moving in together'. And she says, 'Oh, really, I thought he moved in with that other guy, I thought something might have happened'. And I says, 'No, that's just the village idiot, he's homeless'. And she's like, 'Well, why is your son living with the village idiot?' And I says—"

"Is there an end to this story?" Neal asked the ceiling.

"She was the one asking all the questions!" Rumple objected. "I don't even know this woman, and she starts asking me all these things—"

"She and Emma met when they were kids, running from their social workers or whatever, I don't know," Neal said, waving his hand irritably. "They spent a total of seventy-two hours together, but Lily's convinced they had this epic romance, so… Of course, she hates me."

Rumple sputtered indignantly. "She hates you? Who could hate you? Everybody loves you! It's absurd, Neal! Absolutely absurd!"

"Dad—it's possible that there are people in the world who don't like me—"

"But how? You're so charismatic! Why would she hate you?"

"Because I'm dating Emma, and she's not. It's okay, though," Neal said, seeing Rumple's outraged expression. "It's a mutual hated between us. And Emma tries to avoid her, so I don't even have to see her that much."

"Speaking of Emma," Belle said quickly, before Rumple could push the subject any further. "How's the apartment situation? You at least get Henry's room set up yet?"

Neal cast a sideways look at Henry, who rolled his eyes. "We're still working on getting Hook to un-invite himself," he said. "I want to make sure I get some rent money out of him before I kick him out, but he's broke, so…" He flopped his hand. "I don't know. Maybe I'll make him my indentured servant or something."

Rumple and Henry exchanged smirks; and judging from Neal's weary expression, he didn't really want to discuss Hook anymore. That was fine, Belle reflected. They discussed Hook enough as it was.

"Okay, Henry, your turn again," she said, going back to her pasta. "You have any plans for this weekend? Anything fun going on?"

"Just resurrecting Regina's crazy bitch of a mother," Henry said casually. "Maybe catch a movie with Violet, later on."

"Henry," Rumple scolded over Neal's and Belle's choking. "What, you want to put it into the town newsletter, too? Jesus Christ…"

"They're going to find out anyway," Henry shrugged. "It's not like we were going to keep it a secret, it's already public knowledge."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to just throw that at us," Belle said, still coughing. "Goddamn it, Henry…"

"I thought—" Neal coughed again, pounding on his chest—"I thought you guys were still stuck on that whole…magic-thing-whatever with the well."

"Nope, I think I got it figured out," Rumple said shortly. "It's just a matter of gathering the ingredients."

"Ingredients?" Belle repeated. "Like what?"

Henry dropped his eyes to his plate, mumbling something about "nothing, don't worry about it"; Rumple's eyes flickered to Neal before he answered, "Oh, just a few trinkets, nothing to worry about, dear."

"I'm curious. Humor me." Belle set down her fork, and propped her chin up with one hand. "Tell me about it, Rumple."

"There's not much to tell," Rumple shrugged. "A portal is only as strong as the magic that surrounds it, so we just need something that can match the strength of the magic we're trying to pull through."

"It's like equilibrium," Henry said through half a mouthful. "You know, like chemistry? It's boring, you don't wanna—"

"I adore chemistry," she lied. "Neal, don't you just adore chemistry?"

"Chemistry's the bomb." Neal leaned back in his chair, regarding his son suspiciously. "Go on, Henry. Tell us more about the equilibrium."

"Why?" Henry frowned. "And why are you looking at me like that? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Because you're acting like you have. Or like you're planning to."

"And you guys are acting really shady about your ingredients," Belle added. "What ingredients? You better tell me, because now I'm starting to worry it's like…the bloodied carcass of an innocent bunny rabbit or something."

"What kind of magical strength would the bloodied carcass of an innocent bunny rabbit have?" Rumple asked, though he sounded more as if he was genuinely wondering how much he could fetch for the price of a dead bunny.

"Is there something going on?" Neal asked, moving his gaze between Henry and Rumple. "You're not going to, like, resurrect an army of zombies and take over the world, are you?"

"No," Henry said seriously. "That's next Thursday."

Rumple snorted into his fist, earning him reproving looks from Neal and Belle. "Oh, come on, you two, get a sense of humor," he said impatiently.

"Given your track record, I don't think we're being unreasonable," Neal said, narrowing his eyes. "And honestly, now I'm starting to get a little worried about the example you're setting for Henry."

"You should be more worried about the example he's setting for me," Rumple scoffed. "That kid is dark."

"Wow. Thanks, Grandpa. Thanks a lot," Henry said as Belle and Neal whipped their heads to stare at him. "Crazy old man…He doesn't know what he's saying," he said to the other two, forcing a smile. "He's confused, senile even. Don't listen to him."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Henry," Rumple said. "'Dark' is just a very judgmental term for 'imaginative'."

"No." Belle shook her head. "No, Rumple."

"Please don't tell the highly impressionable teenager that it's okay to be dark," Neal frowned. "He's going to start setting butterflies on fire and strangling little animals."

"No, I'm not," Henry said, just as Rumple laughed, "Well, even if he does, he can resurrect them right after!"

"Rumple!"

"Dad, really?"

"Grandpa, seriously, shut the fuck up."

" Why are you three being so uptight? God, can no one make a joke in this house?"

"Because you're going to turn my kid into a psychopath!" Neal said wildly.

"He's already a psychopath!" Rumple argued.

"I'm not a psychopath—"

"Oh, yes, you are!"

Neal threw his head in his hands, exhaling in frustration. "Belle, can I talk to you in the hall for a second?" he said through his teeth.

Belle swallowed. She didn't know why she felt so nervous, she didn't do anything wrong; but there was something very formidable about angry Neal. "Uh…yeah," she managed. "Yeah, let's—let's go."

She got up from the table, Neal following her after a minute, his feet shuffling closely behind her pointy heels as she lead the way to the hall. She turned around, making sure to position herself so that she could still keep an eye on Henry and Rumple. Neal glanced over his shoulder at the, as if by reflex, and turned back to her with raised eyebrows.

"Okay, so…I'm kinda getting freaked out," he said in a low voice. "Dad seems to be encouraging this side of Henry that, frankly, disturbs me. And all this magic stuff they're playing around with—"

"No, I know," Belle said. "Rumple's a little too eager to teach him. I mean, he says he's clean, but I don't know what goes on when they're together."

"Bad things, it seems," Neal grimaced. "I don't like the effect they're having on each other. An addict and a burgeoning psychopath…It's like the bromance from Hell."

"Mmm," Belle murmured in agreement. She tilted her head, considering Henry and Rumple as she watched them engage in a whispered debate, presumably over whatever magic they had planned for the portal. "Still, I've never seen them spend so much time together before."

"Great," Neal said shortly. "They're bonding. It's adorable. And when they start plotting world destruction together, we should make a scrapbook."

"Sarcasm is a great color on you, Neal. Really."

"I'm nervous!" he hissed. "I have to leave tomorrow, and I don't want to come home to the Dark One—" he flipped his hands mockingly—"with his sidekick, Voldemort Jr., ruling Storybrooke with an iron fist!"

"I'll watch him, okay?" Belle snapped. "I'll take care of it—you just go to New York and get your shit done!"

Neal looked unconvinced, shifting nervously on his feet and rolling his sleeves back. "I don't know. Maybe I should stay—maybe I should—"

"Go," Belle said firmly. "I will keep an eye on Rumple, and Henry… I don't know. I'll figure out something."

"Oh, gee, that's a comfort."

"Great fucking color on you. Really brings out your eyes."