"Come on, ladies—put your back into it!" Rumple called out cheerfully, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. Belle exhaled through her teeth as Lily, Cruella, and Ursula shot them murderous glares.

"Do you have to antagonize them?" she muttered, folding her arms across her chest. "It's not like we were already off to a great start."

"I don't have to, I just enjoy it," Rumple shrugged; then turned to her, confused. "Are you not enjoying yourself?"

"Enjoying myself?" she repeated witheringly. "Are you high, Rumple? Why would I be enjoying myself?"

They were miles beneath the library, standing between the jagged stalagmites under the dim torchlight (Rumple had insisted on torches for "atmosphere"), watching as the three women painstakingly picked through the dust for Maleficent's ashes. Rumple had kept a running commentary for the two hours they'd been down there, in between the muttered conversation he'd been carrying with Belle concerning one recently-resurrected Cora Mills.

"Cruella!" Rumple barked suddenly. "You're slacking!"

"My bones are too fragile for this!" Cruella snapped, gesturing at her ridiculously skinny knees. "I was designed for propping up large furs and delicate champagne glasses, not hard labor!"

"What did I say about antagonizing them?" Belle said, rounding on him. "Jesus Christ, just leave them alone! You're just making it take longer than it needs to!"

Rumple spread his hands, as if surprised by her anger. "Why are you getting upset?"

"Because I don't want to be here!" Belle whisper-shouted.

"But why?" Rumple pressed. "I thought you'd've like to spend some time together. You know, I've been so busy, working with Henry lately—"

"Then take me for dinner or for a cup of coffee, not as a fifth wheel to your illegal resurrection party!" she said exasperatedly.

"Illegal?" he scoffed, ever the lawyer. "What laws am I breaking? What laws are there regarding resurrection?"

Belle pursed her lips. "I'm sure, there's some law—somewhere—regarding shady people scrounging for a cremated dragon under the library after hours."

"There's not," Rumple said flatly. "I practically memorized the town charter. What we're doing may be creepy, but it's not illegal."

"Creepy, but not illegal?" she echoed witheringly. "And you're still trying to defend this as 'date night'?"

Rumple gave her a pained look. "Sweetheart," he exhaled, the endearment making her cringe, "public appearances aren't exactly prudent right now. Cora always had a nasty jealous streak, and I'd hate to tempt that."

"You shouldn't be worried of tempting her jealous streak, Rumple," Belle said, narrowing her eyes. "I'm married to you, she's not."

"But she is the mother of one of my children, and in Cora's mind, that gives her plenty of reason to be jealous," Rumple pointed out. "Belle, I don't think you've fully grasped the degree of crazy this bitch is capable of: if she decides you're in her way, she won't hesitate to destroy you. You're as much here for your own protection as you are for—" he bent his head, giving a little bow—"yours truly."

"Well, maybe you could more efficiently 'protect me' by spending more time with Cora and your bastard daughter," Belle said with mock brightness, cocking her head. "That's why I wasn't invited to breakfast this morning, right? For my own protection?"

"I didn't know you wanted to come," Rumple shrugged. "It was more of a family affair, anyway—"

"Family affair?" Belle cried. "This whole goddamn town is one teeming cesspool of incest, and I don't count as your family?"

"That's not what I meant!" Rumple scrambled to explain. "Belle—"

"You know what, Rumple?" she cut in. "Not interested. I'm used to being second priority, when it comes to this magic bullshit, so you stay down here and Swiffer up the rest Maleficent's remains—and I'll get back to work. Ladies?" She turned to the bemused group of women staring at her, and flurried her hands in a mock salute. "Best of luck on your endeavors. I'm out."

"Belle, come on!" Rumple protested. "I really think you're making too much of this!"

"Thanks, I'll take that into consideration."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away from the group. Ignoring Rumple's sputters, she stepped between the elevator doors and punched the buttons in one swift motion. The gate came down, and the elevator began slowly, but steadily creaking up back to the library.

As soon as the doors slid open, she stepped out, her heels clicking primly toward her book cart.

She had books to shelf.

A lot of them.

She picked up Pride and Prejudice, smiling faintly at the portrait on the front, and wheeled the cart to the A's. I really should read this one day, she reflected.

Most people had her pegged for an Austen fangirl, but very few realized that the bulk of her reading centered around things like Aircraft: An Engineer's Guide and Everything That Can Go Wrong When Mountain Climbing. Her head was filled with impressive, but useless trivia, all leftover from those days when saving the town depended on those random bits of knowledge. She still wondered why she had ever thought to study Ancient Greek and Faerie and Dornish and Romanian. If she hadn't, they never would have been able to lock the Pandoric box Rumple's father was still trapped in—but she'd never used them again after that.

But she wasn't going to think about that, right? It didn't bother her that they all ignored her, nor did it bother her that Rumple was doing the same thing now.

She didn't care.

She had books to shelf.

She reached for another book: Oliver Twist. Another classic she'd never read. She didn't have time for literature. If she wasn't saving the town with her trivia, she was looking after Rumple; and if she wasn't looking after Rumple, she was maintaining her bizarre friendship with Hook and Tink, with which came attached many more responsibilities than most friendships required. And if she wasn't doing that…well, she hadn't really gotten to that chapter in her life yet. She was always taking care of somebody.

That's what happened when you were just "research and development" on Team Hero. No excitement, no cool catchphrases—just book reports and sitting tight until the action was over; and then, cleaning up the emotional damage. Belle had once had dreams—huge dreams!—of going on adventures, encountering all those monsters she'd read about. But instead, she'd just gone from prison to prison to prison. There was a minor incident with an enchanted Phillip-turned-Yaoguai, but that had lasted a total of seventy-two hours. The most exciting thing she'd been involved with since was a bizarre game of Capture-The-Shawl across Hook's ship.

Belle looked at the next book, a tense breath escaping her as she read the title: Peter Pan. She'd never bothered to read it. She had no illusions about Neverland or pirates or the magical flying sociopath who refused to grow up. There was a resentment in her heart that had been festering for three years, ever since Rumple had once again abandoned her to join the heroes in their blaze of glory.

He had left her behind, on those docks, with a promise that he would not come back. She swore he would, because he had to. They'd been ripped apart and sewn together and ripped apart again too many times, and she was fucking done. He was coming back, whether he liked it or not.

But he still left her behind. Still left her in this dead-end town, useless and miserable and alone. And sometimes, when it was very late and dark and no one else in the world was awake, she remembered that day at the docks and became so consumed with anger and betrayal, she knew she was going to explode.

Until she swallowed it down, and reminded herself that she was Belle French: the sweet librarian who looked unfairly sexy in miniskirts, who could see past the monsters and through the darkness, who was content to sit tight and cross her fingers that everything would work itself out.

Yeah.

Everything would work itself out.

No matter how many lunatics Henry resurrected, everything would work out, because that was what happened in Storybrooke. Villainy and disaster always bent the knee to the sheer force of mundanity that ruled this town, but the true battles were not fought with swords and magic. They were fought in the silent resentments that raged between family and friends: the personal demons; the grudges no one could ever quite forgive. Battles that would never be over, that would be fought over and over again until they simply…died.

Damn, Belle thought, blinking. This was exactly why she hated being alone with her thoughts, she always spiraled into some dark, existential crisis that depressed the hell out of her!

She dropped the book with a shudder, abruptly striding away from her cart, looking for some other work to occupy her hands and mind. Loud work, if she could find it: louder than her own miserable thoughts, at least.

She was in the middle of the street before she even realized her feet had carried her out the door. Her coat was on, but unevenly buttoned in her hurry to get out of that suffocating library. Belle inhaled deeply, relishing the icy fresh air that filled her lungs and cleared her head.

"I need to spend more time outside," she told herself, heels clunking in no particular direction. She had no idea where she was going, but at the moment, she didn't care. She had faith in her feet. They had already gotten her outside, no doubt they would continue to make good decisions.

As she walked, she concentrated on not thinking. Instead, she focused on reading every single sign and poster she passed.

After-Christmas Sale, Sixty Percent Off? Delightful! She would have to stop in there sometime, as soon as she found an excuse to shop for hardware she didn't know how to use!

Lost Cat, Reward Fifty Dollars? Tragic! She wasn't going to look for the cat, but gosh, she hoped it didn't get eaten by wolves or something!

Street Closed Jan. 3—Jan. 5 For Miner's Day Festival? Whatever! She'd never really been to Miner's Day, because Rumple said it was boring as hell, but hey! She never parked on this street anyway!

Her faith in her feet was rewarded, because just as her sign-reading enthusiasm had begun to fade, she found herself walking into Granny's. Of course, she chuckled to herself, shaking her head. What a brilliant idea, Feet! Dinner!

"I'm going to reward you with a new pair of shoes," she promised them, making her way to her usual spot at the counter.

This had once been Ruby's shift to work the bar, but since she'd scampered off to the White Rabbit, she'd been replaced by Ashley. Belle nodded a greeting at her as she hopped onto her stool, privately hoping that she'd kept the kid at home with Sean. Children were heartwarming and everything, but young Alexandra had never endeared herself to Belle. Perhaps it was her lisp; perhaps it was the drool-soaked bear she carried around; perhaps it was the ever-teary eyes and perpetual runny nose. Whatever the exact offense, it made it difficult to finish a meal—or find the appetite to even start one.

"What can I get you?" Ashley chirped, her pen perched against her notepad, a bright customer-service smile on her face.

"Depends." Belle glanced around, and leaned forward slightly. "Where's your little girl?"

"Alex?" Ashley's eyes shone with motherly delight. "Oh, my God, did I tell you? I signed her up for ballet! Here, let me show you—" she eagerly dug in her pocket for her phone—"I got her little ballet shoes and a tutu and everything! Look, look!"

"Cute," Belle grimaced, moving her head as Ashley pushed the screen in her face, trying to force her to look at the mess of pink gauze and pigtails that was her four-year-old ballerina. "So—she's not here, then?"

"No," Ashley smiled. "She's probably learning how to pirouette or jeté right now."

"In that case, I'll have a hamburger," Belle said promptly. "With the works."

Ashley hesitated. "Tony's working today," she said, pointing over her shoulder at the window. Tony's droopy-eyed, sweaty face was briefly visible over the stove before a cloud of steam blanketed it, accompanied by the hiss of hot oil and the smell of burnt cheese.

"That's okay," Belle shrugged. The risk of food poisoning was part of the fun. It was kind of like gambling—except, the reward was walking away with one's digestive tract intact instead of being violently ill. Better yet, Hook wasn't here to turn his judge-y little eyes on her meal, like he usually did, so she might actually enjoy it this time.

Ashley looked uneasy, but she scribbled down Belle's order. "It'll be a few minutes," she said as she ripped off the page. "Hopefully, more than a few, so you actually get a properly cooked burger…"

"Oh, for the love of God," said a man's voice, off to her left. "You'd think, they'd just fire Tony and get a decent chef."

Belle turned to see Archie, peering distastefully over his newspaper at the window. The steam had since cleared, and Tony was now sleepily flipping something black and misshapen on the grill. Archie wrinkled his nose as the acrid smell of smoke drifted through the window, and looked at Belle.

"Why do we keep coming here?" he asked.

"You're the one who went to fake med school," she said, raising her eyebrows. "You tell me."

Archie tilted his head, taking a moment to consider. "Humans are creatures of habit," he decided. "Granny's monopolized the food industry for so long, we feel drawn to it." He furrowed his brow. "But when would the survival instincts kick in, and drive us away?"

"Unless the survival instincts have already kicked in, and prevented us from risking Granny's wrath." She frowned, tilting her head head thoughtfully as she curled her finger around the end of her hair."Or maybe self-preservation becomes dulled over time, weathered away by disappointment…failure…rejection…until we are simply left as empty shells, waiting for our last breath."

There was a long silence, broken by a childish shriek in the background, making them both jump. "Christ," Belle breathed, putting a hand to her heart. "Kids."

"Forget that," Archie said as he shifted to the seat next to her. "What was all that about self-preservation and empty shells?"

"What? Oh—nothing, don't worry about it."

"No, I'm a little worried about it," Archie said "You can't just say something like that to a therapist, and expect it to blow over."

"Archie." Belle gave him a smile, though her eyes gleamed with mounting impatience. "It's nothing."

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but Belle turned away, faking interest in a menu. She knew he was a therapist, and that it was kind of his life's work to listen to people bitch about their problems, but they weren't friends. They were friendly, sure, but he wasn't a confidante—he barely knew her beyond the occasional pleasantries when she drove Rumple to his sessions.

Wait. Belle looked up with a frown, suddenly realizing she had an opportunity here. Archie couldn't help her with her problems…but maybe, he could help her with Rumple's problems.

"Actually, there is something you can do for me," she said, facing him abruptly. "Exactly how much power do you have over Rumple?"

Archie blinked, and leaned over his coffee. "I-I'm sorry?"

"This therapy-thing—can you up the intensity? Can you just put it on full-blast, and fix his brain? Can you inject enough guilt and remorse in him, to make him listen to me?"

"It doesn't really work like that," Archie frowned. "Therapy is designed to help the individual learn how to cure himself; the doctor is just there to provide guidance, and occasionally, medicine to help with the neurochemical problems."

"Yeah, but you have influence, right?" Belle said with a sly grin. "I mean…there's got to be something you can do, right?"

"Wrong." Archie stared at her, looking disturbed. "Belle, are you asking me to abuse my position to manipulate your husband?"

"What? No!" she said indignantly. "I"m asking you to do your job!"

"I have been doing my job!" he sputtered.

"Then you need to do it faster!" Belle snapped. "Because it seems like everything you were doing was a waste of time! You know where he is right now?"

She answered before he had a chance to guess. "Miles below the library, digging up Maleficent's remains, to resurrect the bitch! He's been vicariously feeding off of Henry's magic, and I swear, he's getting obsessed all over again!"

"Oh." Archie sat back in his seat, realization setting in his eyes. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah." Belle nodded gravely. "'Oh, shit' is right."

"Well, then, I—I understand your concerns," he struggled. "That's—that's some rather distressing news, I thought we were really making progress." He swallowed, staring sightlessly at the sugar shakers in front of him. "He told me he could handle it. That he just wanted to bond with his grandson."

"He did," Belle grimaced. "But his definition of 'bonding' goes a little beyond playing catch in the backyard."

Archie looked at her, worry and helplessness swimming in his watery blue eyes. "I can't help, but feel partially responsible."

Belle smiled faintly, and covered her hand over his. "Good," she said. "Because I partially blame you."