Belle remembered hiding beneath a table with her mother as an Ogre stalked into the room. She remembered the tight feeling in her chest as she tried to stay quiet, silent and unseen, while the beating of her heart thundered in her ears like a mountain storm. She remembered the moment when the Ogre had lifted the table, tossing it aside. Belle had looked up at the monster, meeting its eyes. For a moment that stretched for eternity, there was nothing but silence, as if her heart had stopped.

Then, nothing. Darkness. Till she woke in her own bed and learned her mother was dead.

As she looked at Zelena, the blood beat in her ears. "You're dead," was all Belle could think to say.

Zelena smiled. "Am I? Well, then, I must have gone about it much more cleverly than you. I didn't spend thirty years in a cell before staging my resurrection." Her hand tightened around the breathing tube. "Stay back, dearie. You really don't want me pulling this."

It was the second time she'd called her 'dearie.' She was trying to rankle her. She was threatening Belle's husband's life, and she was trying to Irritate her.

She's a fool, Belle thought. Playing games—playing them here, as if she still had her magic. As if she can kill a man and just fly away on her broom.

No, not a fool. Just mad. Belle didn't know everything Zelena had done to Rumple, but she knew enough. And she knew that, despite everything she'd done, Zelena had never doubted she could still make Rumple love her. She'd murdered his son, imprisoned him, tortured him, and yet she had been certain till the end a time would come when he would welcome her into his bed.

Belle shuddered, remembering things she'd caught glimpses of in Rumple's castle when Zelena kept him caged there. She remembered things they'd found in Zelena's house and in the dark hole in the ground where she'd kept Rumple kenneled like a beast. He may not have welcomed her, but Belle knew Zelena hadn't waited for Rumple to change his mind about her, not when she only had to speak her commands to make him obey.

They hadn't spoken of it, the same way they hadn't spoken of so many things. In the days after he was freed, Belle, seeing the warm light in his eyes when he looked at her, had thought it was enough. Enough to begin with. Enough to start healing the wounds Zelena had left behind.

"If you pull that," Belle found herself saying calmly. "Alarms will sound. You won't get out of here. There's no magic to protect you this time."

"Isn't there?" Zelena pulled out a gold and emerald pendant. "There are some things that still work here." And, suddenly, it wasn't Zelena standing in front of her, it was Marian. Then, it wasn't Marian. Belle was looking at a reflection of her own face. "Do you think anyone will stop the grieving widow when she leaves? Or when she heads back to Storybrooke? I promise, you, dear, I'll set him in the ground right by Baelfire. Won't that be nice? I can even have that father of yours deliver flowers every week. Anything special I should get? Does he have a favorite flower? I wouldn't want him to feel neglected."

"You're never going back to Storybrooke," Belle said. "I'll see you dead first."

"Me? Oh, no, I think we should see you dead first, don't you agree? After all, I've already had my turn." She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, silvery gun. Rumple's gun or one just like it. "You said I had no magic, but this world has things just as good, don't you agree?"

X

Gold didn't know how quickly his heart needed to beat to trigger an alarm. He couldn't believe it hadn't already done so. From the moment he woke, this had seemed like one long, impossible nightmare. Zelena alive. Zelena here.

And Zelena about to kill Belle.

He had lain here, helpless, just like his nightmares. Those would have been better. Sleeping on the floor of Zelena's storm cellar, waking when the rats, who sometimes scurried across the dirt, came to sniff at him. He thought of his nightmares, where he was awake but unmoving as the rats came and tentatively investigated his eyes before taking a lick at them.

Ogres, he remembered, were like bears. A bear let loose in a flock of sheep, would kill them all, only bothering to eat its favorite parts, the soft bits that were easy to get to. An Ogre would do the same in a field of men. Rats, Ogres, bears, they were nothing compared to what Zelena would do.

He tried to fuel his fear with that, tried to find enough terror to give himself strength, to make himself move. Instead, he could only lie there, helpless as Zelena pawed him.

Gods, it would be better to wake and find himself back in Zelena's cage, to know he was still enslaved by the dagger, that everything—his marriage, his desperate attempt to free himself from his curse, Belle's anger and exile—that all this was just a dream instead of knowing his freedom, all his hopes of never being leashed like this again, had been nothing more than fate playing with him like a mouse, tossing him back into the cat's jaws.

Then, Belle has walked in.

He knew he was mad then. He knew he had to be dreaming. Because, he was in New York, he was trapped in a nightmare and dying. For Belle to be there, she would have to have abandoned Storybrooke—she would have had to give up everything and everyone she loved—for him.

This was a dream, a nightmare, or he was mad.

Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying, the way she'd cried when he first brought her to his castle, the waves of homesickness that had taken her in those early days when he treated her more like a prisoner than a servant. But, she hadn't been pale and haggard like this. He'd only seen her like that when she'd first escaped the asylum where Regina had kept her for all the years of the curse.

No, this had to be his mind piecing together all his nightmares and all his crimes. His fault, either way. Yet, even if this was just a patchwork of memory coming together to remind him one last time of all his sins—and, surely, his sins against Belle, were among the worst he'd committed. He'd promised her safety and his love. He'd only broken two deals in his life, and both of them were with the people dearest to him.

But, the sight of her sparked a warmth inside of him. Something inside him felt alive again, energized.

A dream, then. Any moment now, he would wake and it would be over.

But, it end. Nothing changed. Zelena was still there. She mocked Belle while running her hands over Rumple as if no one was there, as if she expected to make love with what was nearly a corpse. She showed her how the pendant worked, just as she'd shown him. Then, laughing, she pulled out his gun and pointed it at Belle.

Long ago, Rumplestiltskin had gained the ability to see the future. It was weaker in this world. Even in Storybrooke, it came only in shattered pieces, too few, too rare, too small to do any good. Out here, where there was no magic for him to draw on, he'd been as blind as any other mortal.

Now, he saw the moment unfold in the instant before it happened. He saw the bullet speed out of the gun, saw it strike Belle in the place between her brows where a small line was already forming as she glared at Zelena. He saw the blood and the small spray of bone and brain as her beautiful eyes glazed over and grew dim.

No.

He found that small spark of energy he'd felt at the sight of Belle and lifted his hands. It was nothing. In the normal course of things, it would have been as meaningless as an infant trying to stop an armored knight with his pudgy fists. But, he didn't need to stop Zelena. He only needed to raise his hands a few inches and grab hold of her arm before his strength ran out again.

It was enough. The witch was taken by surprise. He knocked her arm a few, critical inches off. The bullet went wide as Belle lunged at Zelena, something silvery glittering in her hands.

Even in the World Without Magic, Rumplestiltskin could feel it as the dagger buried itself in Zelena's heart, drinking her blood. The witch tumbled off of the bed and onto the floor. On the floor, he saw the pool of blood spreading out beneath Zelena's body. Beneath her hand, the one that hadn't held the gun, he saw the smaller pool of the magic potion that could have saved his life spreading out from the shattered remains of the vial that had held it.

Though Belle couldn't know what it meant, he saw the stunned horror in her eyes as she looked at him. It wasn't the potion, he realized. He remembered the first time he'd killed. There'd been the same mute shock as the demon all the Frontlands feared, the Dark One, feel dying on the forest floor, and Rumplestiltskin had seen the face of the beggar who had helped him try to save his son. He remembered what he'd felt as he looked at the blood-coated blade and saw Zoso's name vanish and his own take its place.

Belle came towards him, the same bloody knife in her hand. She stepped over Zelena's dead body and came and stood beside his bed. She lifted the dagger, her hands shaking, and put it down on the small table by his bed that held the call button and some water, avoiding getting blood on the sheets. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out another, small vial. Rumplestiltskin recognized it, the same one he had given Robin Hood all those years ago when he sent him to steal some of the potion from Zelena.

Taking slow, measured breath, Belle managed to regain some steadiness. She pulled out the stopper and poured the contents into his throat. Rumplestiltskin felt his heart steady. The annoying machine and its maddening beeping began to steady. Why had anyone thought he needed to hear that? As if he weren't already aware of how each beat of his heart was bringing him closer to death?

Except it wasn't, not anymore. Life and warmth were flooding back into him. Belle held both of his hands in hers as if she would never let him go. She was smiling at him, despite the tears running down her face. She could also see the unspoken question in his face.

"Will had it," she told him. "Will Scarlet. He said he'd stolen it off Robin Hood ages ago when he met him in Oz. But, he'd never used it. He gave it to me before I came."

Will Scarlet. Rumplestiltskin remembered the thief, a man who'd wandered from Oz to their world to Wonderland before landing himself in Storybrooke. Rumplestiltskin had held a grudge against him for upsetting Belle when she found him after he'd broken into her library, curled up asleep around a picture of the Red Queen he'd torn out of Alice through the Looking-Glass, but he supposed he would have to forgive him for this. Because, Belle was happy. She was still crying, but he could see how happy she was as she leaned down and kissed him on his brow.

"Rest, Rumple," she told him. "It will be all right. Just rest."

A corner of his mind knew it wasn't. There was too much that was still wrong. Zelena . . . Zelena was dead. But, that wasn't a simple matter, not in this world. He tried to say something, but the tube was in his way. He felt so tired. An after-effect of the potion, one corner of his mind said. The other argued again that none of this could be real. Perhaps he was still lying on the hospital bed, dreaming Belle was here. Perhaps, he thought, he was conjuring a pleasant fantasy, something to ease the pain as he lay dying.

It didn't matter. Real or not, Belle was here. She had come back to him. He felt the warmth of her as she held his hands. He'd felt the hot sting of her tears as she'd kissed him. If this was how it all ended, he thought as he drifted into sleep, it was enough.

X

Zelena was pressed against him, a hand running through his hair, her face resting on his chest over his faltering heart—

Rumplestiltskin surged awake, pushing off the body lying across him.

"Rumple? Rumplestiltskin! What's wrong?"

Belle. It was Belle standing (a bit shakily) half-awake beside him.

If it was Belle. . . .

"Rumplestiltskin. . . ?" She looked at him uncertainly. But, then, Zelena would look at him that way if she were using the pendant, pretending to be his wife. The same way she'd pretended to be Marian. Rumple closed his eyes, trying to block out the thought. But, no matter how Locksley felt about Regina, Rumplestiltskin knew the man had been trying to rebuild with his "wife." Zelena had wanted all that and more from Rumplestiltskin. The dagger had no power to force him to obey her commands here but, wearing that face, looking at him with those eyes, no dagger was necessary—or so Zelena might think.

"Prove it," he said. "Prove you're her, that you're Belle."

Belle understood. She nodded gravely in that way she had (would Zelena know that? The pendant transformed, it didn't give knowledge). "When we were married, I told you sometimes the best teacup is chipped."

But, he only shook his head. "Before," he whispered. "Tell me something from before Zelena returned." Surely, he would have known if she'd been lurking there in the shadows, wouldn't he? But, she had been. She had been in Storybrooke the whole time, and he'd never known.

"I kissed you for the first time by your spinning wheel. It was after you let me go, and I returned." She smiled wistfully. "It didn't end well, but it was a wonderful kiss while it lasted."

"Belle. . . ." He reached out for her. She took his hand again, coming close to the edge of the bed. She didn't lie down beside him again. He wanted—and didn't want—her to. There were things Zelena had done—and things she had done to him—that he had avoided with Belle. He'd been subtle for the most part, and he'd been self-controlled when he couldn't be subtle. Being pinned down, having Belle lying even partly on top of him was one of the things he did his best to avoid. When he couldn't avoid it, when Belle fell asleep against him like that, he had simply stayed awake holding her. So long as he was awake, so long as he could remind himself that this was Belle, not . . . not someone else, it was all right.

He hadn't wanted her to know how weak he really was. Weak and afraid.

"It's all right," Belle said. "It's really me. I won't leave you, Rumple."

"The police," he said. "Didn't they have questions? Zelena's body. . . ."

Belle looked embarrassed. "I thought about explaining it to the police," she said. "She had a gun and she'd tried to shoot me. But, no one heard it. I suppose she must have had something magical that took care of it. So, I—I used that necklace of hers. It transformed things, after all. I didn't see why it could only be used for human shapes."

There were reasons, actually. Used just by itself, the six-leafed clover truly transformed the user. Turn someone into a dog, for example, and they would only have the mind of a dog. Fortunately, while dogs tended to forget very quickly how to change themselves back to human, they also forgot to keep the pendant on. As soon as it was off, the transformed person changed back. But, that didn't matter with a corpse.

"I turned her into a rat," Belle said. "A large one. Dove—he came with me but he got delayed at the front desk—he took her away. Cleaning up the blood was a bit trickier, but this is a hospital. Blood needs to get cleaned up from time to time."

"I suppose it does." He hesitated. "Like the things between us." He licked his lips and pretended not to notice as the steady beeping of his heart sped up again. "Belle, I know I'm a difficult man to love. I've brought you so much misery when I only wanted to make you happy. But . . . please, stay with me."

Belle put her arms around him (carefully, leaning a big to the side as she hugged him so he wouldn't feel cornered or trapped). "Always, Rumplestiltskin. I promised you forever, remember? And because I need you. My heart's not whole without you."

My heart is nothing—nothing but darkness—without you, Rumplestiltskin wanted to say but didn't.

The potion might be enough. The dark ashes the curse had been making of him might be coming back to life. Or perhaps not.

For now, for this moment, his heart felt warm and whole. Whether he was healed or had only been granted this small island of peace with Belle before the dark tides that seemed to rule his life swept in again, for this moment, it was enough. For this moment, he could be happy. He'd thought he was going to die without ever seeing her again. Just this once, the gods had shown mercy on him. Just this once, he would be wise enough just to treasure their gift and the time they had been given.