Chapter 4: Science And Magic
Belle was angry. The library was her sanctuary, her haven from the world she didn't know and didn't have curse-memories to understand. It was her visible, tangible proof of Rumplestiltskin's love, the love she'd seen grow in him during her time at his castle, believed in even when he'd sent her away with cold words and blank eyes, relied on during the long years of her imprisonment in the Queen's tower. Rumplestiltskin had given her this library—her freedom, her independence, the world in its four corners, the knowledge she loved to collect—and she did not in the least appreciate having its warm, inviting interior filled with the ghosts of her nightmares, the shadows of her time in chains, and the echoes of her many hidden tears during long, lonely nights.
So she was angry. Angry to have her haven tainted in such a way, so callously, so thoughtlessly. Angry at Ruby—her friend—for locking her up, as if a manacle around her already-scarred wrist could protect her from whatever Ruby might do to her as a savage wolf, or from the mob out for Ruby's blood.
Angry, because it was better to be angry than to be afraid. Better to pretend that she was breathing hard, that black dots were swimming at the corners of her vision and her stomach was twisted up in dull, twisting knots, because she was bottling up all she wanted to rant and rave at her friend. Better, because anger could—for a short time—cover up her rising panic, the inferno of fear and the torrent of thousands of memories of endless days locked away, vulnerable to Regina's whim and whatever pirate might next break into her cell to grill her for information on how to kill Rumplestiltskin. Better to think on why she was angry than to give weight to the keening whisper that murmured dark and terrible things—that she'd never be free, that she'd never been free, that she'd never get to see Rumplestiltskin remember how to smile when he looked at her.
But she'd never been very good at staying angry, not when it was always so easy to look at someone else and see the weaknesses and the insecurities and the hidden strengths that drove them to do what they did. So, before she was ready—before she was free—her anger was fizzing away, going wispy and ephemeral, leaving only cold terror and stark panic.
When she heard voices coming from near the doors, hushed and quick, she was half-convinced she was only imagining them. But she didn't care anymore—she just wanted out, wanted this length of cold iron taken off her—so she called out for help and hoped with all of her heart that it was Rumplestiltskin. He'd been tentative in his approaches ever since she'd snuck away from his house and almost got sent over the town line—almost forgot him, and the thought of that was enough to cover her in cold sweat even when she wasn't chained up—cautious not to pressure her, but she hoped anyway.
And like uncounted times in Regina's cell, her hope was disappointed.
The two strangers who'd so alarmed and preoccupied Rumplestiltskin over the past several days—which had made it impossible to find the time to try a hamburger with him—stared at her for a long moment, clearly taken aback by the sight of her.
There probably wasn't anyone worse who could have found her—except Regina, but the Queen was cunning in the ways of self-survival and knew better than to approach her while Rumplestiltskin yet drew breath—but at the moment, Belle wasn't inclined to care.
"Please," she said again, hating to beg but too desperate not to. "Please get this off me!"
The woman muttered angry questions and dark imprecations, sounding not unlike Rumplestiltskin in one of his more annoyed moods, while the man stepped closer to examine the manacle. He moved slowly, keeping each of his gestures and touches soft and light, and Belle found herself relaxing a bit, her fear receding.
"It's all right," he murmured, his voice a soft undertone adding deeper layers to the comforting outrage of his companion. Lois, Belle remembered. Lois and Clark.
"Please," Belle whispered. She tugged on the chain yet again, and knew that she'd have to wear jackets or long-sleeved blouses for awhile. If Rumplestiltskin caught sight of the red ring surrounding her wrist, Storybrooke would be lucky to emerge with just a street or two unscathed.
"Careful," Clark warned her. He shot a look to Lois over his shoulder, and she nodded and stepped up close to Belle, her dark eyes demanding Belle's full attention.
"Who did this to you?" Lois asked quietly, fixedly, while Clark's hands brushed Belle's wrist past the manacle. "Why are you here?"
"This is my library," Belle said, proudly, the words like a cloak, a shield, reminding her that not all was bad or painful or confining. "But…she didn't mean to. It was…a…a prank. A joke. I just…I don't like being locked up." And her breaths were coming short and sharp and painfully edged again, because the chain wasn't coming off, and she needed to be free!
She glanced down, a half-crazed look, just in time to see Clark pinch the manacle between two fingers and crack open the hard iron as if it were butter.
"Belle!" Lois was saying, and Belle looked up to meet her gaze just as Clark finished stripping the iron chain off her and throwing it to the side. She'd have to find it later, Belle thought numbly, pick it up and get rid of it. Maybe she could ask Rumplestiltskin to melt it down into cinders for her.
Idle thoughts, really, but they helped mask her shock.
Her mind raced even as she hugged her arm to her chest, soothing the raw marks with her fingers, reassuring herself that the chain was gone and she wasn't locked up anymore. She was in her library, not her cell, and she was facing strangers—strangers with an astonishing secret—not the Queen. And Rumplestiltskin was never far away, not anymore.
"Are you okay?" Clark asked mildly. He stood in front of her, one shoulder tilted behind Lois, protecting her from all sides. He looked normal, ordinary, brown eyes a paler shade than Rumplestiltskin's, glasses like Archie's, hands in his pockets like Leroy's, and yet he was so much more than he appeared.
It wasn't surprising, not really. Belle had sacrificed her eternity to a monster and discovered a good man buried beneath his beastly layers. She'd tracked down, and faced, a deadly Yaoguai, only to find a cursed prince beneath the appearance of a flaming wild dog. She above all others knew that no one ever showed the depths of themselves on their surface. And yet…and yet Rumplestiltskin had said the people of this world had no magic, no curses, no blessings from fairies, nothing but ordinary, mundane things, each one alike to another.
Usually, his information was more accurate than this.
Belle started, suddenly aware that both Lois and Clark were staring at her somewhat warily. "I'm fine!" she said, too quickly, too cheerfully. She hoped they'd attribute it to her relief at being rescued. "Thank you, for saving me!"
"No problem," Clark said.
"You're sure you're all right?" Lois pressed, and when Belle nodded, she straightened and asked, "So do you know what all that fuss outside is about?"
She didn't have curse memories like everyone else, and most of the time Belle was grateful for it—she had no wish to juggle two sets of memories, particularly when one set wouldn't have Rumplestiltskin in them—but right now, she happily would have taken a few, just enough so she could know what kind of explanation would satisfy these strangers. But then, more than just satisfying their suspicion, she thought she might need to make certain they weren't out to hurt anyone. She was pretty sure they weren't—almost certain the man's gentleness with her and the woman's enraged concern for her meant they had good hearts—but maybe they thought revealing the existence of a cursed town to the rest of this magic-less world was a good thing.
And Belle knew it wasn't.
David needed time to find a way to bring back his wife and daughter.
Henry shouldn't be thought crazy again, as Rumple said he would be by people from this world.
Ruby would be hunted down, considered wild and dangerous by people who did not understand magic just as she was by those who did know of it.
And if the world descended on them, Rumplestiltskin would never be able to find his son.
So, she fashioned a trembling smile and darted a look about as if afraid they were being spied on, and she said very quietly, "I can't tell you, but I know who can. Come on, we have to find Rumplestil—" Just in time she caught herself and said, "Mr. Gold. He can explain everything."
"Uh…could you excuse us for one second?" Lois asked, her smile brittle and fleeting.
Belle nodded, and watched as they moved away, turning behind a bookshelf so that she could only see patches of them past rows of the books she'd slowly been making her way through. Biting her lip, Belle reached out and leaned her hand against the smooth, comforting feel of books. Her panic was slow to ebb away, her fear leaving behind oily tracks through her thoughts, but she was able to breathe without feeling as if she were about to pass out and the black dots were gone from her vision, so she supposed she was recovering.
With a deep breath, Belle looked over to where the chains had slid. If she didn't face them now, she wasn't certain she'd be able to later. She could ask Rumplestiltskin to take care of it for her, but if she did, Ruby might end up in trouble with an angered Rumplestiltskin and Belle herself would feel a coward. She'd once told her beloved beast that bravery would come to those who did brave things, and he'd been trying so hard for her lately to be brave and honest, so she took a shuffling step forward, and another, and another, and then, quickly, as if it were a snake that might bite her, she reached down and picked up the long, heavy chains.
It wasn't as satisfying as she'd hoped it would be when she threw them into the garbage can beneath the reception desk, but it was something. She still felt as if they were lurking, hidden, ready to jump out and attack her—a silly, ridiculous notion that she did her best to ignore. The important thing was that the chains were out of sight, and even if they weren't, the manacle itself was broken, thanks to the two strangers.
"Belle?" Lois's voice was soft, her smile more real, as she and Clark approached the reception desk. "You say Mr. Gold can explain things? Like the mob?"
"Yes," Belle said, sensing a trap in her words.
"Can he explain…anything else?" Clark questioned, casually. Intently.
Belle smiled faintly. "If anyone can, it's him."
Lois hesitated, though Belle would have thought she was the sort to charge forward without scouting ahead first. "You…you do realize there's a mob out there, right? It might be dangerous."
"That's all right. I'll be safe—we're only going down a block anyway." Belle shrugged, relatively unconcerned. She knew very well, from the ogre wars that had ravaged her land so long ago, the dangerous and destructive force of a mob, the unreasoning fury and bloodlust that accompanied and controlled one, but everyone knew that Rumplestiltskin protected her and even a crazed mob would find that ample reason to pull itself back from harming her. She hadn't feared for her life since the white-garbed stranger had freed her from her cell and told her to find Mr. Gold.
"All right," Lois said decisively. "Then to Mr. Gold it is." She slid a darkly amused look up to her friend. "Or should I say, follow the yellow brick road?"
Belle wasn't sure what the statement meant, but Clark chuckled, his hand resting on Lois's lower back as Belle led them from the library.
Night had cloaked all of Storybrooke and the lights lining the streets were banked, providing only a dim aura of radiance. Ruby's howling had faded, Belle realized, and she tried to convince herself that it was because she had gained control of her wolf instincts, or fled outside the town, or was sleeping—anything but that the mob had succeeded in killing her. Swallowing back her fear, Belle fixed her eyes on the sign to Mr. Gold's pawnshop at the end of the street and kept walking.
She supposed she could have been afraid, with a perhaps-uncontrolled werewolf on the loose and strangers who possessed the strength of a hundred men following close behind her down a dark, empty street, but she wasn't. Not anymore. She trusted Ruby to control herself, to be as good and noble as David believed her to be, and she owed these strangers faith, as well as gratitude, for their kind actions in rescuing her. And she was half a block away from Rumplestiltskin—if she shouted his name, screamed at all, she was certain he would appear in a cloud of purple smoke with vengeance in his hand and terror in his eyes.
"So," Lois said brightly, quickening her pace a bit to walk side by side with Belle. "Mr. Gold. He and you are…?"
"Oh, we're together," Belle said, and despite everything, she couldn't help but smile. And cant her chin in the air in preparation of the incredulous looks or the horrified questions or the abrupt stiffening. She'd grown well used to such reactions in the past month.
"Ah," Lois said. And that was all.
Slowly, Belle felt the tension ease from her, and her smile turned softer. She studied the taller woman, aware of Clark's steady presence behind them but choosing to turn her attention fully to Lois. "You don't…" She bit her lip, suddenly unsure.
Lois frowned at her quizzically. "What?"
"Nothing." Belle shook her head, then gestured to Clark. "And you two?"
"We're dating," Lois said, meeting her partner's gaze steadily. Something passed between them—Belle wasn't sure what, but she could feel it nonetheless, something strong and deep and reaffirming. Clark's smile was caught between relief and joy, disbelief and awe, and Belle's breath caught in her throat. It was Rumplestiltskin's smile, the one he gave her when she took his hand or stepped into his embrace or told him she loved him. It was strange to see it on a man who was kind and compassionate and clearly competent, a tall and handsome man with a physique to rival Gaston's, but then, if he kept his inordinate strength a secret, perhaps he felt alienated by that. Hercules had not always been easy with his godlike powers, either, if Belle remembered correctly.
"If I may ask," Belle began diffidently, "why did you come to Storybrooke?"
"Clark proposed," Lois said, "I said no—because I needed time to think"—she shot a narrow-eyed glance to her partner—"and we needed time to get to know each other again. Coastal Maine seemed like a good place." Lois paused, then shrugged and added, "We heard there was some pretty interesting fog around here, colored fog. Thought we might check it out."
"Sometimes we dabble in photography," Clark interjected quickly. "We could get some pretty good shots of odd-colored fog."
"I see," Belle said, calmly, conversationally. If her voice shook, just the slightest bit, she hoped they would think it was because she shivered in the cold and wrapped her arms around her waist. But it wasn't the chill night or the mist her breath made of the air that made her tremble.
Rumplestiltskin had torn apart a world to find his son. He'd sacrificed the happiness of everyone else, dedicated entire centuries of his life, turned her out and sent her far away when they discovered her kiss could break his curse and rid him of the magic he needed to complete his search. He had killed for his son, this Baelfire Belle knew by name only, by the tiny fragments, the broken secrets, Rumple would sometimes let slip to her—a gift she treasured with the same care she did his heart—and Belle did not doubt that he would kill again should his quest be endangered. This couple, young and in love and clearly hiding something but still not bad people. Anyone else who stumbled into Storybrooke. Whoever got between him and the son he loved so devotedly, so obsessively, so all-consumingly that everything else faded into insignificance in his eyes—he would kill any of them, all of them.
He would destroy another world if he had to, Belle thought, and she did not think that even she would be able to stop him, not if Baelfire was on the line. Already Rumplestiltskin burned with impatience, chafed with frustration at the delay the impassable town line presented. Another delay, another obstacle? It might be the final straw that would make him snap and release his hold on his control, his magic, his temper.
But Belle had seen colored smoke only once—the day Rumplestiltskin dropped his True Love potion into the well of magical waters and returned magic to Storybrooke. The day he had taken her into his arms, and touched her as if she were more precious than the magic roiling outward to engulf the town he'd had a hand in creating, and kissed her.
Purple smoke, like the magic he could conjure with a wave of his hand—to create a pillow for her, to heal her wounds…to kill any who stood in his way.
Lois and Clark had helped her, but Belle was suddenly afraid they would die for their act of compassion.
Unless she did something to stop it. She'd talked Rumplestiltskin down from murder before; she thought she could do it again. If she was careful. If she was slow, cautious, smart.
Belle turned to look at Lois—intent on the shop before them, the same determined absorption evident in her eyes that Rumple sometimes exhibited when in the midst of one of his more complicated potions—then to Clark—looking down at Lois, the corners of his mouth hiding the remnants of a smile, his eyes soft and warm and kinder than she'd ever seen Rumplestiltskin's. When they noticed her attention, when they met her gaze, she smiled at them. "Everything will be all right," she promised with a slight nod. Then she set her hand to the door of Rumple's shop, pushed it open, and led them into the dim interior.
The bell over the door rang and Belle heard Rumple stirring in the back, behind the curtain serving as door to the private backroom. "Rumple!" she called so that he would know it was her.
She heard the tapping of his cane, saw his hand pull aside the curtain, revealing his smile, and heard him say, "Hey," as he always did when he saw her, as if all other greetings failed at the sight of her.
His smile died when he noticed Lois and Clark behind her, and instantly replacing it was his mask. Cool and implacable, courteous and calculating. He was sizing them up, wondering why they were there, what they were doing with her. When his eyes swept over her, ensuring she was safe and unharmed, she realized—far too late—that she had forgotten her jacket and the skin around her wrist, rubbed raw and red, was bare to his gaze.
Before he could do more than straighten, hands tightening over the head of his cane, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing, Belle skipped forward. She reached out and put her hands over his, gratified to feel them instantly relax their death's grip on the gold handle. "I'm all right," she told him softly. "It was Ruby, but she meant no harm. She was only trying to protect me from the wolf."
Rumple's eyes softened, one of his hands slipping free of hers to brush his knuckle along her cheek. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, and she had to close her eyes against the knowledge, the regret, the guilt, shining in his. He wrapped his arm around her, and she gratefully, happily sank into his embrace. For just a moment she let herself rest her cheek on his shoulder and soak in his love, his affection, freely offered and wholly comforting. For an instant, she allowed herself to be vulnerable and fragile and let him give her the sanctuary her library hadn't been able to provide.
But the moment passed quickly, and there was still the matter of the strangers behind her.
"They freed me." Belle wrapped her arms around Rumplestiltskin, tilted her face toward him, and whispered, as softly as mouse, as gently as the stirring of the wind, into his ear. "He tore through the chains as if they were air, Rumple."
His arm stiffened around her, and she stepped back to see his dark eyes light up with intrigue and plans. Rumplestiltskin was a devious strategist, pulling strings and arranging deals to suit his schemes decades in advance. She knew that he would look at strangers in his way and see only an obstacle to be removed; he would look at strangers with a dangerous secret and see opportunities to be found and weaknesses to be taken advantage of.
What she hadn't counted on, though, was Clark realizing the danger he and his companion were in.
"Well, I'm glad you're safe, Belle," Clark said with a smile nowhere near as warm as the ones he'd offered earlier. He wrapped his hand around Lois's arm and tugged her back to the door. "We'd better be going, though—the sheriff told us to stay in our rooms at night, so—"
"Oh, come now," Rumplestiltskin said, and his arms slipped away from Belle entirely as he prowled forward. "No need to be leaving so soon. It seems I owe you a thank you for helping Belle."
"No thanks necessary," Clark assured him hastily. Lois was frowning, but she followed Clark's lead and pulled the door open for them both.
Rumplestiltskin smiled his dealer's smile. "I'm afraid I must insist."
The door slammed shut, the bell chiming its warning with a clatter.
Clark and Lois exchanged a quick, startled look before turning to face Rumplestiltskin together. Rumplestiltskin came to a halt, leaned on his cane, one leg ahead of the other, knee bent, his smile never wavering.
Belle sighed exasperatedly and moved forward. "They helped me, Rumple," she reminded him. "They didn't have to, but they did."
"Yes," he nodded, "in a most unusual way."
"I don't know what you think you saw," Lois said boldly, and Belle admired her courage, "but whatever it was, there's no reason to keep us here."
"Strangers with secrets in a town full of secrets." Rumplestiltskin tipped his hand in an open-palmed gesture and raised his eyebrows. "Maybe coincidence. Maybe something else." When Lois and Clark only exchanged another look, Rumple shrugged. "Of course, you can leave any time you wish."
Lois glared at him. "Thank you," she bit out, and whirled to tug on the doorknob.
It didn't budge. Belle resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sometimes Rumple was a bit too fond of his own showmanship and the games he played.
"It'll open," Rumplestiltskin said softly, in no more than a whisper that Belle, standing right beside him, had to strain to hear, "when the proper amount of strength is applied."
Oblivious to the words, Lois turned back to them, eyes flashing fire and fury, but Clark, his voice calm, his eyes narrowed, said only, "Aren't you afraid I'll break the door?"
Belle caught her breath and Lois stared up at him quizzically; Rumplestiltskin smirked. If he'd still been an imp, with his scales and his claws and his high-pitched giggles, Belle was certain he would have clapped his hands and bounced in place with maniacal glee. His trap was set and it appeared his prey was taking the bait. Slowly, tenderly, Belle brushed her hand over his arm, reminding him that she was there, that he wasn't an imp anymore, that he was a man she loved, a man trying to do better.
"I'm certain that you could cause quite a bit of damage should you wish it," Rumple observed. He tilted his head, studying Clark closely. "Of course, then someone might end up getting hurt, and that's not really something you like to risk, is it?"
"Clark," Lois said warningly.
"It's all right, Lois," Clark assured her. He met Rumplestiltskin's gaze calmly enough, though he had to take a deep breath before he spoke again. "You know who I am?"
"Unlike the rest of this town," Rumple said wryly, "I've thought it prudent to learn something of this world we now occupy. And strangely enough, what might not warrant much more than a few tales in our land is startling enough to warrant quite a lot of uproar in this one. It appears I can't escape exceptionally strong knights in shining armor no matter how many worlds I visit…Superman."
"I know who you are, too," Clark retorted. Belle wondered if Rumplestiltskin noticed that Clark was surreptitiously reaching out to clasp Lois's hand. "Everyone in town talks of you in whispers. They're afraid of your power and your ruthlessness, but I'm not. I knew someone just like you once, Rumplestiltskin, a man named Lex Luthor—he hid behind reputation and power, too, and thought that fear would work in his favor, but in the end he fell."
"Oh, very good," Rumplestiltskin said sardonically. "But to a man with super hearing, figuring out my name is hardly a miraculous feat. It does make me wonder, though…just how much would a man give in order to keep his secret safe from others who don't possess the advantage of extraordinary hearing?"
"Really?" Lois demanded, stepping forward to confront Rumplestiltskin directly. "This is your big play? Threatening to unmask him to the world? That'll be kind of hard to do when you don't want the world to know you exist, won't it?"
"Hardly," Rumple scoffed, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled, and his stance had lost its ease. Belle felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach—she recognized the warning signs of Rumplestiltskin's enjoyment with his games waning, of his patience coming to an end. Lois had come too close to the truth for comfort with her wild stab, and at any moment things could turn dangerous.
"I think it will," Lois continued, relentless now that Rumplestiltskin was no longer smiling. She took another step forward, her eyes level with Rumple's. "I think you'd rather remain safe and hidden here, and I don't think you're willing to leave town."
Belle inwardly groaned. Mentioning leaving town was not the wisest move, not when it would only remind Rumplestiltskin that he was trapped here while these strangers could leave anytime they wished.
Sure enough, she could see his shoulders tightening, could feel that crackle in the air as his magic surged beneath his control, ready to lash outward, and she knew even without looking that his eyes had gone hard and implacable.
"Wait!" she called out before he could loose whatever magic was moving beneath his skin. She darted forward, holding out her arms to either side to keep distance between Clark and Rumplestiltskin. Lois was too near Rumple for Belle to jump between them but at least she could keep Clark back, keep herself in Rumple's line of sight—the only chance she had of keeping things relatively peaceful. "We don't have to do this," she said evenly.
Clark peered at her, a crease in his brow, and Belle dared not look away to gauge Lois's reaction. "Belle," he said mildly, thoughtfully. "Even after all this time of listening, I don't know who you are. What story do you come from?"
"Belle!" Rumple called sharply. Belle thought she saw Lois from the corner of her eye glaring at him, probably mistaking fear as anger as so many others did. "Don't go any closer to him!"
"Story?" Belle repeated, frowning at Clark. "What do you mean, story?"
"I mean, everyone in this town seems to think they come from some fairytale or legend or nursery rhyme. Rumplestiltskin, Snow White and the seven dwarfs, Jiminy Cricket and the Blue Fairy, the Evil Queen, Frankenstein, Red Riding Hood. But…which story is yours? I only remember one woman in the story of Rumplestiltskin, and she was a miller's daughter."
"Enough!" Rumple snapped, and there was more than fear in his voice—there was sheer terror.
Belle turned, slowly, to look at him. In all this time, he had said nothing of fairytales or legends, and even when she asked him what books she should read, he had never mentioned that there were stories of her friends and family here, in this world without magic but with, apparently, a man possessing superhuman strength and hearing.
"What does he mean, Rumple?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said. Rumplestiltskin never lied, not outright, not without the use of half-truths and misdirections, but that was a blatant lie, and Belle could do nothing but gape at him. She knew he'd tortured thieves and traded for princesses; she knew he possessed the darkest of magics and was able to rip hearts still beating from their owners' chests; she knew he'd beaten her father when he thought him responsible for Belle's death and sent a wraith to consume Regina's soul in revenge for the Queen imprisoning Belle. So what, after all that, could he be so afraid of her learning that he would lie so flagrantly, so obviously?
"I know of a Belle," Lois said suddenly. "She's the girl who traded herself to a beast to save her father's life. She's the girl who tamed the beast and fell in love with him. She's the girl who broke his curse and found a handsome prince beneath the fur and claws. I don't see any fur and claws," she added cuttingly, "but I think I could guess who the beast is."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Rumplestiltskin sneered. "Are you telling me that distinguished investigative reporters like yourself and Mr. Kent believe that fairytales are real?"
"I don't know what I believe," Clark said. "But I do know this town isn't from this world. And I think the people of Metropolis—people everywhere—will think it very interesting to discover that the Belle from Beauty and the Beast really exists."
"They might be disappointed that there isn't really a handsome prince at the end, though," Lois muttered.
Maybe if Belle hadn't been so caught up in this revelation that these strangers knew her story—or at least a distorted version of it—she would have been able to stop Rumplestiltskin. Maybe if she'd been watching the strangers instead of staring at her true love, she would have realized that Clark had stepped up behind her. Maybe if she'd been less curious, she would never have asked about the fairytales and Rumplestiltskin wouldn't have felt so threatened by the ending he hadn't been able to give her, the secrets involved in whoever the miller's daughter was to him.
Maybe. Or maybe it would have happened anyway. Clark was very fast, after all, and Lois was between Belle and Rumplestiltskin, and Rumplestiltskin could never think clearly where she was concerned.
Regardless, it didn't matter. Clark stepped up behind her, he moved his arm in front of her—probably to move her out of the way—and Rumplestiltskin snapped.
He snarled, red smoke coiling around his hand as he grabbed Lois and threw her backward. Clark let out a shout and pulled Belle into his hold—later, she thought he was probably trying to protect her from the magic Rumple was wielding, but at the moment, it felt as if he were capturing her, and all she could remember was Regina's guard wrapping his arms around her and hauling her toward a cage. She let out a cry and thrashed against Clark's hold.
Lois was still sliding across the wooden floors toward the glass counter, dazed, red magic curling up around her to keep her immobilized. Rumplestiltskin was looking toward her, stepping toward her, but at the sound of Belle's cry, his head jerked in her direction.
Stark, cold fury obliterated all hints of the softer, kinder man beneath the guise of monster. It was the Dark One, now, stalking toward Clark, the Dark One lowering his voice to a sibilant hiss as he murmured, "Let her go now, dearie, or all your strength won't be enough to save you or your companion."
Belle tugged on Clark's arm, desperate to run to Rumple, to reach out her hand and calm him with her touch, to soothe away the terror eating away at him that only she could see, to banish the fumes of smoke rising from his hands—black now rather than red, and that was an even worse sign than the fact that he was reverting to using the word 'dearie.'
But Clark was afraid, too, and Rumplestiltskin had tossed aside Lois and now threatened her, and maybe Clark—even with his gentle friendliness and his kind compassion—was more like Rumplestiltskin than it would seem.
Whatever his reason, he hesitated, and then, instead of releasing Belle, he tightened his hold around her. Belle could feel his heart pounding in his chest, strong and rapid, frantic with terror. She could hear the catch in his voice and feel the tremble in his frame. She could read all the signs of terror in him that she saw in Rumple and that was what finally made a cold sweat break out all over her skin.
"No," Clark said, his tone hard and unyielding even with that tremble marring its steadiness. His grip was impossible to escape but didn't hurt. "I won't. Not until you let Lois free and allow us to leave here unharmed."
"And if I don't?" Rumplestiltskin murmured, his own voice caught halfway between a purr and a snarl. He was gripping his cane with a white-knuckled hand, as if he would raise it up in the air and beat Clark physically with it, disdaining the black smoke and lightning crackle emanating from him.
"You'd better," Clark said softly, "because I don't think you want Belle ending up hurt. And you know just how strong I am."
"Oh, no," Belle breathed, and she closed her eyes and slumped in his hold. "You should not have said that."
There was no way, she thought with a sinking heart, that even she would be able to stop Rumplestiltskin now.
Lois had been in binds before. She'd been tied up by every kind of thug on the planet, put into precarious positions by several different masterminds, manhandled by guards and soldiers and police officers of every sort, but she had never, during all those times of danger, felt as vulnerable and helpless as she did now.
Mr. Gold—Rumplestiltskin, if Clark was to be believed, and right now, Lois was having an incredibly hard time not believing in fairytales and magic—had simply waved his hand and Lois had gone spinning. She'd seen Superman perform extraordinary feats, including hurling criminals back a safe distance away with merely his super-breath, but this…this was something else. Gold had waved his hand, red smoke had blinded Lois, and then she found herself on the floor. And she couldn't move.
There were no knots, no ties, no frayed edges of a rope. There weren't any weak links or broken chains or rusted locks. There was just…smoke. Red smoke. Red smoke that changed to black and curled around Mr. Gold's hands like a pet begging to be released.
Lois twisted and writhed on the wooden floor, her legs banging against glass counters filled to the brim with dusty junk, but the…smoke…didn't give at all. Her arms were bound to her sides, her legs encased side by side, and she couldn't maneuver her way to her feet no matter how hard she tried. She let out a low growl of frustration and squirmed again until she was facing Clark.
Only one problem—Mr. Gold stood between them. His back was to Lois, but there was nothing she could do to attack him or leap on him or distract him in any way. He didn't spare her even a glance as he advanced, slowly, one halting step after another, on Clark. Lois didn't need to see his eyes to know that he was furious and dangerous and intent only on Clark and the woman Clark held in his arms.
Not that Lois was jealous or anything, but Clark was holding Belle awfully tight, and she definitely lived up to her namesake—not that Lois really believed she was supposed to be the beauty from the fairytale, of course, because that would be ridiculous. But she was beautiful, and Clark was holding her pressed up against him, and Lois had seen him do worse with other women—Mayson came immediately to mind, no matter that the assistant DA had been dead for several months now—but she herself was flat on the floor, trussed up like a goose waiting for Christmas dinner, and—
Forcefully, Lois made herself stop and take a deep breath. It was one thing to babble aloud, quite another to do it in her own mind. She was a professional and she was sure she had been in worse situations than this, so she wouldn't panic. She'd be calm and rational and she would find a way to escape this…this smoke…if it was the last thing she did!
"Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?" Mr. Gold asked, stepping sideways so that Lois could just barely catch his expression, and something in his voice made a shiver run down Lois's spine. Or maybe it was just the way the magical smoke was tightening around her wrists, her elbows, her legs, a glowing shimmer that was about as possible as a man who'd fallen from a sixty-story building showing up again to finish trying to ruin Lois's life and her burgeoning relationship with Clark, or lights that could implant information in her brain when shone into her eyes, or a cyborg powered by Kryptonite, or a man who could fly.
Actually, Lois considered, this all wasn't nearly as far-fetched as it probably should have been.
"I know enough to be wary of a man capable of reattaching a severed arm with only a wave of his hand, as if it means nothing," Clark said. Lois could tell he was guessing, but Mr. Gold's lips twitched, a minute expression that read like a smile on his sharp features.
"Oh, very good," he said with a casual arch of his brows—completely belied by the sheer desperation broiling in his eyes when he looked at Belle. "You only got two details wrong—you're mistaking a monster for a man, and no one ever gets anything for nothing."
"Rumple," Belle said, softly, almost reprovingly.
Clark's hands flexed around Belle's arms, holding her back-to-chest against him, but Lois knew him well enough to see the fear and the uncertainty lurking behind his glasses. And strangely—since none of these townsfolk seemed to know anything about Superman, and since she was apparently used to a cold-blooded player like Mr. Gold—Belle didn't look afraid at all. Lois tried not to think about that maybe being because she had no doubt that Mr. Gold could save her.
"That sounds," the man who might or might not be Rumplestiltskin said very slowly, "like you're proposing a deal."
"Yes," Belle interjected, staring at Gold intently. "A deal—deals are good, right, Rumple?"
Lois wanted to say something about the ridiculousness of Belle from Beauty and the Beast calling Rumplestiltskin by such an absurd nickname, but the situation seemed a bit too tense for humor to be appreciated, and anyway, she thought, with a name like Rumplestiltskin, there weren't many good nicknames. So instead, she worked her way to a nearby counter and wedged herself up into a seated position, then tried very hard to wriggle out of magical smoke—which was about as impossible to do as it sounded.
"I don't make deals with Belle's life," Gold said quietly, somberly. "Not anymore."
Belle stared at Mr. Gold, mouth parted, eyes gleaming with silver light.
"What about Lois?" Clark demanded.
"Oh, she's unharmed. For now." Gold darted a glance to her, a cold smile reshaping his mouth.
"Then let her go," Clark said, or rather, Superman said, his voice hard and grim. Lois stared at him, standing there in his suit and tie, his glasses dulling the color, the spark, of his eyes ever so slightly, changing the shape of his face, aided by the lock of dark hair falling over his brow. Clark Kent, the one person who'd befriended her no matter how she pushed him away. The partner who'd been there for her every time she needed him. The ordinary man she'd fallen in love with and chosen over her beloved superhero. But right now, he was more hero than man, his jaw set, his eyes fixed, his muscles rigid as he formulated a threat he might actually be able to carry through.
Superman, even while he was Clark.
She still wasn't used to them being one and the same, but looking at him now, she thought, suddenly, that it wasn't that hard to get used to, after all.
"Let Lois go," he ordered, "or I'll take Belle somewhere you can't find her. Somewhere you can't reach her."
"Will you?" Mr. Gold hissed, and he let out a laugh without smiling, a laugh caught between scoffing and irony. "What a twist—turns out the evil Queen and the superhero have the same methods."
"Hey!" Lois began to protest, hotly, when their time abruptly ran out.
"I'm done with this," Mr. Gold decided. And he reached out a hand and made a quick, graceful flourish in the air.
Lois let out a garbled, frantic exclamation, trying and failing to leap to her feet.
There was a surge of violet and crimson, dancing outward from long fingers. Clark tensed—Lois thought he was caught between standing as he was, or moving to protect Belle with his own body—and then Lois blinked and Clark was standing behind her, near the rear of the shop, shimmering magic binding him still, and Belle was staggering forward and Gold was gathering her into his shaking arms.
It was scary and unexpected and disorienting, but Lois had followed and reported on Superman for two years, written more articles on him than even Clark had—and fast as that magical smoke had been, Superman was faster. Lois had no doubt that he could have avoided it, could have gotten out of the way—whether he could have done so safely with Belle was another question—but for whatever reason, Clark was letting Mr. Gold think he had the upper hand.
Maybe he thought he could lure the sorcerer into a false sense of complacency, or maybe he'd wanted to try to get closer to Lois. But Lois had a bad feeling about this. Superman was invulnerable, yes, but he was susceptible at least to hypnosis, and obviously—judging from the fact that Mr. Gold had been able to move and capture him—he was also vulnerable to some forms of magic. So maybe it'd been a bad idea to give up their bargaining chip.
But then Lois looked back to Belle, clinging to Mr. Gold, and Mr. Gold's eyes falling shut as he dropped a kiss into the girl's hair, and she remembered Belle's kindness, her admission that she loved Mr. Gold, the way she'd tensed as if expecting to be criticized for that love, and Lois realized that Clark had made the right choice. He'd made the only choice that Superman could without becoming someone as bad as whoever the evil Queen was.
More than that, he'd made the only choice that Clark Kent—farmboy from Smallville, naïve world traveler, devoted son, steadfast friend, and good man—could ever make. He wasn't a killer and even trying to use Belle as a bargaining chip had probably made him uncomfortable.
So they would confront this problem as they always did—together, side by side, and improvising every step of the way.
"Let me up," Lois demanded. As much as she wanted to rant and rave, to threaten and pace, she spoke quietly, calmly; she thought that Mr. Gold didn't react well except to an argument given rationally and clearly. Or maybe he just liked toying with his prey. Either way, she wanted to face it on her feet.
"It's all right," Belle murmured as Mr. Gold studied Lois, making her feel like a subject under a microscope.
"Very well." The slight man gave a negligible wave and Lois was suddenly standing on her feet. Her arms were still trapped at her sides, her legs still bound together, but at least she wasn't helpless on the floor.
"You make deals," Clark said, drawing the attention his way. Lois wondered if he'd been able to test the strength of their magical bonds while she'd been distracting the other two. "I think we can make a deal here."
"Oh, do you?" Mr. Gold sneered. He was fierce and derisive, but Lois could see the way he kept his shoulder between them and Belle, noticed him give a slight reassuring squeeze to Belle's hand, clinging to his elbow. There was more here than there appeared to be. Clark was looking at this Mr. Gold, this Rumplestiltskin, as if he were another Lex, but Lois wasn't sure the comparison was a good one. Lex had been deceptive, but once you got past the lies, he was fairly straightforward—greed, lust for power, arrogance, envy. Whatever good had once been in him had been scoured away, seared to ash by blinding ambition and overriding obsession.
But Mr. Gold had layers. It was apparent in the wordplays, in the woman at his side, in the open tenderness he'd shown when Belle hugged him after admitting she'd been locked up. There was more than ambition in dark eyes, more than arrogance in the way he stood to protect Belle and his tiny, hidden shop. Lex thought he loved Lois, but he would never have shown such blatant fear for her safety, never listened if she asked him to stop what he wanted to do, what his ambition demanded of him.
"Not Lex," she murmured at a volume only Clark would be able to hear.
He flicked his eyes to her, then looked back to Mr. Gold.
"A deal can only be made between two interested parties," Mr. Gold said evenly, his accented voice cadenced to a rhythm that would have rung odd in the normal world but that fit their surroundings perfectly. "What could you have that I'd want?"
"Our silence," Lois asserted. "You don't want your town overrun by the outside world. We want to leave town intact."
"As well as your own silence," Clark added, "about Superman."
"Sounds like two deals to me," Gold commented with an affected shrug. "Our silence in exchange for yours, and your lives in exchange for…what, exactly? If I have no reason to spare you, then I don't have to worry about making any deal about silence. You'd be silenced either way."
"There is something we can give you in exchange for your lives," Clark said, and Lois was glad to hear it, because she was coming up with a blank herself—well, aside from a lecture on the sanctity of life and the evilness involved in casually discussing murder and the biting remark that perhaps he wasn't so far removed from Lex after all. But Clark was calm, in control, every bit Superman no matter that he looked exactly like Clark. She tried to edge over to him, just a bit, but her magical bindings didn't give at all and she stopped trying before she overbalanced and fell.
Gold cocked his head, Belle peering over his shoulder. "And what's that?" Strangely, he sounded intrigued, as if the prospect of an interesting deal was more fascinating than anything else currently happening.
"Your lives in return," Clark replied, and his eyes glowed with red heat, twin beams of scarlet fire that reaped a trail of destruction down the center of the pawnshop floor. Glass shattered and flew outward, but a gust of Clark's breath kept it all safely away from Lois, and when she managed a look up through squinted eyes and windblown hair, she saw a blue shimmer standing like a sphere around Gold and Belle, protecting them from the sparkling shards of glass scattering through the room, the sparks flying upward from gouges in the wooden floors, the old junk—busted up lanterns and beer steins with dwarf illustrations and a glass mobile of unicorns and a hundred other objects Lois couldn't make out—swirling about in a miniature hurricane caused by the man standing in its center.
Superman.
His arms were still bound at his sides, muscles clenched tight, hands balled into fists, and his glasses had disappeared somewhere, but he stood there, straight and tall and so powerful that Lois gaped for a moment before she reminded herself that she had seen this same man being chastised by his diminutive mother.
Clark was bound, but nothing had bound him to the ground, and as easily as he ever did, he defied gravity, rose to hover in the air. His eyes still glowed with inhuman heat and only the fact that he kept up a semi-steady gust of air between Lois and the flying wreckage ensured that the tiny, close shop didn't shoot up to uncomfortable temperatures. Lois wanted to shrink in on herself, but that would mean she'd have to tear her eyes away from the sight of Gold standing upright, hands loosely placed on his cane, his eyes tight, Belle staring about with an expression similar to Lois's own, and all that separated them from Superman was a transparent blue wall.
It was a stand-off that well could have lasted far too long—Clark couldn't grab hold of Lois and fly them both to safety, not with his arms still trapped at his sides—but one tiny thing broke it almost before it could begin.
Amidst the hundreds of items that had graced the counters and shelves, among the hundreds of thousands of shards of glass flying in all directions and leaving furrows in the walls and threatening to shatter the windows in the doors, one object caught Gold's attention. He was cold and implacable and untouchable, impervious to the damage being done to his shop, but then his eyes latched onto something flying toward a wall—something small. Something white. Something fragile.
Abruptly, the wall flickered, shimmered with silver light, and Gold reached out a hand toward whatever the small, curved object was.
Clark was there first. He darted forward, hovering a scant few inches above the cluttered floor, and lifted high enough to grab the object out of the air, pluck it from Gold's reach before the older man—or whatever he was—could touch a finger to it.
Belle let out a tiny sound, or Lois assumed she did from the way she started forward, stopped only by Gold's quick, restraining hand. The rush of wind, the hum in Lois's ears from fire burning through the air, the clatter of junk and debris and glass pelting against various surfaces—it all went silent immediately as everything still in the air dropped to the air, as the sparks went out and Clark's eyes returned to their silvery brown and he closed his lips over whatever super-breath remained to him.
"New deal," he proposed, his voice cutting through the quiet like diamonds through steel. His long fingers completely encapsulated the small white…teacup? Lois frowned, but sure enough, it was a teacup in his hands, white with a few gold and blue accents along the edging. "You agree to two deals with us, and I don't break this cup."
Gold's—Rumplestiltskin's, really, however that worked, but it was easier to think of him as Mr. Gold, an ordinary human that was dangerous but still defeatable—eyes narrowed, his mouth pursed. "What makes you think I care about the cup?" he asked, and gave no sign to acknowledge Belle's worried look up at him.
Clark pointedly looked about at their demolished surroundings. "Because the rest of the shop's in shambles, and yet the cup's the only thing you tried to save."
There was a long moment during which Gold said nothing, and Lois found breathing difficult. Finally, though, he gave a twitch of his lips that should, by definition, have been a smile but very obviously wasn't. "Fine. You give me the cup, and I agree to negotiate two deals with you and your partner."
"And make them," Lois interjected quickly. "Not just negotiate them—you have to make them."
"And make them," he parroted back, maybe a bit too easily. Someone was confident in their deal-making abilities, Lois thought wryly, and yet the Rumplestiltskin from the fairytale hadn't exactly come out on top for all the deals he made. Of course, she realized with a darted glance to Belle, watching the proceedings with bright, interested eyes, the Rumplestiltskin from the fairytale wasn't the beast who'd won a beauty's heart either.
"Unbind us first," Clark ordered, fingers flexing around the cup.
"Hand over the cup first," Gold countered. Lois wanted very badly to know what was so special about the little teacup—particularly when there were about three or four tea sets worth of cups strewn across the floor—but for the moment, she was just glad to have leverage over the powerful…magician? Sorcerer? Well, whatever he was.
"No." Clark's jaw was set, his eyes flinty hard, undimmed by his glasses. "Let us free first." When Gold still hesitated, Clark added in a steely voice, "You were right when you said I don't like risking people getting hurt—but I think it fair to warn you that I don't have any problem with shattering cups. So…let us out of these bindings first."
"How about simultaneously?" Gold said acerbically, and he waved his hand in the way Lois was really beginning to hate.
She stumbled, windmilling her arms to keep her balance as she was abruptly freed, the smoke vanished into thin air. Clark settled to the junk-strewn floor, but his brow was creased as he looked down at his now-empty hand, leaving Lois wondering uneasily if Gold had intentionally let them think he couldn't get the cup himself, if he had only just summoned up the spell necessary to transport the cup away, or if Clark was still playing weaker than he really was.
Regardless, the cup was now cradled safely in Belle's hands, and now Lois could see that the teacup had a tiny chip missing from its rim. Stranger and stranger, she thought, her mind racing with possibilities.
But there was no time to consider it, so she shook aside the oddity and moved quickly to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Clark. She could feel him fractionally relax at the touch.
"Now the deals," Rumplestiltskin—it was getting harder and harder to think of him as Mr. Gold—said, and in direct contrast to his earlier purring growl, he now sounded brisk and businesslike.
"Yes," Clark said slowly, clearly considering each word before he spoke, something Lois could only deem wise considering the obvious cleverness of who they were up against. She felt a little as she had when up against Arianna Carlin—two steps behind and in the middle of something that could only be considered crazy.
Clark straightened when Lois gave him a short nod, his voice once more firming. "You agree to allow us to go back home, unharmed and unthreatened, safely, along with everything we brought with us. In return, we agree—"
"The town line," Gold interrupted.
"What?" Lois scowled at him, sure he was already trying to wriggle in some loophole. That was what he was known for, wasn't it? Or…no, actually, it had been the miller's daughter he made the deal with who'd looked for a loophole—but that was beside the point. The point was she was sure Rumplestiltskin didn't really want them leaving town so easily, not after having maybe-almost-sort-of bested him.
"I can't guarantee your safety all the way to Metropolis," Gold said fastidiously. "I personally can only guarantee it in Storybrooke, so if I were to promise you safety all the way to 'your home,' I'd have no way to hold up my end of the deal. Therefore, the deal can only include your safety until you cross the town line—unharmed, unmolested, and with all your belongings, of course."
"Oh." Lois exchanged a surprised, somewhat alarmed look with Clark, because if Gold was this careful about the details, they'd have to be even more alert than they'd thought. But also because, Lois thought, she hadn't really expected Rumplestiltskin to be so uptight about what he could or couldn't do for them, or to clarify his position.
"All right," Clark said, clearing his throat. "And in return, we agree to leave town without harming any of its inhabitants—including you or Belle—or damaging your teacup. Agreed?"
"No," Gold said calmly, unequivocally.
"No?" Clark's confidence slipped a bit, revealing his fear. Which meant, Lois thought with a sinking feeling, that he wasn't completely sure he could manage to get her and himself safely out of Rumplestiltskin's clutches.
"You must agree not to harm Belle or I—and all of our belongings—forever."
"Forever," Lois repeated dubiously.
"Well, with your speed, Mr. Kent," Gold lifted his left hand to gesture to Clark, "all you'd have to do to fulfill the terms of the bargain would be to zip yourself and Ms. Lane across the town line. You'd then, under the terms of your proposed deal, be able to return here, with a clear conscience, and threaten us as much as you like. So, the deal must state that you agree to leave us unharmed forever."
"What about you?" Lois challenged, unable to resist taking a confrontational step forward. "You could come after us as soon as we cross the town line—and then, if we agree to your deal, we wouldn't be able to fight back or harm you in any way."
Gold took a deep breath, his eyes somewhere carefully between Lois and Clark, and Belle wordlessly slipped her hand into his, still holding the chipped teacup with her other hand. "We can't cross the town line," the pawnbroker admitted quietly, the sarcasm lading his tone little more than an afterthought. "Storybrooke is our prison. So, unless you choose to come back into town after leaving, there won't be many opportunities for me to direct any threats your way."
Lois and Clark exchanged another look; she could tell he wanted to agree to the deal.
"You'd better hurry," Rumplestiltskin advised them, his momentary fragility banished when he shifted his weight. "I don't usually make counter offers. A deal is a deal and I've given you my offer—our earlier agreement said only 'two deals'; what those deals were to be about wasn't clearly specified. My patience is dwindling and your bargaining chips aren't as firmly in your hold as they were moments ago."
Lois knew they had no choice, and it wasn't like she was ever coming anywhere near this strange town again after she managed to get out of it, so she nodded, and Clark said, "Fine. It's a deal."
"Excellent." Gold made that smile that wasn't a smile again. "Now, the second deal: you never tell another soul about Storybrooke, its inhabitants, or anything connected to it, and I refrain from telling anyone else about the truth behind Superman."
Lois felt Clark shift behind her, looked up to see him nod toward Rumplestiltskin's companion. "What about Belle?"
Gold paused. Lois was expecting him to sigh and shrug and agree that she was part of their deal, but instead he looked down at Belle, stepped aside to let her move forward, and he softly asked, "Belle?"
The young woman frowned and darted a glance up to Rumplestiltskin, then shrugged with a small, pretty smile. "I'm afraid I don't know much about Superman, or this world." She looked at Clark, tilted her head as if to see him better from a different angle. "You use these magical abilities of yours to help people?"
"He does," Lois asserted firmly. She could feel Clark's gaze on her, but she focused her attention on Belle, on her blatant curiosity and understanding gaze. "Superman is a symbol, a man who does what others can't, who saves those who would be lost otherwise. He's hope for all of us, showing us what we should be doing, what we could be doing. He's more powerful than we could ever hope to be, but he takes those powers and he uses them to fight for truth and justice. But the thing of it is…" And she had to pause because Clark was still watching her and she knew without even looking what his expression was—that part-proud, part-awed, and part-envious expression—and for once, for all time, she wanted to wipe that expression from his face. She didn't want him to be envious of his alter ego or to feel as if he had to split himself into parts for her. She wanted him to know, without a doubt, that she loved him.
So she let out the smile fighting to get free and she said, "The thing is that Superman can't be those things or help anyone or give us hope—not unless he can be Clark, because Clark's the one who gives Superman that hope and he's the one who lives out truth and justice every moment of every day. Without Clark, there can't be a Superman, so he has to keep that part of himself a secret. If he didn't have that protection, he's too much of a target, too vulnerable through the people Clark Kent loves, so he hides behind glasses or a cape—he hides so that he can keep saving people and he doesn't have to leave behind his loved ones."
She'd known all these things—of course she had, she wasn't stupid—but here, in this moment, they were real. They were right and important and so very true that she wondered that she hadn't seen and understood before, but she was almost glad she hadn't, because this way…this way she got to say them out loud and see Clark's awed, wonderstruck expression firsthand.
Belle gave her own sidelong look to Rumplestiltskin—who looked as if he only just barely refraining from rolling his eyes—and she had her own smile on her lips. "I understand," she said. "And you have my word that I will not betray your secret—a promise that's not contingent on this deal," she added.
Lois managed to tear her gaze away from Clark's burgeoning smile; she glanced at Gold and was surprised that instead of irritation at his companion's words, he almost looked…proud. He wasn't smiling, not exactly, but he looked as if he could smile now, and that was probably just as good as a real smile from him, Lois figured.
But the instant was gone almost as soon as it began, and he was once more composed and brisk. "So," he said, "I agree not to tell your secret, and you—"
"Rumple," Belle interrupted, a warning tone silvering her voice.
He met her gaze, and then he did roll his eyes and sigh. "Fine. I agree not to tell or relay through any other means the secret behind Superman and Clark Kent, as well as Lois Lane. Happy?"
Belle's satisfied smile indicated that she was, and Rumplestiltskin turned back to Lois and Clark, his eyebrow raised expectantly.
"And we agree the same about Storybrooke," Clark said. Lois purposely kept quiet, hoping to fade into the background. "So it's a deal?"
Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes, then gave a minute nod. "Deal."
"Deal," Clark repeated. Lois was hoping they could leave then, as soon as possible—before anyone realized that she hadn't agreed to this second deal—but Gold looked straight at her, his eyes gleaming with mischievous humor, as if he could hear her thoughts.
"Ms. Lane?" he asked politely.
Whatever the explanation behind it, Storybrooke was a huge story, a big deal that would be sure to garner tons of attention. She could definitely win the Pulitzer for uncovering something of this magnitude—magic and fairytale characters and regenerating arms and a man who could bind Superman with a wave of his hand—and it was hard to even consider giving up this opportunity.
But Clark was staring down at her, and he was a big secret too, one she'd been keeping in one way or another for over a year. He—Clark Kent, the man from Kansas who still called or flew home to his parents at least once a week and was there for her every time she needed him—was worth protecting, worth the lies and the secrets and the silence in place of prize-winning articles. He was worth it—and for whatever reason, he was identifying very strongly with this town.
So she met his gaze, and she smiled at him, and she said, "Deal."
Because he was one secret she didn't regret.