When Emma found Henry trotting down the side of the road, a huge smile had lit his face.
She pulled over.
"Emma," he said, climbing into the backseat, "Major news on operation cobra."
She met his eyes in the rearview mirror as she hit the pedal. "Henry, you can't just go wandering around town without telling anyone; you're mother is—"
"Keeping a prisoner," Henry cut in matter-of-factly.
Emma turned down the car's radio even though it was barely audible to begin with. "What are you talking about?"
"Did you know Storybrooke has an asylum?" Henry asked. "It's the perfect way for a queen to keep certain characters hidden from the rest."
"Listen Henry, I know you're trying to figure all this out, but you can't just go running through hospitals."
"It's more like a prison," Henry mumbled.
Emma exhaled slowly as the car turned a corner. It was, she thought, rather suspicious that there'd be an asylum so under wrap in a town like this.
"I met Belle today," Henry went on.
"As in, Beauty and the Beast?"
"Yupp," he said, "except in the book, she leaves the beast and, because of the Queen, she gets locked away and secluded from all of society. And now she's still like that—still locked up and alone."
"Did she tell you all this?" asked Emma with a smirk.
"Of course not. She doesn't remember any of it. But maybe if she met the beast again…"
Emma contemplated Henry's twisted fairytale. She was totally motivated to investigate, to see for herself if anyone was being kept in an asylum for unjust reasons. But if, as she thought more likely, this woman really was insane, she'd have to find a way to break the news to Henry.
"How about I take you home—"
"But!"
"I promise," she continued, "to look into the matter A-Sap."
….
"Morning Sheriff, Miss Mayor," said Archie Hopper as he entered the mental ward, umbrella swinging in hand.
"Moring Mr. Hopper," said Regina fiercely. The dimly lit corridor around them made her stare appear all the more menacing.
"Have you ever been to this part of the hospital before, Mr. Hopper?" asked Emma.
"I—" He looked around. The stone walls and the damp floor made him uneasy. "I can't say that I have."
"Well we were hoping that you could examine this patient," Emma said. "We're not too sure that she belongs here, and you're the expert in these matters."
"Certainly."
He eased into the asylum room. The women then looked up, and Archie was stunned by the beauty in her pallid expression—the color in her forlorn eyes.
"Another?" She said softly.
"Hello, Miss," he said. He didn't know her name, so the sentence fell short. "May I ask you a few questions?"
He'd already lost her attention. Her eyes drifted toward the far wall as though she were counting the spider webs. After a while, she nodded.
"Can you tell me about yourself?"
"I'm the patient in room 43," she answered.
"I see," said Archie. "But can you tell me a bit more? What do you like?"
The woman closed her eyes and answered in nearly a whisper. "I like the mashed potatoes they serve here on Wednesdays."
"Anything else?"
"I like books."
Archie scribbled some notes.
"What kind of books?"
"And roses," she said. "I like roses."
…
His shop reflected him entirely—intriguing, a cluttered mess, morose yet somehow suggesting mystery.
The bell on top of the door sounded softly, so he looked up from a pile of papers.
"Ah, Miss Swan," he said, "Require my presence already?"
"It appears so," answered Emma. "I'm looking for a name."
"May I suggest Emilie or Robert or Adam," he said. His calm demeanor was evident as he leaned forward over his desk. "Those are some of my particular favorites."
"Ha-ha," said Emma. "Listen, do you have records that may help me figure out the identity of anyone in the asylum?"
Emma noticed a spark of genuine interest in his eyes. "What asylum?"
"Storybrooke has an asylum that, apparently, a lot of folks don't know about," she said. "Archie's been examining some of the patients. And one, in particular, he thinks can function fine in normal society. But we have to uncover her identity."
It was the first time Emma could detect any bewilderment in Gold's expression, and it gave her a curious satisfaction. He said nothing.
So she dropped something onto his desk. It was a slim slither of gold, no longer than a bracelet and no thicker than a piece of spun straw.
"She had this around her ankle," said Emma, "If that helps."
Gold stood up and, in a frantic hurry, grabbed his cane.
"I want to see her," he said. "Now."
Emma gave Gold a ride to the hospital. He said not a word the entire time. In fact, they remained in total silence until they reached the ward. Once there, their ears were filled with the sound of arguing voices.
"This is completely ridiculous," said Regina. "This woman is a public menace!"
"After thorough examination, I don't believe that she is. In fact, I can't possibly see how she ended up down here in the first place," replied Archie. "With regular visits to me, she'll manage herself quite nicely, I think."
Gold and Emma turned the corner. Regina's eye went rounder than Emma had ever seen before. "What is he doing here?"
"He's here to help," said Emma.
"This is strict business, Sheriff," said Regina, "You can't just pull in anyone you see fit."
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but Gold cut in before she managed a word.
"Where is she? I want to see her."
"If you'll come right this way, Mr. Gold," said Archie, gesturing down the hall with his umbrella.
The party of four hurried down to room 43 where Gold, his body stiff as metal, peeked inside.
He starred in for a long time while Regina bore murderess stares toward everyone around her. Finally, he drew back. His lips were pale and his eyebrows raised high.
He looks, thought Emma suddenly, like he's just seen a ghost.
Gold's eyes went straight to Regina. His voice shook.
"Madame Mayor, may I have a word?
….. …
"So what do you do with it all?" Belle asked.
Rumple stopped spinning the gold and stared across the room at here.
"I mean, you have so much," she went on. "Where does it all go?"
"In the trash, usually," he said, "For some lucky street-rat to find."
Belle took a few steps forward and sat on the stool beside him. Part of her liked the idea of paupers digging hopelessly through the dump and coming across piles upon piles of gold. She smiled.
"So the beast holding me captive," she said, mocking her fathers former tone, "does quite a bit of charity work."
"Ah-ah-ah!" he said, "Don't be mistaken. I'm no philanthropist, Dearie."
"Okay. But maybe tomorrow we can knit blankets for the orphanage and cut firewood for the homeless!" she joked, laughing loftily.
He leaned closer to her. "I give to no one."
"But you give me food and shelter and soap each day," she pointed out.
He took her hand into his grasp. His touch was always so gentle and swift that, had he not been so maddeningly intriguing to her, Belle might not have even noticed.
"You," he said, "Are an exception."
She smiled again, showing her teeth. After a while, she managed, "My, it's nearly seven o'clock. Shall I fetch dinner?"
"Yes, yes. On with you," he said.
Belle stood up, smoothed her skirt, and turned out of the room. It wasn't until she was chopping carrots sometime later that she noticed the gleaming gold bracelet that he'd tied around her wrist.
Authors note: Wow. I was not expecting the amount of notifications I've gotten from this fic. Thanks so much! I'm so glad to see you Rumbelle shippers out there! Feel free to tell me what you think of the story/characterization so far, positive or negative, and leave suggestions. Thanks again.