When Archie left the hospital, he called Emma. He couldn't even remember deciding to do it. He only understood that he was standing outside the hospital, and the phone was in his hand, and it was ringing.

She answered almost immediately. "How'd it go? What happened?"

"Emma."

"Yeah." After a second, she asked, "Are you okay?"

He wasn't, but he said, "Yes. I'm sorry. I just…" Wanted to hear a voice. Anyone's voice. Emma's voice.

There was a skeptical pause. "You don't sound okay," she said.

"I'm fine," he said, and it sounded so wholly false, even to his own ears, that he wasn't surprised when she snorted. But all she said was, "Arch, it's okay. If you need to talk, talk. We're — we're friends."

"Are we?" Archie murmured.

"Yes," Emma said firmly.

"She doesn't know her name." Archie needed to say out aloud. Needed to hear himself say it. "I had to tell her what her name was."

There was a pause. "Are you seri — " Emma stopped. The "well, shit" that followed was low and tired. "I'm at the station."

"Emma, I can't — "

"See you in ten minutes." She hung up.

Archie let himself into the sheriff's office, which looked empty, but as the door swung shut, jangling the bell, Emma called out from the small kitchen in the back. "Archie?"

He nodded, remembering only after a long, tired moment to say, "Yes."

"Have a seat. I'm making tea."

"Thank you," he said, in a voice that sounded remarkably normal and controlled. Archie sat, the energy draining out of him like water. He felt suddenly and profoundly weary, in a way that went past mere muscles and bone and into his soul. He heard Emma clattering in the kitchen, the whistle of the tea kettle and the creak of cabinets. He didn't even really want tea, but he couldn't think of a good reason to refuse, and the milk and sugar and mug would give him something to do with his hands, something he didn't have to think about. He wanted that mindless action. More than that, he wanted, savagely, ten minutes to himself. Ten minutes to think and process and come to terms, as best he could, with the idea that one person could so something like that to another. Could so traumatize a person that she lost her own name.

Emma came out, two heavy, steamy mugs in one hand, and a box of cookies in the other. She set them on the desk in front of him. "I've been hiding these from Ruby," she said, flipping back the lid of the box. "Usually I'd say hands off the Milanos, but, to be honest, you look like you could use one."

"That's very generous of you." He took a cookie and turned it over in his fingers. He couldn't bring himself to eat it.

"You saw Lacey," she prompted, straddling a seat next to him.

"Yes. I just came from…" Archie swallowed. "I need to write a report — and official report — I'll write it tonight — "

Emma put a hand on his wrist, rubbed the skin there with her thumb. He wasn't sure if she knew he was doing it. "Don't worry about that." She nodded at the coffee mug in front of him. "Drink."

Archie lifted his mug and sipped, and then sputtered in what he was certain was a truly ridiculous manner. "There is alcohol in this."

"Yeah. A lot."

"It's four-fifteen in the afternoon, sheriff."

"And this girl has been locked in a dungeon for twelve years and doesn't know her own damn name, doctor."

Archie sighed. He couldn't really argue with that. "I have an appointment." She gave him a look, and Archie stiffened and straightened in his chair. "It's Henry," he explained.

The look disappeared from her face, and she tossed him a bright, if strained, smile. "That's easy." She dug her cell phone out of her pocket and pressed a button.

"Emma."

"One sec," she said, wedging the phone by her ear. "Hey, kid. It's, uh, me. Emma. I'm calling cause…well, I met up with Hopper — uh, Archie — Dr. Hopper. And he said he's not feeling well. He thought he might have to cancel your session. And I thought, you know, if you're not doing anything, you might want to drop by the station. Maybe. Cause I could use some help with the…" She ran her eyes around the room. "The filing." She paused. "Sure. Sounds great. See you then." She hung up and tossed the phone on her desk before tugging a flask out of her pocket, which she unscrewed the flask to top off Archie's cup. "See? Easy."

"It sounded it," Archie said. "Do you mind if I ask how things are going between you and Henry?"

"They're…going. He's not really happy with me at the moment. For getting Lacey put back in the hospital." She knocked back her tea. "Can't really blame him."

"That wasn't exactly your doing," he remarked. Emma shrugged. "You don't need to always take responsibility for everyone."

Emma tilted her head to peer at him, arching one eyebrow. "Lacey."

"I'll have to speak to her again before I can make a determination. She became…understandably upset. When she calms down — "

"When she gets over knowing who the hell she is."

" — I will need to conduct a more thorough evaluation. She..." He tried again. "Metal illness is not a - a simple thing, and her...gaps in memory may be the result of such an illness. I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I should not have come here, I shouldn't have bothered you, I wasn't thinking."

"Archie." Her voice was quiet and firm, and it stopped him. "What does your gut say?"

"I cannot base a psychiatric evaluation on my gut, Emma."

"Sure. But what does it say?"

Archie didn't answer. He didn't need to. She knew; he knew she did.

Emma nudged his arm. "Hey. Whatever it takes, right?"

He nodded, and took another drink, feeling the alcohol sear down his throat. "Emma. Whoever is responsible — "

"We know who's responsible," Emma said. Archie wanted to say that they needed to gather evidence, to build a case, before they could say that. But he didn't, because Emma was right. "We know who we're up against. And we know she's not going to take it easy on us."

And he heard his voice say, "Not just her. Everyone who helped her. Everyone who knew and stood by and said nothing."

Emma picked up her mug and held it out, and she looked him in the eyes, her gaze steady and sure and strong. He wanted to say, teach me how to be like that; he was afraid, with the warmth of the alcohol pooling in his belly, that he might. So instead Archie picked up his mug, and she clinked hers with his. "Deal."

He did not come out of his tower until late that night, until the sky around the mountains had turned to ink. Until he sensed that she had settled into her cell in the dungeon, and enough time had passed that she must have fallen asleep.

Then he crept down into the parlor (crept — in his own palace) and set the fire to light and began to spin. This was what he liked. The quiet evening, with only the fire for light, glinting off the gold thread. With only the soothing creak of the spinning wheel for sound, and only himself for company. Alone. He liked being alone. He preferred it. Very much so.

He did.

Rumplestiltskin sensed the movement, the shift in the air and the magic, and he froze, caught like a wasp in amber. For one endless moment of indecision, he was caught between the desire to stay and the fear that urged him to flee.

Belle came in, her bare feet silent on the carpet, clad in only her shift, with her blanket — the blanket he had given her — wrapped around her like a shawl. She noticed the fire first and spun to find him at the spinning wheel. "You're back!"

It came out slightly breathless, a mix of laughter and surprise and — and that was it. Just laughter and surprise. Nothing else. Certainly not relief.

"Of course I'm back, foolish girl," Rumplestiltskin said, keeping his focus on the wheel and the straw as he twisted her words into a mockery, a joke, in the hope of robbing them of their power. "This is my castle. I will always come back."

"Well. You were away a long time," she said, a little awkwardly.

"Not even two weeks," he said flippantly, glancing up to give her a mocking smile and immediately wished he hadn't. She was standing with her back to the fire, and she was wearing only her shift. The firelight glowed through it, and for a dry-mouthed, gut-wrenching moment, his mind went simply blank.

Of course she was in her shift. It made sense. It was practical. She wouldn't sleep in that mess of a ball gown. It probably had to dry or…or something. Yes, dry — after she had gotten it all wet and messy from the laundry. Even if it hadn't been, it couldn't possibly be comfortable, sleeping in all those acres of satin. A shift was much more sheer — sensible. Much more sensible.

He should get her another gown. This waiting for her to ask was silly; he was the Dark One, wasn't he? He didn't need to prove anything to some snip of a girl. He should get her something more serviceable, for work. And some proper nightgowns. And a robe. A thick, dark, heavy robe.

Not immediately, of course. It would acknowledge that he could see things. Best he didn't, and – and pretend he couldn't.

"I couldn't sleep," Belle said, playing with the edges of her blanket. "I was going to make some tea. Would you like some?"

Rumplestiltskin nodded and selected more straw. She went into the kitchen, the door shutting softly behind her. When she came out again, some minutes later, tea things on a tray, he merely waved for her to put a cup to the side for him and continued spinning. He waited until she was settled, curled up in a chair by the fire with a teacup cradled in her hands, to pick up his own cup and take a sip.

At the very least she had learned how to make a decent cup of tea; dark and strong enough that you could very nearly slice it with a knife and spread it on a piece of bread. There had been days — Before — when there had barely been enough food for Bae, and he had to make do with tea, and he would make it strong enough that he could tell himself it would last all day. He had gotten into the habit, Rumplestiltskin supposed, even though he no longer needed to worry about where the next meal would come from, had not needed to for some time (even if he could never entirely forget what the worry tasted like), and still preferred his tea dark enough to stain an anvil. Anything weaker simply tasted like water with ideas above its station.

He finished his cup, and crossed to the table to pour himself another, risking a glance at Belle along the way. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, her bare feet peeking out from under the edge of her shift, and her eyes were closed as her head lay lax against the back of the chair. The half-empty teacup was settled in her lap, tilting so that the tea was very nearly spilling out. Rumplestiltskin watched her for a moment, then gently eased the teacup out of her grasp and set it on the table. He was careful to touch only the cup, not her hands. He knew people didn't like it when he touched them. She shifted as he pulled the cup free, her eyelids fluttering, and made a sound that was warm and soft and almost a question. "You're falling asleep, dearie," he said.

"No, I'm not," she murmured, shaking her head slightly. "Promise." Then, a little clearer, "I just want to stay for a bit. Can I stay?"

He wanted to tell her no, to go back to bed, to go away. It would be easier if he did. "Yes," he said.

She sighed, a smile curving her lips, and tucked her head into the corner of the chair. "I like to listen to it. The spinning wheel. It's soothing," she murmured, her voice, slow and quiet, on the edge of sleep. "It's too quiet when…"

The words faded into the firelight before she could finish, but she didn't need to. He knew what she was going to say. When he was gone. He was glad she hadn't finished it.

She missed him.

No. She didn't. She simply missed…another person, that was all. Missed the sound of someone else moving about in the castle. Missed the sense of them, and the warmth in the air that told you that you were not alone. She didn't miss him. She had simply…got used to him. Just as he was, in a fashion…perhaps…growing used to her.

Only a little, though. He certainly didn't miss her, when he was away. Not at all.

Not really…

The firelight flickered, catching her hair, which was falling free of the braid she had bound it in. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked. He wondered what it would feel like to twist a lock around his finger, and had to ignore the sharp, sly urge to run his fingers through the dark curls simply to watch them spring back.

Rumplestiltskin abruptly realized he had been staring at her for some time, and that she was well and truly falling asleep. He considered his options, debated, and settled on simply nudging her shoulder, which was safely covered by a blanket. "Wake up, dearie."

Belle, eyes still closed, shifted and sighed, "I will…I am…I promise…"

"Liar."

"…never lie…"

"You'll be asleep in a moment. You can't spend all night in this chair, silly girl."

"Getting up…promise…"

When she didn't move, he sighed. "Oh, dearie, what am I going to do with you? I should have asked for half your father's kingdom, or a rose from his garden, not a princess. You're far more trouble than you're worth."

He thought she was well and truly asleep, but she smiled at that and murmured, "Nag, nag, nag," the words slurring together. He didn't smile. He didn't want to smile. He wasn't sure when, exactly, she had stopped being afraid of him, but he...well...he absolutely did not like it. At all.

Impertinent girl. Insolent. Disrespectful. And all of the other words like that.

He should leave her there. He should sleep himself. Go to his room and sleep and leave her there. For a single, terrifying moment he pictured picking her up and carrying her to her cell in the dungeon. He could imagine it — how she would feel — the soft, warm weight of her in his arms. He tried to think of the last time he had touched someone, the last time someone had touched him. He thought about Before, with Bae. How often had he put an arm around the boy's shoulders, run a hand through his hair, hugged him? Rumplestiltskin realized, as he hadn't before, just how much he had taken that for granted, that contact with another person. The simple comfort of skin against skin.

Rumplestiltskin stepped away. He was tired of spinning. He was — well, he was just tired. He needed rest, didn't he? He was only just back from a very long journey, hadn't he? He would go back to his room and go to sleep himself, and he would leave her here, as he should have done half an hour ago, and if she woke with aches and pains from spending the night in a chair instead of her nice, comfortable cot in the dungeon, then it would serve her right.

He banked the fire with a flick of his hand, and left, before he had a chance to think any more about it.

His chambers were the finest and largest in the Dark Castle, and — which was only to be expected as he had been away for ten days – cold and very dark. Rumplestiltskin didn't mind that. Of course he didn't. He was used to it.