Will stared at Mrs. Gold. "Sorry, it sounded like you just said you didn't want me to call the sheriff." He looked at Keith uncertainly. "You planning on just burying him in the basement? Or, you're friends with the werewolf, aren't you? You giving her a midnight snack? Just make sure she gets rid of all of him herself, not that I ever eat the meat pies at Granny's. . . ."

Mrs. Gold shook her head. Will realized how tired she looked, like just that little head shake was the same as running a marathon—or more like collapsing at the end of the marathon. "I can't call the sheriff on him," Belle said, as if patiently explaining the obvious. "He's a friend of her boyfriend."

"Yeah, so? You're a friend of the sheriff's, ain't ya? Babysit her little brother all the time and stuff. Or is this some stupid hero thing? Let your enemies go and hope they'll be nicer next time? Speaking as someone with a lot of enemies, it doesn't work that way."

Mrs. Gold shrugged wearily. "It doesn't matter. She'll listen to him," Belle said. "She won't listen to me."

Will wanted to argue that, yes, it did matter. Storybrooke's sheriff might not be the brightest (she was a sheriff, just having that job title sucked off ten, maybe twenty IQ points—and that was after you were dumb enough to let someone stick you with the job in the first place), but she wasn't an idiot. And she didn't just stand around and let people get hurt (unless you counted taunting them with food when she had them in the town jail, not that Will had wanted to share a meal with her anyway. Talk about germs).

But, Mrs. Gold looked ready to collapse. And the bruise on her face needed ice on it right away while they were wasting time arguing. And he could already tell he could talk till he was blue in the face, he wasn't going to win this one. "Fine," he said. "But, we're leaving him in the alley. People don't ask questions about guys in the alley the way they do about guys outside your front door on Main Street."

Will dragged Snottingham out. He groaned a few times but didn't wake up. Will debated just dropping him in the alley. But, drunk as the Snot was, he'd probably be sick a few times before morning came. Mrs. Gold didn't look like she'd be happy to find the guy choked during the night. It would be like that market Will passed through in that village Robin's newest recruit, Mulan, came from. Will had seen a woman burning what they called "ghost money." He remembered the paper smelled of myrrh and incense. She'd found a dead cat by her market stall had found a cat dead by her stall and was burning the ghost money as an offering, to appease the cat and keep it from coming back as an angry spirit.

Of course, a couple years later, he'd heard about an angry demon rampaging through the place. But, that had been a dog, not a cat. So, maybe the ghost money worked.

He wasn't going to burn any offerings for Snotting no matter what he came back as. Better to just keep him alive. For now.

So, he propped him up in a sitting position, making sure he faced east (so he'd notice the sun first thing in the morning, when his hangover kicked in). Then, Will went back inside. He'd seen the small fridge in the back room on his way through with Snot. A quick check showed it had a single ice tray in its tiny freezer.

Will filled up a plastic bag and brought it out. He found Mrs. Gold leaning against the counter. She was shaking, her eyes closed. Aftershock, he told himself, pushing down a sudden lurch of fear. She was fine. She had to be fine.

Knowing that didn't keep the note of fear out of his voice. "Mrs. Gold?"

Her eyes flew opened and she went stiff, like a deer hearing the hunter's hounds. He saw the fear in her eyes as she looked at him uncomprehendingly, as if she were trying to remember who he was and what he was doing here.

Will held up the plastic bag. "I've got some ice," he said, trying to sound innocent and nonthreatening. "You want to put it on that bruise? And—and maybe lie down? Have a cup of tea?"

She looked at him as though she still didn't understand what he'd said. Then, slowly, his words seemed to sink in. She nodded warily, accepting the ice. Her hands shook as she took it from him. He remembered the way she'd struggled to get the door locked. Snot's attack hadn't helped, but this wasn't just aftershock. "You can lean on me," he offered uncertainly. "Uh, I'm a married man," he added. "I'm not going to do anything that would make anyone think I'm like the Sheriff of Nottingham, all right?"

Mrs. Gold nodded slowly and took his arm, letting him help her. Watching her almost as warily as she did him, he helped her sit down on the small bed in back, just waiting for her to take that the wrong way. But, either Mrs. Gold was beginning to trust him (a little) or she'd used up all the fear she had. Will was betting on the latter. He remembered times like that. Oh, boy, did he remember them.

He found a couple of large, throw pillows that wouldn't have been out of place in a genie's lamp, and put them on top of the more ordinary pillow at the end of the bed. "You'll want to keep your head elevated," he told her. "It'll keep the bruising down."

There was a quilt folded up at the bottom of the bed. Will picked it up and started to tuck it gingerly around Mrs. Gold, trying not to scare her. That was when he saw the gaping hole in her nylons. It went from the side along her knee—about four inches wide, easily—and seemed to be getting wider as it vanished beneath the hem of her skirt a few inches above. Will tried to remember what could have happened during the brief fight. She hadn't even landed on that side when she fell down, had she? She didn't seem to be bleeding, at least. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Mrs. Gold looked down at her leg, to see what he was staring at. "What? Oh. No. Keith must have done that. When he. . . . At the door. He tried. . . ." She finished with a shrug. Not important, that shrug said. Didn't matter. Don't talk about it.

Will thought about going back into the alley and finding Snotting.

No. Mrs. Gold needed his help right now. And Snot wasn't going anywhere.

Will would take care of him later.

X

Belle pulled the quilt tight around her, covering her leg. She felt the cold right down to her bones, and the ice bag on her face wasn't helping. She tried to concentrate on the man fiddling around Rumple's shop. He was bigger than her, she thought. Much bigger. And he moved like a fighter. She wondered if she had traded Keith for something just as bad. Probably not worse. She didn't see how he could be worse.

Still, she made a small, protesting noise as he began looking through the cupboards. She knew some of the things (some, she thought bitterly) Rumple kept there.

"You have any food back here?" Will asked.

Food. Rumple had always kept a little back here, nothing fancy, just emergency supplies for late nights. Or for the town about to be annihilated, she thought, remembering him pouring her a drink at the end of the world.

I didn't want to wake you up just to die, he'd said. But, I needed you. She remembered the raw pain in his voice, the same pain she'd heard as she forced him across the town line.

Her own voice, ugly with anger, echoed in her memory. I just wanted to be chosen.

I needed you.

Most of the food was gone, nibbled on or spoiled. Bread molded fast in Maine's damp air. She'd meant to buy more, part of a growing list of things she'd had to put aside for bigger problems that kept getting in the way. "That cupboard, over there. I think there are some crackers. Maybe." While Will walked over, she looked at the alarm clock by the bed. Belle was too tired to leave. She might be too tired to get up and check if Will had locked the back door. She checked the setting on the clock-horribly early, but there was so much to get done-and switched it on.

Will opened the cupboard and found the large, nearly empty box. Looking inside, he said, "Yeah, I see the crackers, all five of them." He handed the box to her and began to fish through his jacket pockets. After a moment, he produced a plastic baggie with a squished peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Digging around in his other pocket produced a bag of peanut butter M&M's. He gave both to her.

Belle pushed back the plastic. The jelly, showing through the flattened bread, looked like a huge bruise. She wondered if her face looked any better. Then, the smell of it hit her, and her stomach clenched.

Not fair, she thought. Her stomach was tied up in knots after—after what happened. Almost happened. Hadn't happened, she told herself firmly.

She'd been like this in the Ogre War. There had been days when the news was bad from the front or worse days when there hadn't been any news at all, when they could only watch the red haze of battle coming closer and hope. She remembered being sick with worry, unable to do more than pretend to eat her food. She remembered the terribly guilt she'd felt, knowing how their supplies were dwindling, but still unable to do more than cut it into smaller and small pieces, moving them around her plate. That's why she'd worn the yellow dress to that last council meeting. Normally, she needed to be corseted almost within an inch of her life to fit into it. That day, it had been the only one of her court dresses that didn't need to be taken in.

Belle thought she was thinner now than she'd been then. It was hard to tell. There'd been no scales in the old world, and so many of the tools they used to measure were different. All she knew for certain was that she hadn't felt her ribs the way she did now. She let the bruised sandwich drop back into her lap.

Will cleared his throat. "Don't tell anyone, but Much—he's one of Robin Hood's men—used to get sick after every fight. He was fine during them. But, after, the rest of us would be eating and celebrating, and he'd volunteer for sentry duty so he could get as far away from the food as possible.

"Marian used to fix him a tea. I don't know what all she put in it, but it had chamomile and mint. You've got some of that here. Let me brew it up for you. You shouldn't have regular tea, anyway. The last thing you need is more caffeine."

Belle was too tired to argue. But, for once, she wasn't sure she wanted to. He had a point, better than he knew. She practically lived on tea, these days, forcing herself to keep going. Chamomile and mint tea, her mother had made that for her when she was ill. "I'd appreciate that," she told him. "Thank you."

After a few minutes, Will handed her a cup (not the chipped one, she'd hidden that away where she didn't have to see it every day and could almost pretend it didn't mean anything to her). Belle took a sip and grimaced. "You put in too much honey."

"Not enough," Will said. "You need the calories from the look of you. And honey will settle your stomach, that's what my old auntie used to say. It's staying down, isn't it?"

Belle gave him a Look on principle, but he was right. The knots in her stomach were easing. She drank all the too-sweet tea in the cup as well as the second and third he poured for her. When she tentatively bit into the sandwich, it stayed down, too. Taking only small bites and chewing them slowly, she eventually made it through. The smell of chocolate was too much for her, though. She handed the M&M's back to Will. "Thanks," she said. "But, I can't."

Will didn't look happy, but he took them. Belle settled on finishing up the saltines while Will poured her another cup. "Do you always carry your lunch with you?" she asked.

"Oh, you know," Will said. "A bloke might find himself in a cell with a sheriff taunting him with pop tarts or pastrami. Better to be prepared. Or he might have been chased by someone with funny ideas about where his wallet might be and have to put it away for later."

Belle yawned. She had to get up and go home, she thought. But, she could still sit here just a little longer. "Why did you break into my library?" There were other questions behind that one. Is it safe to let you be here, in this shop? Is it safe to be here with you, the madman who cries over story books?

"Oh," he said. "That." He had the uncomfortable look of a man who didn't want to answer a question his conscience was telling him he should.

Does he have a conscience? Belle wondered. She didn't think he was lying—but she didn't think he was telling her the truth, either. Still, he'd saved her from the Sheriff of Nottingham, hadn't he?

She'd thought Rumple had saved her from the Queens of Darkness, once, that he'd given up a magic gauntlet he'd fought Merlin and the knights of the Round Table to gain. She thought he'd been willing to sacrifice it to save her life.

She'd been wrong.

"Everyone here has a story, don't they?" Will said. "Even if it's just that they're the stupid kid who lets the ogre into the house, so the hero can fight it later. My story's stupider than most. You've heard of Wonderland? Not just that book in your library. The place, the real place?"

Belle felt a chill, like someone stepping on her grave. "Cora lived there," she said. "The Queen of Hearts. She trapped the Mad Hatter in Wonderland till the curse took him away." She'd tried to murder Rumple to steal his power. She'd nearly done it, too.

And, when Cora was minutes away from killing him, all Rumple had wanted to do was talk to Belle. She had lost her memories and was confused—no, terrified—by the things she'd seen in Storybrooke. He'd used almost his last breath to try and help her make sense of her life, to understand who she'd been and to see herself as he saw her.

A hero, he'd called her. And the woman who'd loved him, who'd really, really loved him.

He'd lived. He always lived. Even when he hadn't, terrible as the cost had been, Rumplestiltskin lived. That was what she told herself each night when she crawled into bed or fell asleep over a pile of books, looking for answers. Even without magic, without money or anyone to help him, Rumple would be all right. Because he had to be. She couldn't keep going if she stopped believing that.

"Yeah, that's the place," Will said. "And that's Wonderland all over. What did somebody call it, once? A really annoying world. You have to be crazy to want to go there. But, I guess I was." He gave her a cocky, self-effacing grin. "Maybe I still am. There was this girl, Anastasia. Ana. You ever meet someone who, the moment you see them, you know you're whole life has changed, forever?"

Belle thought of a war ravaged castle, the smell of smoke and blood in the air, and the mocking salvation that had appeared when all hope was lost—even if it was at a price.

It's forever, dearie.

"Yes."

Will looked at her, surprised. "Really? 'Cause, it wasn't like that when I met her. I know it wasn't. I said something stupid. I tried to act tough to this other guy—not because I was trying to impress her, just because I felt like it. Bloody hell, I was solid idiot from top to bottom. If she'd had any sense, she would have hit me over the head with a rock—there were a lot of rocks lying around, she could have had her pick—and stomped off. Don't ask me why she didn't.

"But, it's never like that when I look back. When I think about it, when I remember seeing her for the first time, all I can remember is that was the first time I knew there was a world with her in it. I know I didn't feel that way, then. I know it. But, it doesn't matter. I think about her and I feel it all over again.

"Ana, she wanted to run away to a new world, a place to start over. But . . . it's harder than you think, starting again. Being in a new world, having nothing, no friends, not even knowing the rules everyone else takes for granted—FYI, never make deals with giant caterpillars if you don't have to, it never ends well—well, like I said, it's a lot harder than you think. Ana was ready to give up, to go home.

"Only, then, this other bloke came along and offered her everything she'd ever wanted. Everything she thought she'd wanted. He made Ana a queen, the Red Queen of Wonderland. And, me, well, ask anyone over there, Will Scarlet was just a knave."

It's harder than you think, starting again. Being in a new world, having nothing. . . . Belle closed her eyes, feeling the dull pain in her cheek and jaw. I just wanted to be chosen.

She heard Rumplestiltskin's voice answering back. I needed you.

"I'm sorry."

Will looked embarrassed. "That wasn't the end of it," he said. "Things happened. A lot of things. I thought . . . I thought we'd got past it. All of it. Only I'm here and Ana's . . . not." He shrugged again.

"You got dragged here, when the curse was recast?" Belle asked.

"Uh . . . not exactly. See, I told you, I'm stupid. I'm really stupid. I thought we'd got past all our problems. Maybe we had. So, I went and dragged in some new ones. The Missus and me, we had a knock-down, drag-out fight. She threw me out, straight from one world into another. And, here I am. Until I find a way back to her. And I will."

Belle remembered the look on Rumplestiltskin's face as she forced him over the border. Do you want to go back to her? She thought but didn't ask. Why should you, after she did that to you?

She could barely keep her eyes open, exhaustion and shock catching up with her. Belle leaned against the pile of pillows. Just for a moment, she thought.

She imagined leaving Storybrooke and finding Rumple (alive and well, he had to be alive and well). She would bring as much gold and money and other valuables as she could fit into his car and the trailer she meant to attach to it. His spinning wheel, Belle thought muzzily, she mustn't forget Rumple's spinning wheel. Or Bae's blanket. Or the leather ball Bae had played with as a child. Or any of the few belonging's Neal had brought with him that were still in the small apartment that had been the only thing Neal was willing to accept from his father during the brief time he was here—Neal had tried to insist on paying rent. That argument hadn't ended well.

Or it was the only thing Neal had accepted until Rumple died to save them.

Although, in the end, Neal hadn't been able to accept that, had he? He had to give the gift back.

She had to give Rumple what was his. Even if it wasn't enough. Even if he spat in her face when saw her or ripped her heart out, a messier process in the World Without Magic. But, he had the right, didn't he?

After all, it was what she'd done to him.

X

Mrs. Gold barely noticed as the teacup slipped from her hand. Will caught it. He lifted her legs onto the bed, unbuckling the high heels and placing them neatly on the floor. He straightened the quilt and tucked her in. Will looked at her uneasily, feeling guilt for what he was about to do.

It wouldn't hurt her (or it wouldn't unless—until she'd figured out what he'd done and knew she'd been betrayed. Again). But, it didn't make a difference, he told himself. He had to do this.

It wasn't like he could tell her what he needed.

Will didn't expect to get everything he wanted, not anymore. However fairy tales got written, he was pretty sure he was penned in on the losing side. But, there were some things he still had to try. With luck (the kind of luck he never seemed to have lately), maybe Mrs. Gold wouldn't ever know what he'd done.

Will looked around. He had a store to rob.