It was late when Belle dragged herself out of bed. Late by her standards. Outside, she could hear Storybrooke just beginning to stir. But, there was so much to do. There was always so much to do. She tried to remember if she'd set the alarm last night. She thought she had. Maybe she'd tried to set it and turned it off instead? It was hard to remember anything except how afraid she'd been and how tired.

It wasn't as if she needed to remember the details from day to day. There were things she knew would happen. Sleeping in didn't change them. Every morning, Belle woke with her stomach churning, her mind already putting together to-do lists and struggling to make a plan to get everything taken care of. There were potions to be brewed and research to be done. There were more magical items to be inventoried and tested as she searched for answers. If the alarm had gone off when it was supposed to, there were a couple more grimoires she could have looked through. That's what she needed to be doing, researching the hat or any kind of related magic, trying to find a solution.

And the library. It was past time for her to be at the library, pulling the books people wanted on hold, putting away the ones they'd returned, organizing displays. Storybrooke's schools regularly sent her lists of all the things the students would be needing so she could get them out ahead of time and have them ready.

She tried to tell herself she needed to hurry, she needed to get moving and make up for lost time. But, for once, she didn't want to be in the library. Its hours were short enough to begin with. Belle was the only librarian. She'd had some volunteers who helped with shelving and some of the other work, but they'd melted away these past weeks. There'd been talk of getting other workers, but all that had been tabled once Rumplestiltskin was exiled.

Come on, you can do this, Belle told herself. But, she kept remembering when she was first working on opening the library and Hook had shown up, attacking her. Back then, she'd been able to call Rumple, and he'd come for her. Now, she imagined being in the library, looking up, and seeing Keith's drunken, angry face looking down.

Maybe the sheriff would come if Belle managed to call her. Maybe she wouldn't, distracted by something more important.

Maybe Belle should get Rumple's gun.

How would last night have gone if she'd had it? Better? Worse? Belle tried to imagine being responsible for ending another life and what would happen after.

(She didn't have to imagine. She only had to close her eyes and remember Rumple at the town line. She already knew)

Belle tried to imagine explaining to Sheriff Swan why Keith was dead and imagined Emma, shaking her head in bafflement, not understanding a word she said. Emma would probably call it a lovers' quarrel right before she tossed Belle in a cell and threw away the key, the same way she'd called what Belle did to Rumple heroic.

Belle wanted to throw up.

Instead, she dragged herself out of bed. That was when she saw the pack of nylons left by the lamp. There was a note stuck to it.

Mrs. Gold,

I picked up some stuff for you. You looked like you could use it. The food's in the cupboards.

Will Scarlet

P.S. I saw the sheriff drag Keith away on a drunk and disorderly charge early this morning. Seems like he broke into some place besides yours last night. That ought to keep him out of your hair for a day or two.

Belle turned the letter over in her hands. Then she picked up the nylons. They were nothing fancy, not like the colored or patterned tights Belle often wore, but they were a kindness when it felt like so long since anyone had given her one—a kindness she actually needed, not just the barbed thanks everyone seemed to think she should have—or the vicious kindnesses they thought she should need, like pushing Keith at her and telling her to forget all about the man she'd married and given her heart to.

Belle pulled out her phone. The library was going to stay closed today. She would try to do the things that had to be done but she was not pushing herself beyond that. Just for today, she would eat a meal and rest, and then and only then would she see if she could find a way to keep the world from falling apart.

X

Belle had decided on Granny's, despite the food Will Scarlet had left her. Hot food and maybe a chance to talk to Ruby like a normal person. But, the surge of energy she'd felt when she'd made the decision in the shop was already beginning to fade by the time she reached the diner. Ruby had worked a double-shift last night and had been given the morning off. By the time one of the waiters (not Granny, she was busy in back) had put a plate of pancakes and a glass of milk down in front of her, Belle was ready to go back and curl up in bed. Just cutting her food and taking a bite seemed like more work than she could handle. But, she knew she needed to eat and she thought she might feel better once she'd forced it down. So, she tried not to think about Keith or Will or any of the other problems she was putting off while she forced herself to chew and swallow.

She'd go back home after this, she promised herself. She'd curl up in bed and rest just for a little while. The hat, the fairies, everything, it could all wait for just a little while.

That's what she was telling herself when she heard an angry, accusatory voice shouting at her. "There you are!" Hook said. Belle looked up and saw him bearing down on her.

"Not now, Captain," she said, looking back at her meal.

"Yes, now, 'Mrs. Gold,'" Hook said her married name with a sneer. He did that now when he was getting ready to make demands of her, reminding her that she was married to the man who had almost killed him, who'd almost destroyed Emma, and may have destroyed Blue and all the other fairies. "While the rest of us are working on solving the town's problems, you're here wasting the day away. Why aren't you at the shop?"

The shop. Not her shop. He made it sound like she was hired help and he was the owner. Belle thought about pointing that out to him but she was too tired for whatever petulant argument Hook came up with. "I'm eating breakfast, Captain."

"This late in the morning? What have you been doing with yourself all day? Never mind. Leave that. I need you at the shop."

Then, appearing as if from nowhere, Will Scarlet walked into the diner behind Hook. "Let me guess," Will said. "You're trying to scare the lady away so you can make off with her pancakes once she's gone. That's low even for you. If you're that desperate to hustle up a meal, why don't you try begging on a street corner? Get yourself a tin cup and go to it. Or head down to The Rabbit Hole and offer to tell anyone the story of how you lost your hand if they buy you a drink. Oh, wait. You've run out of people who haven't heard it, haven't you?"

Hook glared at him. "This has nothing to do with you."

"That's funny, cause it's got nothing to do with you either. Or did I miss the news and you're our new breakfast cop? Did the sheriff send you out to round up a gang of Pop Tarts for her? Dangerous work. Watch out for the strawberries. Those blokes are nasty."

Hook drew himself up importantly. "Gold, here, is going to help me—"

"Oh, is she? Why? Because you asked so nicely?"

"She owes me. After what her husband did to me—"

"Get off it. It's the same thing you sat back and watched Cora do to hundreds of people. It's the same thing you did to that princess, Aurora. So don't get all high and mighty on the rest of us."

"Don't get all high and mighty?" Hook sounded outraged. Or Belle thought he was trying to sound outraged. Instead, the fight seemed far away and unimportant. It was as if she were watching an actor practicing his lines, pushing for a few more points of melodrama. She just wanted to finish eating and leave. She didn't see how to do either with Hook standing between her and the door, posturing.

The captain went on the offensive. "Do you know what it's like having your heart ripped out of you, being forced to help your worst enemy—"

Will rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, been there, bought the t-shirt. Did a better job than you fighting back. But, maybe that's cause I don't like hurting people. Anyhow, the Dark One didn't turn you into an arse. You did that all on your own."

"Why you—" The pirate spluttered. Unable to find a counterargument, he raised his hook, ready to go after Will.

Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent, Belle remembered the quote (though not where she'd read it). Of course, if that were true, she had to wonder what it said about Storybrooke.

Will, for his part, looked ready to rip the oversized fishhook off the captain's arm and shove it up his nose—or maybe someplace more painful—when Granny pushed Hook away. Being Granny, she put her heart into it. Hook went sprawling onto the floor. Granny stood over him. She didn't have her trademark crossbow—but she did have a really big meat cleaver in her hand.

"That's enough, Killian," she said. "If you can't leave my customers in peace, you can get out of here."

Granny was a made-wolf—an important difference in werewolf circles—not a born one. She didn't change any more when the moon was full and bright. But, everyone was pretty sure she still had her wolf strength—or maybe she'd always been like this, tough as oak roots. Hook looked like he was thinking about testing whether the old woman was stronger than him, but common sense won out. Belle felt a moment of surprise. It was more than she'd expected of him. But, no, she thought. It wasn't common sense. Hook liked to play the crowd, and the crowd in Granny's was against him.

It didn't mean he wouldn't try again later.

Granny glanced at Will Scarlet. "Friend of yours?" she asked Belle, fingering the cleaver meaningfully.

"He can stay," Belle said neutrally. "I'd like to talk to him."

Granny nodded curtly. "Good enough. I'll get him some pancakes." She fixed her eyes on Will. "Give her any trouble, and I'll show you how we grind up hamburger for meatloaf."

Will sat down. "Told you I don't trust the meat pies," he said as Granny marched back into the kitchen.

"I—I think she's watching out for me," Belle said uncertainly. It wasn't the first time since Rumple was gone that someone had tried to help her, but it was the first time she could remember feeling like what they did helped—or the first time since Will had given her food and a new pair of stockings. She looked at him uncertainly. "Did you mean what you said?" she asked. "Did you really have your heart torn out?"

X

Evidence that a Knave is losing it: He picks two fights in less than 24 hours on behalf of the same woman who doesn't even know his real name. OK, nobody here did. That wasn't the point.

For a moment, Will had had thought Granny would toss him out with Hook. He could already tell his day would have been a whole lot easier if she had. Instead, he'd seen the worried look she'd given Mrs. Gold right before agreeing to let him plant himself in a booth and stick around. The Dark One might not have been welcome here if he'd shown up, but his wife clearly was.

In fact, there was no reason not to get lost. Will could shove off, and Granny would see to it Mrs. Gold was fine. She could even eat the pancakes Granny was getting for him, a little something for everyone.

Except . . . he'd heard the way Hook spoke to Mrs. Gold, ordering her around—as if he had the right to order her around, as if she were a good-for-nothing-slave and he were a much-wronged master. Granny might not have heard all that—she'd been in back, and even wolf ears couldn't have heard them over a noisy kitchen and a diner full of chatting customers. But, there were people all around who must have heard him and none of them looked like they were arguing. Maybe they just didn't want to stand up to the pirate—or stand up to the sheriff's boyfriend (the sheriff could say whatever she bloody pleased about playing fair, Will didn't buy it).

Or maybe none of them wanted to stand up for Mrs. Gold.

Meanwhile, Mrs. G was asking him a question. "Did you really have your heart torn out?"

All right, he hadn't been expecting that one. He looked at her worried, tired eyes, trying not to feel guilty. He'd got Keith sent to jail and he'd turned off her alarm. It wasn't his fault if she hadn't gotten any sleep—it wasn't. He tried to concentrate on her question: had he had his heart torn out?

Yeah, he almost told her, before his brain got ahold of his tongue, And in so many different ways.

Instead, he shifted uncomfortably, swallowing the bad joke. "Uh, I guess you could say that."

She looked up at him with something . . . it looked almost like defeat in her eyes. "Was it Rumplestiltskin?" she asked.

He wondered how many people had told her about deals the Dark One had made since the guy was exiled? He wondered how much they left out? Maleficent was no angel, but Will could think of some important things he could leave out of the story about a certain mirror he might-have-sort-of-maybe-kind-of helped get out of her castle that would make her look worse (like that it had been stolen, and whose idea it had been to steal it, and—the big one—that, instead of blasting Robin Hood's camp to a small cinder, Maleficent had just told them to keep the gold but warned them that the mirror was nothing but trouble).

"What, the Dark One?" Will scoffed. "Not even close. You said you know about Cora, didn't you?"

Mrs. Gold shuddered and nodded. Yeah, that was most people's reaction to Cora once they got to know her. Or once they found the bodies. Or the stuff she'd torn out of the bodies. Why couldn't her majesty collect stamps or comic books or something else that couldn't be carried in squishy packages that leaked red?

Will decided not to mention the packages. People were eating. "She was in Wonderland—I told you about Ana and me going there, right? I met her after Ana decided to—" his voice caught a little, "—to marry someone else.

"It hurt," he whispered. Part of him wanted to take it back as soon as he'd spoken. There was more truth in those two words than in everything else he'd said to her since clobbering Snotty. Not that he'd lied. But, as someone who was way too full of himself had once said, there's difference between not lying and honesty of the heart.

But, it seemed like, once honesty found its way in, it was going to rip everything out of him it could. He couldn't shut up. "Every day, I woke up thinking this is the day, this is the day she'll come back to me. I knew it was stupid. What did she have with me? Nothing but being on her own and friendless with loser who ruined her dreams and took everything from her. And what did she get in return for everything she gave up? Life with me. Nobody—not the Dark One or Hook or Snotty—ever talked some girl into a worse deal." He'd known how bad it was. The woman he loved would have to be an outright idiot to come back to him. And, if there was one thing she'd never, ever been, it was stupid.

Knowing that didn't help.

"But, I kept hoping. I thought she'll leave all that and come looking for me. Because, what we had, it was better than gold or magic or power or anything else anyone could give her. Or it had been. Or I thought it had been. But . . . she didn't. She never came.

"So, by the time I met Cora, having a heart didn't seem like such a great idea."

Mrs. Gold looked horrified. That meant she understood what he was saying, even if she didn't want to. "You're saying—you don't mean—you asked Cora to take your heart?"

Oh, yeah, smart lady. But, it wasn't a simple yes-no-maybe. Oh, Cora had played him. But, he'd known she was doing it and he still made that deal with her. In the end, who had really asked who?

And where was the honest answer in that mess?

He went with not-lying instead, something that sounded like an admission but wasn't. "Well, it's not like I knew what she was going to do with it, did I?"

Did you ever know when you gave someone your heart? In the end, the one he'd really given it to was the woman he loved, and look where that got him. Not that he hadn't had it coming.

He went on with the story, skipping the messy bits about feelings and what he had—and hadn't—been thinking. "The queen wanted a Knave, a Jack-of-All-Trades," he said. "Someone who could fight alongside soldiers, hunt down her enemies, spy on her friends, and pick a few pockets in places her people normally couldn't go." Put that way, it sounded almost innocent, didn't it? Nothing ugly or terrible, nothing to give anyone nightmares where they woke up screaming.

"But . . . you said you fought her?" There was a desperate hope in her voice. Who for? Hook, to believe he'd had a chance to fight Rumplestiltskin? Or someone else in the long list of Cora or Regina or her husband's victims? Or was she just feeling sorry for him?

Yeah. Right.

Whoever it was, there wasn't much he could give her. "A little. But, there's not a lot you can do about it. When Cora wanted someone dead, she usually had a good story for the soldiers she sent out—said someone was a murderer or a child-killer or something like that—but finding out she was lying didn't change much. You can fight the vague orders or the general ones, but. . . . Look, if Cora held my heart and she told me you were holding up Granny's and to go knock you down and put you in handcuffs, I'd do it and I'd believe you were holding up Granny's even if I saw you here eating pancakes. I'd believe it even if I found you asleep over a book over at the library. That's how it works.

"Although, if you're asking if that's how Hook got his lovely disposition, like I said, getting your heart stolen doesn't make you into an arse. He's got no one to blame that on but himself."

"I don't care about Hook," Mrs. Gold ground out. She bit her lip for a moment, obviously deciding whether or not she should say what came next. "Do you—you said you knew a little about magic. Do you . . . do you know anything about how the Dark One's curse works?"

Will felt alarm bells going off in his head. "Uh, if you're talking about breaking it, that's way beyond anything I was ever up to." And, if you're talking about passing it onto someone else to use his power—

"No, not that," Belle said. She looked down, studying what was left of her meal. At least, she'd managed to eat a fair share of it. She might even finish if no more idiots like Hook came along and interrupted. "Do you—do you know anything about—about what it's like? Being controlled by the dagger?"

"Oh. Got it." No, he didn't get it. He didn't know why she was asking this and he didn't want to. But, that didn't seem like enough to keep him from answering. First his feet last night, now his big mouth. Was there any other part of him lining up to sell him out? No, don't answer that. "Did you ever know Sydney Glass?" Will asked. "He used to write for The Daily Mirror."

"The town paper? No, I haven't met him, not in this world. If I met him in the old one, he had a different name. Do you know who he was there?"

"Once upon a time, he was a genie."

"A genie? You mean granting people wishes and so on?"

"Yeah, that. He got freed by Snow White's father. Long story. Never mind. It didn't turn out too well. Thing is, back when I was in Wonderland, there was this other genie, Cyrus, and. . . . No, that's a long story, too. OK, there was this girl, Alice, who had three wishes. She traded one to a certain Knave of Hearts—" Will gave a small bow, "—in return for helping her rescue her true love. That would be Cyrus, the genie. Alice used the two wishes she kept to save some other people—she had a thing about that—and I, uh, the wish that was left, it got used, and, uh. . . . Look, you want to be careful when you're making wishes. Those things backfire like you wouldn't believe. Cyrus got freed. He wasn't a genie anymore. Only it wasn't exactly that he'd been freed. It was more like the wish decided he'd traded places with the ars—uh, with the bloke stupid enough to make it."

"You were a genie?"

Will shrugged. "I didn't make a career out of it, if that's what you mean. Jack-of-all-trades, remember? See, Cyrus and his brothers had been cursed to become genies when—never mind, even longer story. Just know that, once Cyrus got free, he was able to fix things with the one who'd cursed them and, poof! Three less genies, three more normal blokes, simple as that.

"But, before that happened . . . well, let's just call it a learning experience. Genies are the slave of whoever gets ahold of their bottles and pops 'em open. It's only for the three wishes, and then it's back in the jug till next time. But, it's still a lot worse than someone holding your heart. This wizard, Jafar, and a monster called the Jabberwocky—she could see into your mind and find whatever you were most afraid of—they captured Ana. She'd gotten ahold of the bottle. They couldn't take it from her—not and have it do any good—till she'd used up the wishes. So, they tortured her till she did." Another long story and an ugly one. Jafar had put her in a cage while the Jabberwocky tore Ana's mind apart—the Jabberwocky didn't just see fear, she fed on it—and you got to relive all of it while she was munching on you. Bel—Mrs. Gold didn't need to hear that. He kept it simple. "After what the Jabberwocky did to her, she couldn't even think of wishes to protect herself. She just did whatever they told her.

"And, seeing it, being there, it didn't make whit of difference. I couldn't. . . . It's not like you don't know where this is going. They were only keeping her alive till she'd used her wishes. You could see it in their eyes. It was so obvious, Snottingham could be too drunk to remember his own name and he'd have figured it out. They were going to kill her as soon as they were done. Knowing that didn't change things. I had to do what my master said." Nobody ever asked him about this, not ever. And, before walking in here, he would have said he wouldn't tell them if they had. But, now he'd started, he wanted Mrs. Gold to understand—he needed her to understand. Another story came pouring out. It was another not-lie, the truth but not the truth—because there was no other way he could tell Mrs. Gold and, suddenly, he needed to. It burned him as fiercely as anything he'd ever felt—for friends, for family, for his wife—in his life.

"Before all this," he said. "When the genie thing first happened, there was this kid, Lizard, she was called." He thought about a child with trusting brown eyes. He thought about those eyes changing, growing empty as the life inside them faded away. How could such simple wishes—things any child had a right to at least ask for, whether or not they got it—go so terribly wrong? "She got ahold of the bottle. It didn't matter if we'd been mates for years or if I'd always looked out for her even when Cora was around, giving orders. It didn't matter that—that she was just a kid. She made a bad wish, and it killed her. I couldn't stop it. If Jafar had had control of me and he wished for me to put a dagger through Anastasia, through my wife, I'd have done it. I couldn't have stopped myself.

"That's what it's like being a genie. From what I know about magic, it's even worse being the Dark One. If you're a genie, your master only commands your magic. If you're the Dark One, your master commands you. You can't argue, you can't fight it." He tried to think of another example, to help her understand. "You ever read the Harry Potter books? You know how Dobby the House Elf has to beat himself up whenever his masters want him to? Same thing. If your master tells you to iron your fingers, till they're all nice and crispy, and sing while you do it, that's what you do." Will stopped. What was wrong with him? If it was a choice between truth of the heart and not lying, Mrs. Gold looked like she could enjoy option number three, the sound of silence. "Er, but you've got to know this, right? Weren't you married to the Dark One?" He meant the question innocently (well, innocently for him). He wasn't prepared for how Mrs. Gold changed. And he'd thought she'd looked dead before.

X

Married.

Belle flinched as Will tossed that word at her. Weren't you married to the Dark One. And the rest of it. You've got to know this, right?

She had. She hadn't. She—

She'd been married to Rumplestiltskin, and she hadn't let herself know.

Married.

Past tense.

It's over, she thought. Everyone in Storybrooke knows it's over. Even the man who told me he didn't know better than to ask Cora to rip his heart out can see it.

But, it's not. Even if no one else believes it. Even if Rumple doesn't believe it, I'm still his wife. Forever. I promised him forever.

She tried to believe it. But, people who promised forever—people who kept their promise of forever—didn't throw their husbands to the wolves, then turn their backs on them, and walk away.

All the same, Belle tried to argue with the truth. "I—I'm still married to him." The words were barely more than a whisper. She didn't know if Will even heard her. "I didn't. . . ." Belle closed her eyes, remembering the look on Rumplestiltskin's face as he'd struggled to save his son from Zelena, letting the dagger slip from his grasp. She remembered the anguish in his voice when he told her to run, that Zelena knew they were trying to get him away from her. She knew. The power of the dagger, how it enslaved Rumple, she knew. There was no reason to have asked Will. And, if none of the rest had happened, she'd seen what happened when she sent Rumple away.

I'm afraid.

She put down her fork, her appetite gone, stomach churning once again. "I shouldn't have. . . ." I shouldn't have sent him away like that, without even giving him a chance to explain. I shouldn't have sent him away with nothing but the clothes on his back, thinking I hated him. I want to find him, to set everything right.

As if she could. As if this was something anyone could fix.

But, she couldn't leave till she'd finished, till she'd taken care of the things that only she could take care of.

And what if I can't? What if I waste the rest of my life here, trying to fix what can't never be set right?

Already, there was another crisis, and Belle had ignored it. Because Hook was unbearable. Because she wanted to finish one meal in peace.

"I have to go," Belle said. "I have to at least see what Hook was talking about. It may be something serious."

Wearily, trying to ignore how hard it was just to stand, Belle got up and headed back to work.

X

Not long before, Gold had managed the long trip back to Maine and back to the town that was and wasn't there. He stood at the border, holding a small, cast iron figurine of a black dragon. He thought Henry might appreciate it. If money hadn't been so very tight, Gold would have liked to have gotten another one for the boy as a gift. This one had another purpose.

Rumplestiltskin looked down at Maleficent and smiled. "Well, dearie?" he asked. "Shall we go in? I do believe the party has started without us."