Belle's hands shook as she put down the paperweight

There is no reason to cry, she told herself. There is no reason to cry. She repeated it like a mantra. There wasn't. This was a step forward. They'd found Astrid. Surely—surely, there had to be some way to get her out of there.

And that meant getting the fairies out of the hat. And that meant finishing everything and leaving, looking for Rumplestiltskin.

Belle remembered the story of Princess Abigail's first betrothed, Frederick, and how he had been turned into a statue of gold, including his armor and helm. Perhaps Abigail had true love for him, perhaps not, but a kiss has no power over someone it can't touch.

Astrid was inside the egg. Assuming what Leroy felt for her was true love—and there were many kinds of love, just because losing her had changed him (literally) into a different person, Grumpy instead of Dreamy, didn't mean it was true—he couldn't free her from this spell.

Break the glass? Melt it? Astrid was glass and she was inside it. Belle put down the paperweight.

It was too much, she thought. Every time Belle thought she'd gotten closer to finding an answer, she only found herself that much further away. Regina thought the world conspired to give villains unhappy endings. Maybe so. Maybe Belle had joined the other side without realizing it (she'd judged a man without hearing his defense, giving him the cruelest punishment it was in her power to give. Because he'd hurt her. Because she was angry. Because he loved her and had given her the power to hurt him the way no one else could. It didn't matter if it was just or right or what the town needed to be safe, it was wrong).

Fate dangled solutions in front of her only to pull them away at the last moment. Like Rumplestiltskin, fighting for three hundred years to find his son.

He found him, she reminded herself. He never gave up and be found Bae.

And lost him.

She didn't know if her story would have a better ending.

X

Belle put down the paperweight and began to cry. Will, watching her, wasn't certain what to do. She hadn't gone pale or anything dramatic like that. She'd just stood there, the light draining out of her. The paperweight was on the desk, and she stared at it like it should have all the answers but was giving her the silent treatment instead. So, she didn't know what to do except stand there, ramrod straight.

He had the wild thought that he should pretend not to notice. Belle had the stiff, still look of someone trying not to show what she felt—and doing a pretty bang-up job of it, stiff as bloke turned to marble (as he should know), if you didn't count the tears streaming down her face.

She stood facing the desk. He reached out and put a hand uncertainly on her shoulder. He thought about patting her, his hand going up like and down like a clockwork lever on one of Geppetto's toys, and saying something like, 'There, there.' It seemed even stupider and more useless than what he was doing.

"Belle," he said and tried to think of something else. 'There, there,' was all that came to mind. "Bloody hell," he said, giving up. "Just tell me what's the matter."

Belle shook her head, not like she was arguing, more like she didn't know what was wrong either. "I keep trying," she whispered. "And it keeps getting harder. Every time I get close to being done, it gets worse. I can't keep doing this. I can't."

He stood there for another awkward moment, while he could see she was dying inside. If she were Ana—no, bad idea. Don't go there. She was Mrs. Gold. No, thinking of her that way was even worse. Think of her as a little sister. Not a good memory, but one he could work with. Uncertainly, he turned her around, then put his arms around her in a hug he wasn't sure he should be giving. At least she didn't pull away—or hit him with the paperweight.

Will wished this was over, too. He wished he was home and all the trouble that had sent him away was long forgotten. He wished—he wished he was holding someone he didn't have to think of as a little sister. Let everything be back the way it should be. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently, it was. For him and Belle both. He felt angry. For her. For him. For everything.

"So, why does it matter to you?" Will said. "Why bother? You want to pack your bags and head for the hills, then do it. Bloody hell, what's this place done for you? You get attacked on the street and you figure it's too much trouble to tell the sheriff. Why stay? What do you owe these people?"

But, Belle shook her head again. "It's not that simple. I have to do it because I'm the only one who can." Her breath caught, like a wound. "Or—or I'm the only one who stands a chance. That's why. You told me about your wife, Ana. You said it was hard. But, haven't there been times when—when it's worth it because it's hard?"

Will closed his eyes, his arms tightened around Belle. "That's my wife," he said. "We—we don't always get on." Whoa, a complete, whole truth. He'd better be careful, or who knew what come out? "But, if I got attacked in the street, she'd care. If my life was falling apart, she'd come up with something better than saying it's about time I wised up. Have any of these jokers done that for you?" Granny, maybe, he thought. She'd been worried about Belle. But, it wasn't his job to give Belle an argument if she couldn't think of one.

Belle broke away from him. "You know how you'd act if it was Ana," she said. "But, everyone is somebody's Ana. Everyone matters to somebody. Or they should. If I were doing this for her, you wouldn't tell me to stop, would you? Even if she didn't understand why I was doing it. Even if she didn't understand why it was hard for me. That's why I have to keep trying. Besides," she picked up the paperweight. "Astrid was always kind. Even to Rumple." Belle smiled wistfully. "She sent us a card she made herself when we got married. She sent us another card before that when—when Rumple's son, Bae, died. To both of us. Even though Rumple was Zelena's prisoner. Even though we didn't know if—if Rumple would ever see it. She wouldn't give up on anyone. I can't give up on her."

"Fine," he sighed. "Pack up the paperweight. And the bookmark. I guess she'll want that back. Let's go talk to the professor. Maybe she's found a linguist for us."

X

A day or two before, Will Scarlet had gone to bed drunk, thinking of Ana and how he had to find a way back to her. Well, not 'gone to bed.' He'd been pretty sure he meant to go to bed, and he'd made it home to his apartment. No waking up in the library this time. That was good.

Waking up and finding the Dark One looming over him? Not so good.

"Now, now, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said. "Is that any way to treat the man who is about to make all your dreams come true? Oh, yes. I know exactly what it is you want and—in return for one, very small thing—I'm prepared to give it to you." He smiled coldly. "For your sake, I suggest you agree."

"What small thing?" No. Bad question. It's what every kid's mother told them back home. Devils and demons and Dark Ones, don't talk to them, don't make deals. Just say your prayers and run.

He wasn't sure if that advice worked or not, never having tested it. In fact, he'd pretty much chatted up every devil or demon that came his way. Take Cora, for instance. He'd stood around and poured out his heart to her even before she took it. And—despite every warning every mother ever gave—he'd made a deal with her.

Mum had been right about thing. He'd regretted it. Mostly regretted it. Sort of. Most of the time.

Except, the hurting had stopped. Except he'd been able to get up in the morning without wanting to tear his heart out to make it stop hurting.

Serving an evil queen hadn't been great—in fact, it had been a lot worse than he expected—but, for the first time in what seemed like forever, he'd been able to live with himself.

Yeah, heart torn out and enslaved by the evil queen. When that helps you live with yourself, something is seriously wrong with your life. He should listen to Mum. He should look for an exit. He should just say no and live with the consequences (even if that meant not living with the consequences).

He looked up at Gold. "What do you want?"

"Nothing you can't manage. You can keep your heart. I just want want a small favor. And your heart's blood. A drop or three. Nothing you can't spare." Gold smiled at him, deadly as a serpent. "Have we got a deal?"