Belle just wanted everyone to go away, but that wasn't what happened. Emma needed statements and pictures—pictures of Belle's torn up shirt (which was dutifully collected as evidence), pictures of the red marks around Belle's wrists where Keith had tied her up, the cut on her throat where he'd held the knife, the bruise on her face, and a dozen other things. She took statements from Will and Belle. Will's was relatively brief and to the point.
"Why didn't you call it in when Keith attacked Belle?" Emma asked him.
He gave her a calm, cold look. "'Cause Mrs. Gold didn't think you'd do anything about it, and she didn't want to make things worse," he told her.
"What?" Emma turned on Belle. "How could you think that?"
Belle didn't want to argue. She just wanted to curl up and rest. Maybe, if she went to sleep, this would all seem like a bad dream when she woke up. But, Emma was demanding answers. People always were.
"I'd tried to tell you before," Belle said. "You never heard me."
Emma opened her mouth to argue before catching herself. She bit her lip and looked embarrassed. Maybe she was. Maybe she was thinking back on the times Belle was talking about and finally hearing what she'd been saying. Or maybe she was just remembering she was supposed to be taking statements, not running a debate.
David arrived partway through with the town police car. Belle was surprised they had one. She didn't remember seeing it before (Will shrugged. "Graham liked to drive it, but Emma deputized her Volkswagen").
David promptly chewed out Emma for not calling it in before she went running off after a criminal. "What if he'd had a gun?" Emma's father demanded. "What if he'd had friends waiting for you? What if you'd been hit by a car while you were running up and down the streets in the middle of the night?" He glanced dismissively at Will. "You think he'd have phoned it in?"
Will looked offended. "Of course, I'd phone it in, mate. After I found Mrs. Gold."
David put Keith (still protesting his innocence) in the back of the police car and drove off. But, even that wasn't the end of it. Emma demanded they go to the hospital. After some hesitation, Belle gave Will the keys. She didn't trust herself to drive without causing an accident and, angry as Emma was, she didn't entirely trust her either. Belle sat in the back, away from the seat Keith had put her in. She didn't even want to put the seatbelt on, thinking of Keith pawing over her while the strap pinned her down. But, that was stupid. She had a child to protect. She couldn't let stupid fears get in the way of that.
Granny, of all people, was standing there when they reached the hospital. "I called her," Will said, though Belle couldn't think when he'd had a chance to do that. "I figured maybe you'd want someone with you, and they won't let me." He didn't say, And you wouldn't want Emma.
She wouldn't. Emma was angry and upset—at herself, at Hook and Keith, at Belle—and, if Emma was in the room with her, Belle would be afraid the whole time of setting her off or making Emma feel more guilty or any of a dozen things that Belle just wasn't up to dealing with, not now, not tonight.
Granny, on the other hand, knew how to wait things out quietly. Or not so quietly. When Whale gave her his I-am-a-superior-doctor look and said, "It's generally not allowed to have visitors in the examination room," Granny glared at him.
"Good thing you know when to allow it, then," she said and marched in alongside Belle.
That was it. Rumplestiltskin would have said something scathing and witty. Granny just informed people of the facts and acted accordingly, not letting anyone get in her way. There was a certain comfort in Granny, like a solid rock in a storm. Granny stood to the side and didn't say anything while Whale checked Belle over and asked his questions about her injuries and what Keith had done.
He didn't ask if she was pregnant, that standard question of all doctor's visits. Belle didn't know if it was because Whale was shaken by dealing with this too? Or was it just because he had Granny's eyes boring holes in him? She just knew she was grateful not to have to deal with that on top of everything else.
He did ask about how she'd been eating. "You've lost weight since the last time I saw you," the doctor said. "In fact, you weigh less than you did when you got out of . . . when you got out." Belle tried not to laugh at how Whale's face reddened as he almost said asylum.
Yes, Doctor, Belle thought. Let us all pretend that never happened and that no one in the hospital ever knew that place was there. She felt guilty the moment the words went through her mind. Whale had been cursed, like all the others. If he'd known the asylum was there—and Belle had never seen him before getting out, so who knew?—it hadn't been his fault if he'd done nothing about it.
"I've been busy," Belle said. "I forget to eat."
"Well, you need to remember," Whale said, trying to look stern and intimidating. Funny, you'd think Frankenstein would be better at stern and intimidating. Maybe Granny put him off his game. Or maybe Belle was just too tired to care. "I want you to schedule a follow-up appointment. And you should call Dr. Hopper. It would be a good idea for you to see him."
Belle nodded. She had to see Whale about the test she'd taken earlier tonight. Or Doc. Which one would it be safer to discuss Rumplestiltskin's child with?
Or maybe she shouldn't discuss this with either of them. Maybe she should get in the car, drive away, and find a doctor who had never heard of Storybrooke or magic. . . .
Not tonight. Tonight, she could barely walk ten feet.
Finally, it was done. Belle was able to get out of the examination robe and into her clothes. Granny handed Belle a doctor's green, surgery shirt. "Grabbed this on the way in," she said. "Thought you'd need it."
Whale made a small noise, maybe agreement, maybe the start of a protest. Granny shot him another glare. "Send me the bill."
Belle stumbled out into the hallway, leaving Whale and Granny behind (she should thank her. Tomorrow. When she could manage it). Will was there, waiting for her. She tried to give back his jacket, now she had a shirt. "Hold onto it," he said. He looked at the red marks on her wrists. "It'll keep you warm." And the sleeves would hide the marks, she thought.
Belle could see Emma looking at him suspiciously, like a sheriff watching a self-admitted thief. Maybe she was trying to figure out a way to arrest him for the shirt Belle was wearing.
Belle thought of Will and Keith and everything else that had happened today. Logically, she shouldn't trust him, either, she thought. After all, why had he been hanging out Storybrooke's Main Street last night, waiting for the last shop to close?
But, she did trust him. Maybe not enough to let him work the register in the store or handle the money at night, but she trusted him enough not to be grateful instead of afraid when he offered to drive her home.
X
Rumplestiltskin drove back to the house. Belle leaned forward in her seat the whole way, eyes closed and fingers against her temples and over her eyes. She'd have been more comfortable in back, not sitting in the same seat Keith had tied her up in. He should have thought of that. He could have made a joke out of it, saying he'd always wanted to play chauffeur. That was one of Will's curse memories. Supposedly, his father had been a chauffeur to some rich lord back in Britain—or had been till Will made off with the family silver.
The leather jacket fell back from her wrists. Rumplestiltsin could see the red marks again. He wanted to reach over and make them vanish as if they'd never been there. He also wanted to make every man, woman, and child in Storybrooke look at them and see what they had let happen to Belle while they went blindly about their lives, never seeing what has happening to her.
The way he hadn't seen what was happening. A few minutes either way last night and he never would never have seen Keith attacking her. He would have kept walking and never known. If Hook didn't have such a big mouth and a need to gloat, Rumplestiltskin wouldn't have known where to look for her tonight. He might have just thought Belle needed to take a walk, to clear her head. He might have thought he should give some space and time and not even bothered to look for her.
Zelena, the memory hit like poison. It always did.
I know, he wanted to tell Belle. I know what you've been through. I know how you're feeling when places that should be yours, that should mean safety and security feel like traps closing in on you.
But, he didn't say it. It wasn't something Will would say.
Instead, he drove to the house (his house, her house, their house? He didn't know how to think of it anymore). It didn't occur to him till he was getting the car door for her that maybe this was another place that didn't feel safe anymore. Keith had attacked her once by the shop and had been waiting for her outside the library. This was where she'd fought him off, where there were weapons and tools she could use against an attacker. But, maybe Belle didn't see it that way.
She sat there, eyes still closed, hand against her temples. It took Rumplestiltskin a moment to realize she didn't seem to know they'd arrived.
"Belle?" he asked uncertainly. He hadn't called her Mrs. Gold. He wasn't sure if she'd noticed.
She put down her hands and shifted her legs out of the car but hesitated, as if she were gathering her strength, before pulling herself out. Rumplestiltskin offered her a hand and helped. Or not so much helped as lifted her out. She was too weak, he thought, weak and tired. He wanted to pick her up and carry her into the house and not force her to walk the rest of the way. But, he could imagine how she'd react if he did that. She might trust Will Scarlet now, but she wouldn't if he pulled a stunt like that.
"Is the house OK?" he said, walking alongside her, letting her lean on him (he could do that much for her). "You want the library instead? Or maybe the Pawn Shop? Or Granny's?" Granny's, where she would have two wolves guarding her door. And he could ask Maleficent to spend the night in one of the other rooms, if he could just figure out a way to let Belle know a dragon was looking out for her as well. . . .
"This is fine," Belle said listlessly.
He had to tell her. He knew that.
Not now, a part of him argued. A better moment, that's what he wanted, a moment when Belle didn't sound so close to being broken, when even the truth might finish the job and crush her. But, it didn't look like he was going to get one. Looking back, his best moment had probably been when he punched out Keith and dumped him in the alley. Everything since then had been downhill. The rate things were going, Belle might be in hospital and on life support if he waited much longer.
"Belle—Mrs. G, there's something I need to tell you."
Belle might be almost too tired to stand but she stopped and somehow managed to dredge up a look of polite curiosity and patience instead of telling him to drop dead, she'd had all she could take tonight.
"A couple days ago-the night before I showed up at your shop-I. . . ." How to say this? He didn't want to lie to her-he wasn't going to lie to her-but he didn't want to club her over the head with the truth, either. ". . . made a deal."
Oh, she got that. In Storybrooke, everybody knew what that meant. Still, she asked, "A deal?"
"I got . . . contacted. Gold found a way to get a message through." Not a lie. Third person wasn't a lie. If she thought he meant a phone call, was that his fault? She knew calls could get through to the town. Rumplestiltskin had been chatting online with her earlier, pretending to be an Oxford Don (and trying to hold a conversation with Maleficent while pretending to be Will Scarlet playing Pac-Man at the same time. Good thing no one expected Will to pay much attention during a conversation—and even better that making the words he needed to type appear magically on the screen was so easy it made altering security videos in the sheriff's office look hard).
The words could have been magic, the way Belle transformed. It was like life had been breathed back into her, it was like black clouds on a moonless night suddenly parting to reveal the North Star and safe travel home. "He's alive? He's all right? He—" And, just like that, the light went out. Her face fell. "He didn't want to talk to me."
He felt like he'd stabbed her. "Belle, no. I—he—Gold—" He should tell her. No, he still needed to ease up to it. The truth, then. Just not all of it. "He's scared. You needed him, and he let you down. He figured you wouldn't want to talk to him."
Belle shook her head. "Is that what he said? I betrayed him, Will. What I did to him—"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. It was bad. He's over it, all right? You think he doesn't feel rotten about what he did to you? Bloody hell, when you threw him out, he just had a couple bad weeks over the town line. I've had camping trips that were worse. When he threw you out, you spent a couple years in her majesty's house of horrors and twenty-eight years in the asylum. In solitary. With no memories. You're still way ahead of him on this game."
"It's not the same!" Her eyes flashed like blue lightning. He'd have felt bad if it hadn't felt so good to see some energy in her again, even if she did look like she wanted to hit him. "Regina did those things to me, not Rumple! Rumple never hurt me, he never betrayed me, he—" She stopped, crumbling down onto the front steps of the house. "I turned on him. I told him I loved him and I turned on him."
"So, tell him you're sorry," Rumple said, making use of Will's bluntness. "Sign up for couple's counseling with Archie. Take turns reading some of those relationship books in the library to each other. Do something besides beating yourself up over it."
"I can't—"
"Yeah, you can. Look, Belle, I told you I'm not giving up on my wife and me. I thought she was dead. Do you—well, yeah, you know what that's like. The fates don't always send clear messages much, y'know? Most days, there aren't big road signs. Turn left and see your marriage blow up in your face. Turn right and get magically chained up and have to grant idiot wishes that get kids killed." The image of Will's friend, Lizard, the young girl killed by a badly chosen wish (I just wish you could feel something for me), mixed with images of Bae lying dead in Storybrooke's forest. She'd been a child, only a little older than Bae when Rumplestiltskin first lost him. He remembered the soft brown of her eyes staring blindly at him, so very much like his son's.
No, that wasn't what he needed to think of, not now. Belle was the one he was trying to reach. "But, sometimes, you've got flashing neon signs. You've got the fates doing song and dance numbers with a full orchestra, strobe lights, and fireworks at the end. It's so big, it makes Regina's fashion sense look subtle. You guys found each other after Ogre Wars and him thinking you're dead and you knowing he's dead and two wicked witches locking both of you up. And you've still got a chance. Take it. Talk to him. If it works out, good. If it doesn't, you won't be carrying this guilt around anymore."
"How?" Belle whispered. "How do I—did he give you a number where you can reach him?"
"Uh. . . . I can do one better than that. You didn't ask why he contacted me."
Belle shrugged. "To get the dagger, I suppose. That's why you were hanging around the shop when Keith came by, weren't you? He wanted you to steal it."
Well, he had wanted to marry the smartest woman in Storybrooke. He couldn't complain that he'd done it. "Not—not exactly. And, if you think that, why aren't you throwing stuff at me?"
Another bleak, lifeless shrug. "It's his. I should never have had it. Do you see anyone else walking around with magic charms that make the people they love obey them?"
"That sounds like 'Does this make me look fat?' There's no right answer a guy can give to that question. And it's beside the point. That's not what Gold wanted. He, uh, was going to take care of that himself. Remember when we talked about paper masks? Gold wanted to make one. He wanted three drops of heart's blood so he—so I—he wanted to make a mask. A Will Scarlet mask. One that would let him talk with Will's voice and make references to stuff Will would talk about and all that."
Her eyes widened. Oh, she was smart, the smartest woman in Storybrooke. She knew exactly what was coming.
So, he didn't explain anything else. He just reached up and pulled the mask off. Once it was off him, there was nothing gruesome about it. It looked like paper yellowed with age, strips of it with writing he was fairly certain Belle couldn't read (although he could never be sure with Belle what she didn't know). It was read, because three drops could be spread an awfully long way if you knew what you were doing.
Not that it mattered. The mask wasn't what Belle was looking at it.