Chapter Forty-Nine—"What Heroes Do"

"Henry," Regina said slowly, stepping into his room as her little boy sat reading in bed. "We need to talk, sweetie."

Immediately, he looked up from the Book. "Sure, Mom. Is it about the curse?"

"Yes. Yes, it is," she sighed, sitting down next to him. "In an indirect sense, anyway."

"Did Grandma have something to do with what happened to Mr. Gold?" Henry asked, and Regina barely managed not to groan. Her boy really was too perceptible sometimes. There were days that pleased Regina, but at moments like this it frightened her. Henry was only ten, after all, and Regina's job as his mother was to protect him. David could hardly do that; he was a victim of the curse as much as anyone else. And Emma didn't appreciate the threats to the son she'd given up; she still thought this was all some story made up by crazy people. No, Regina was the only one who could protect him, especially now, and that meant she needed to make him understand that this curse breaking was not a game.

Taking a deep breath, Regina nodded. "Yes," she told her son softly. "Yes, she did."

"But why?" Henry asked. "Mr. Gold is just the Beast. He wasn't a threat to her...unless she was angry because he and Belle got together again?"

"It's...not that simple, sweetheart," Regina said, blinking. How had she not put those pieces together? Of course, Rumplestiltskin couldn't be the Beast from Beauty and the Beast...unless he was? She knew that he'd played at being Cinderella's fairy godmother at one point, and had done all kinds of other strange things, besides. And he'd certainly looked beastly enough back in the Enchanted Forest, hadn't he?

Except for one thing. Regina had suffered through that Disney movie with Henry a dozen times over the years, and she knew how the story ended. The Beast's curse was supposed to be broken by the beauty he'd imprisoned, and she remembered visiting Rumplestiltskin in his cell before the Dark Curse came rolling down upon them. He'd looked like his usual vile self, which meant he had still been the Dark One. Ergo, no curse breaking, no happy ending, and no True Love. Someone else had to be Lacey French's beast, which meant Henry's theory went right out the window. Not that she wanted to tell her son that this instant. What Regina did have to say would be damaging enough.

"So, what is it, then?" he asked, looking at Regina curiously.

"Mr. Gold is…well, he's a very clever man, and he and I are old friends. He's been helping a bit, keeping Mother distracted, and she's not happy about that. You can see what happened there."

Henry frowned. "Did she really put Mr. French and Mr. Rose up to that?" Regina nodded. "She really is evil, isn't she?"

His innocent question have given her the perfect opening, so Regina gathered herself and answered:

"She is. More than your book tells you, too. That's why we have to be careful, Henry. My mother is prepared to hurt anyone who gets in her way, even family."

"Even you?" Big brown eyes studied her, and Regina bit her lip briefly.

"Even any of us," she replied, trying not to reference the fire. She didn't want Henry terrified of Cora, after all; she just needed him to be careful. Much more so than he was now, which was to say that he wasn't being cautious at all. Henry was determined to the point of recklessness, believing so strongly that everything would fall into place and good would win if he just kept fighting. "Henry, sweetie…we have to be careful. Mother is watching all of us, and she's read your book. She knows that you know, which means that I need you to lay off for a while. Stop trying to convince Emma, okay? We're only halfway through the year. We've got time."

Regina wished that she could fully believe those words herself, but convincing Henry was more important than her own faith. Her son, however, went off in a different direction. Rather typically.

"Mom, we can't stop now! If we do, evil wins. Don't you know how it goes? Things always get worse before they get better. That's how these things work."

"Honey—"

"We have to keep fighting. That's what heroes do."

Regina didn't have the heart to tell her son that she was no hero. She'd been evil more often than not, had become what her mother forced her to be. Every time she tried to help those she loved, they seemed to suffer for it, and she had learned the hard way that it was smarter to give in, lest they be hurt even more. Almost everyone she had ever loved had been punished for that mere fact: Daniel, Snow, and even Henry. Her son might have come from a line of heroes, but Regina hadn't. She was the daughter of the Evil Queen…and people like her did not become heroes.

Even if they wanted to.

Out of other ways to figure out what was going on, Emma paid Graham a visit the next morning. Her feelings towards her predecessor were still jumbled; she still cared about him, even if he'd made it plain that he didn't care about her. It probably didn't help that the all-too-handsome marina owner seemed determined to step into the void Graham had vacated before Emma was sure if she wanted to let anyone in. She'd thought that she had something special with Graham, thought he felt that way, too—right up until he kicked her to the curb and told her that he didn't want to see her again. Then he'd avoided her, and Emma had let him because it stung so damn much.

She was good at short term failed relationships, after all. The last man she'd truly let into her carefully guarded heart was Neal, and that hadn't turned out at all the way a seventeen year old Emma Swan had thought it should. Even now, with evidence of their once-strong love here in the same town as her, laughing like Neal, smiling like Neal, and with Neal's deep brown eyes, Emma was hesitant to think fondly of the man who had let her go to jail for his crimes. Part of her heart would probably always be with him, no matter how hard Emma tried to fight it. Perhaps that was because Neal had been her first love, or maybe it was because he'd given her Henry, albeit unknowingly. Why didn't really matter, though sometimes Emma wondered if thinking of Neal was why she'd never had—or wanted—a successful relationship since him. She had spent two years in Tallahassee after getting out of jail, half hoping and half fearing that he would show up.

Emma squared her shoulders. Neal hadn't shown up, and she'd never tried to track him down, either. She didn't know if he'd ever looked for her, but now that didn't matter. So, she knocked on Graham's door, determined that she could at least talk to him like a professional colleague even if he obviously didn't want a relationship with her.

Several moments passed before Graham opened the door, looking up at her in surprise from his wheelchair. "Emma," he said, a slight smile creasing his face. "What are you doing here?"

How could he look at her like that when he'd told her to get lost? Emma tried to tell herself that it was just because he had to be lonely, never leaving this little apartment as he did, but something about that thought rang wrong. Still, she swallowed and spoke as levelly as she could, saying:

"I've got an interesting case that I was hoping you might shed some light on," she answered vaguely, gesturing at the door. "Can I come in to talk about it?"

"Sure," Graham offered immediately, maneuvering himself backwards to make room for her. "Sorry about the mess."

Emma just shrugged, glancing around. The apartment did seem to be worse off than the last time she'd been here; actually, with the number of empty pizza boxes and beer bottles in the living room, she would have thought Keith Law lived there, and not disorganized-but-clean Graham. A stab of guilt flashed through her, but Graham had been the one to tell her to stay away. Still, she should make sure that someone other than Keith dropped by to see him from time to time. Maybe Ruby would.

"I've seen worse," she answered honestly, following as Graham led her into the kitchen, which was a great deal cleaner.

"So. What do you need help with?" the former sheriff asked. "What kind of case, I mean?"

"Attempted murder, it looks like. Or at least a really nasty case of assault."

Graham whistled. "In Storybrooke? Nothing like that ever happens around here."

"Well, this time it did. Do you know Moe French and Tony Rose?" Emma asked, already aware of what the answer had to be. Graham knew everyone, which was one of the things she'd admired most about him as sheriff.

"Yeah, of course I do. Someone attacked them?"

"No, actually, they did the attacking," she replied, and watched Graham's eyebrows go up in shock. His reaction matched up perfectly with what everyone else had already said: Moe French in particular lacked the guts to go after anyone. Tony Rose was another matter, a 'big dumb jock', in Ruby's words, but even he wasn't usually aggressive enough to actually attack someone. Usually, Ruby had said, he was too stupid to know when he was being insulted.

"Who?" Graham asked, still looking puzzled.

"Mr. Gold," she said, Emma he whistled.

"That's got to be one of the dumbest things I've ever heard of anyone in town doing. Did Dove make mincemeat of them, or did Gold just shoot them?" the former sheriff asked immediately.

"Dove? You mean that giant henchman of his? No, he wasn't there," she said as she processed the questions, but then the far more important piece of information stood out: "Wait a minute. Gold's got a gun?"

"At least three, if I recall correctly. He's got permits for them. They're somewhere in the station."

"Right," Emma replied slowly, filing that one away for future reference. Then she shook her head. "Gold didn't shoot anyone, and he didn't have a gun with him when they got him to the hospital. They beat the hell out of him with a pair of golf clubs. Gold'll be in the hospital for weeks, if not longer."

Obviously, it took Graham a moment to swallow that news; he sat back in his wheelchair thoughtfully, staring blankly at the empty stove. "Damn," he finally said. "What made them do that?"

"Lacey French moved in with Gold about a month ago," Emma replied, summing up the problem as neatly as she could. She knew it was a lot more complicated than that—probably—but that really had been what started Moe French's crusade to prove that Gold was hurting his daughter.

"Oh. That." Graham shrugged like it was no big deal. "They've been seeing one another for years. Quietly, though. Like they didn't want anyone to know."

"They have?" The words rocketed out of her mouth before Emma even thought about asking, because there was no way to contain her shock. Like everyone else, she'd assumed that Gold had just taken advantage of the homeless librarian's situation, but this was confirmation that they'd had a relationship that predated the fire. That really put things into a different perspective, particularly the way Gold acted around Renee. Emma had tried more than once to tell herself that she was crazy for thinking there was something between those two, but if Graham knew about it…

"Yeah. Lacey's a friend, but since she didn't say anything—or never mentioned who she was seeing by name, or at least not to me—I kept my mouth shut. It wasn't my business, and it wasn't like they were committing a crime," the former sheriff pointed out. "I guess she was afraid of how her dad might react or something."

"Damn," Emma whispered, letting out a huge sigh. "I wish I'd known that earlier. She didn't say anything like that to me when I asked her about him a month back."

Graham gave her a crooked smile. "Lacey's protective over Gold. Lord only knows why. The man's better at taking care of himself than anyone else in town."

"Not this time," she pointed out. "They really did a number on him."

"Moe owes Gold money, too," Graham volunteered. "A huge loan, put his truck up for collateral. Some of it was for the flower shop, but most of it was for a couple of impressive gambling debts. He used to hang with Leonard Blanchard, and they got in deep together."

"I didn't know that."

Another shrug. "Most people don't. It's why he wanted her to marry Tony, though. All that money, and no brains to manage it. Lacey could ask Tony for a hundred thousand, and he'd probably give her two by accident."

"What is it about that girl that makes men go for her?" Emma had to ask, thinking of Keith lying so deservedly on the ground after Lacey had put him there.

"She's pretty and she's kind. Lacey's the type of girl you bring home to meet your parents on the first date, because they'll like her right away," he replied. "I think just about every guy in town has had a crush on her at one point or another."

The next words slipped out before she could stop them as Emma forgot her promise to herself to never talk about the curse with Graham. The last time she had, he'd kissed her and gone a little crazy. "Henry thinks she's Belle from Beauty and the Beast."

"She could be. I wouldn't know." Something odd crossed Graham's face, and Emma wound up leaving soon after that. The ease of conversation between them was half there, half gone, replaced by an awkwardness that she didn't quite understand. Despite Graham having told her that she should give up on him for his own good, Emma still wanted to be his friend. She wasn't sure if she'd ever want to be romantically involved with him again—it was too much like riding an out of control roller coaster—but that didn't mean she didn't care about him.

Something was wrong with Graham, Emma reflected as she said goodbye and left his messy apartment. But she had no idea how to figure out what. He said that Cora has his heart, she remembered, thinking back to the date that had ended in a kiss and disaster. He said he can't feel anything.

And Regina had never said that he was wrong. She'd just avoided answering when Emma had told her about that conversation months ago…and that had to mean something. Maybe Emma was crazy to start believing this, but maybe she wasn't. When the only logical thing makes you sound crazy, maybe everything around you is crazy and you just need to get with the program, she thought, and headed back to her bug. She had some criminals in jail to deliver lunch to, and at least that made logical sense.

Belle got to the hospital room just in time to hear Doctor Whale say: "…of course you are entitled to your privacy, Mr. Gold, but some of these injuries really have me worried."

"Leave it," Rumplestiltskin replied as Belle slipped in, but his voice held none of the strength that she had hoped another night's sleep would give him. Instead it was even raspier and weaker than it had been the day before, although he might have just been putting on a brave front for Renee, then. Now his face was even more drawn and pale than before, and Belle could see the pain shining out of his eyes, along with a defensiveness that she knew all too well.

"Mr. Gold—" Whale started with a scowl, but Belle cut him off as gently as she could.

"Perhaps you can bring that up another time, Doctor?" she asked quietly, reaching out to take Rumplestiltskin's hand and squeeze it slightly so that he didn't start arguing that 'never' was a better time than later. After all, she could guess what injuries Whale was so worried about, and she knew that Rumplestiltskin had no intention of discussing them with anyone. Even if she wished he would.

"You might be right." Whatever else Whale was, or had been in another life, he was a good doctor here in Storybrooke, even if he had hit on Lacey rather more often than either Lacey or Belle had liked. He shot his patient a glare and then turned back to Belle. "Can I speak to you for a moment, Miss French?"

"Sure," she replied, and followed him into the hallway, her heart hammering frantically against her ribcage. Somehow, Belle got the feeling that Whale was not about to ask her out to dinner. Again.

"You're Mr. Gold's medical proxy," the doctor said directly, gesturing back at the partially closed door.

"I am," Belle replied slowly. The serious look on Whale's face only served to worry her further, and she found her hands clasping, holding onto one another as if they could somehow hold back bad news. Rumple will be all right, she tried to tell herself, biting her lip to keep tears back. He has to be all right.

"He's not doing well," Whale confirmed her worst fears bluntly. "I believe that he's started bleeding internally again, and although I don't think it's serious, we need to keep a close eye on him for now. And I'm particularly worried about his right leg. I know the original injury was from a car accident and left him crippled, but the combination of the old breaks and the new is, frankly, a big problem. His circulation appears to be impaired, and I think I'm going to have to do another surgery to improve it. If I don't, he may lose the leg."

"What?" Belle whispered, her eyes going wide. "You don't mean…"

"If I can't restore circulation and reset the bones properly—all of them—we're going to be looking at tissue death," he confirmed. "If that sets in, I'm going have to amputate, or it could kill him."

"You can't."

She couldn't say more. Those words came out in a broken whisper as her arms snaked around her chest for warmth; all Belle could think of was how much Rumplestiltskin would hate that, how hard he'd fight against the entire idea. He hated his limp, hated the old injury that the curse had restored to him, but how much more would he hate missing a limb? Rumplestiltskin already had a hard time thinking of himself as human, and something like this would only serve to further distance him from everyone else. Belle wouldn't see him any differently, but he'd hate himself even more because of this, and the mere thought of making that decision, of doing that to him, broke Belle's heart into little tiny pieces.

"Hey." Suddenly, Whale's hand was on her arm, and his tone was comforting. "It's not necessary yet, and even if it becomes necessary, plenty of people live very normal lives with a prosthetic limb."

"He'd hate that," Belle said without meaning to, staring blankly at the floor and trying desperately to blink back her tears.

"It's better than dying," the doctor replied gently, squeezing Belle's elbow. "And the decision doesn't have to be made today, all right? We'll try surgery again in the morning."

"How…how likely is the surgery to work?" she asked after clearing her throat. The words still came out uneven and small.

"It's about a fifty-fifty chance."

Belle bobbed her head jerkily, chewing on her lip again. "All right. Is that all? I…I need to go see him, now."

Whale nodded, and she pulled away from him. Her mind was whirling as she walked back into Rumplestiltskin's hospital room. She had to come up with a solution. There had to be something, didn't there? Their story didn't end like this, didn't end in the Land Without Magic, with her father and Gaston—

Wait a minute. This was the Land Without Magic, but Rumple had prepared for that eventuality, hadn't he? Her heart hammering in her chest—now with possibility, and not just terror—Belle hurried back to his side, taking his left hand in her own and squeezing it.

"Rumple?" she asked quietly, after checking to make sure that Whale hadn't followed her in.

"Hey," he whispered, and it hadn't just been Belle's imagination. He did look worse than he had the previous evening, and her heart clenched as she saw the pain gleaming in his eyes and the way his right hand twitched periodically.

"Whale says it's getting worse," Belle told him, biting her lip. She wasn't sure if the doctor had actually told Rumple that or if he'd just argued with him, but Belle had never believed in keeping secrets from her husband. They'd learned firsthand what a bad idea that was.

"I know."

The way he said that made it sound like he was already defeated, but Belle couldn't believe that. She knew her husband's tricky mind, knew that Rumplestiltskin was the smartest man she'd ever met. Rumple always had a plan, usually two or three, and always had an exit strategy. He'd come up with something, maybe better than the idea that had occurred to her, or he'd find a way to make Belle's plans better. So, she squeezed his hand gently, waiting for him to say more, only to find that Rumplestiltskin was oddly silent. The look on his face was painfully depressed, too, and Belle leaned over to kiss his unmarred cheek.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear, and that finally made him quirk a tiny smile.

"And I love you," Rumplestiltskin replied, coughing. "I just…oh, sweetheart, I…"

"I know." Taking a deep breath—and another glance around to make certain they were alone in the room—Belle said: "We have to something. I know that I…argued with you about bringing magic here, but the bottle is in the trunk, and—"

"Not now," he rasped, cutting her off, and Belle jerked back in surprise.

"I'm not going to leave you hurting like this!" she hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. "Not when bringing magic here could let you heal yourself with a thought. I can't do that, Rumple. Not like this."

Somehow, he managed a laugh, and fingers squeezed hers in return. "No. I meant not during the day. If it's going to be done…it must be at night."

"Oh." That jerked her up short. "Why?"

"It'll look like another curse cloud coming," Rumplestiltskin replied, his voice still scratchy and hard to hear. "Can you imagine…what these poor cursed fools…would make of that?"

Despite the situation, Belle bit back a giggle, trying to think of how the cursed denizens of Storybrooke would react to purple (would they be purple? The last ones had been) clouds rolling over the horizon and engulfing the town. They'd probably riot, or declare it the oddest storm ever, depending upon what the curse allowed them to do. Odds were that they'd stay still and shake in terror, though; Cora didn't like independent-thinking peons, and that meant they'd stay quiet. Except for the fact that the curse is weakening, Belle reminded herself. That meant that anything could happen.

"What do I do? Do you know?" she asked, swallowing her humor.

A tiny spark glinted in Rumplestiltskin's eyes; the manipulative dealmaker was coming out again, the brilliant sorcerer who had an answer to everything. Hope had was drowning his depression, and the sight of it warmed Belle's heart. Of course he knew. When they'd discussed this possibility back home, Rumplestiltskin hadn't then been sure how he'd bring magic to the land without it—and Belle hadn't been sure if she wanted him to do so at all. Silly me, Belle thought. Somehow, she had assumed that he hadn't been thinking about doing so ever since he woke up.

"Of course I know," her husband told her, quirking that slight smile again. He was still in pain, but at least now Belle had given him something to think about, and she was grateful for that if nothing else. "You remember…the wishing well?"

"I do. The one with the funny plaque about restoring things long lost?" she asked, smiling. Lacey had loved that well, and Renee still did. Before the fire, she'd taken her little girl hiking out there from time to time, because it reminded her of…

Home. Somehow, it had reminded Lacey of a home her cursed self had never known but still yearned for.

"The waters come from Lake Nostos," Rumplestiltskin whispered. "Take the bottle…drop it in the well. Magic will do the rest."

"Are you sure?"

Rumplestiltskin gave her a look, and Belle shrugged. She hadn't meant to question his knowledge of magic, but he was awfully loopy. Instead of replying to that, she asked:

"I thought you wanted to use Snow and Charming's True Love potion for this?"

He shook his head, and then grimaced when the motion hurt. "No time for that. Just use ours."

"I can do that." She squeezed his hand. "Right after dark?"

"Better to do it after midnight. Make sure…Cora's asleep. The longer we can keep this from her…the better."

"Then I won't be able to see you until morning," Belle objected. Visiting hours ended at eight thirty P.M., and she didn't want to leave Rumple any longer than she had to. Not when he was hurting like this.

"I'll be all right," he told her, and Belle felt him squeeze her fingers again. "Just…bring magic. And then you know what you have to do. Keep it safe at all costs."

Taking a deep breath, Belle nodded. "I will," she promised, not wanting to think about what would happen if Cora got ahold of the dagger. She had already abused Rumplestiltskin enough as it was. Bending down to kiss her husband's forehead again, she added: "You can trust me. I'll keep you safe."

1 Year Before the Curse

Kill her! the curse screamed in mind. She knows your secrets! She knows too much! Darkness welled up around Rumplestiltskin as he paced in his workroom, thick and choking and visible if you looked from the right angle. The child doesn't need her now—kill her! Centuries of protecting the dagger at all costs fueled his rage and his terror; Rumplestiltskin had inherited memories from many of his predecessors, all of whom had been controlled brutally by one master or another. He'd long ago sworn that he would never let that happen, and aside from one brief blip—which he'd quickly rectified—he had managed to keep the dagger safe for the many so-called heroes who had sought it out.

Until his wife, his True Love, had asked about it. Oh, she'd couched it in generalized terms, talking about how worried she was and how she needed to know if there was something that could control him, but the curse knew the truth. She wanted to control him. They all did. They wanted his power for their own, wanted to make him into a slave. Kill her for that, the curse whispered seductively. Kill her slowly and show her that you will be no one's slave, no matter how clever they think they are. Or keep her. Break her. Teach her.

Whipped into a fury, his magic lashed out at the shelf of potions ingredients to his right, smashing bottles into pieces. But that wasn't enough, wasn't nearly enough—he had trusted her!—so Rumplestiltskin whirled and reached out to grab the shelf in his hands, using his curse-enhanced strength to pull it down. Relishing the shower of glass and precious ingredients, he then turned and tore a bookshelf off the far wall, throwing rare and priceless books across the tower as his curse raged in his mind, egging him on to destroy everything he held dear. He'd trusted Belle, opened his scarred little heart to her, and this was how she repaid him? He had given her everything he was, had—

"I'm not trying to take it from you," Belle had whispered as he'd stormed out. Rumplestiltskin had been too angry to hear the words then, but now they sank in. Did she mean that? Belle had said that someone controlling him could endanger her and Gabrielle, and she was so right about that. That was why he couldn't tell her, mustn't let anyone see the dagger. Wasn't it?

Kill her! the curse repeated insistently, not at all liking the way his thoughts were tracking. But Rumplestiltskin had lived with his True Love for over three years now. They had somehow managed to create a family despite the evil demon raging within his mind, and he was learning how to shut that voice out. His love for Belle had proven, time and again, to be a better compass to follow than the voice of his curse, so Rumplestiltskin now shoved it aside, trying to think without his fury clouding his mind. Belle had only asked a question. She had not even asked to see the dagger—although Rumplestiltskin knew she would, because Belle was just a tactile person like that. She had asked an innocent question of her husband, of a man who claimed to love her so much, and he had snapped at her.

In fact, he had said terrible, hurtful things to her. Things Belle had every right not to forgive him for saying. What was wrong with him? Rumplestiltskin had accused Belle of not loving him because she'd asked about the dagger. What kind of fool was he? He would deserve it if she walked out and left him here and now.

He'd never deserved her in the first place, after all.

Sinking onto the floor, Rumplestiltskin let his shoulders slump and his head drop. Had he done it this time? Had he been such a fool that he was going to lose her? What if Belle took Gabi with her? Losing the both of them would destroy him, and he knew that. They were all he had aside from the obsessive quest to find his lost son; his wife and daughter were proof that, Dark One or not, Rumplestiltskin could love, could do the right thing despite his curse, and—

You know what you have to do, an inner voice whispered, and for once it was not his curse. Or if it was, he was interpreting the words differently than the curse wanted him to. Because Rumplestiltskin knew exactly what he needed to do, and somehow he gathered the courage to lever himself to his feet. Belle was worth fighting for, and he was the one that had hurt her. He needed to make that right, lest he truly turn to dust. So, Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath and left the mess in his workroom behind, walking slowly down the stairs and refusing to let himself stop. He had to make this right. He did. He couldn't let the coward win, couldn't hide until the storm passed and Belle left him. Belle had taught him to be stronger than that.

Tentatively, he tapped on their bedroom door before opening it. Belle sat on the bed again, her knees pulled up tight to her chest and with her arms wrapped around them. Her head had been buried against them, but snapped up when he crept in, her blue eyes red-rimmed and full of tears. She looked up at him, broken and hurting, and this was all his fault. Rumplestiltskin's feet kicked him into motion before he even decided to move, and suddenly, somehow, he was kneeling at the side of the bed, looking up at the love of his life. Silent tears were still running down her cheeks, and Rumplestiltskin wanted to hold her, but he was afraid that he'd thrown away the right to do that.

"Belle…" Rumpelstiltskin whispered timidly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did—I didn't mean it, I was just—"

She launched herself at him before he could say more, and suddenly, Rumplestiltskin found himself with his arms full of his wife, with both of them sitting on the floor and leaning against the bed. "I'm sorry, too," Belle said in a rush. "I don't want to enslave you, Rumple. I read about all the horrible things people have done to Dark Ones, and I just want to—"

The last words were lost in a sob, and Rumplestiltskin shifted to the bed to pull her closer. "It's my fault, sweetheart. Not yours. I'm a monster. I should have listened to you, but I…I couldn't."

"You're not a monster, Rumple," she told him fiercely. "A monster wouldn't have apologized. A monster wouldn't have come back in here."

"I couldn't bear to lose you."

"I wouldn't leave you just because of a fight!" Leaning back, Belle looked him in the eye, and he felt a smaller hand touch his cheek gently. "You silly man. I love you, and True Love must be fought for, remember? You told me that."

"And you taught me how," Rumplestiltskin whispered, feeling the distant voice of his curse snarl in objection, but with Belle in his arms, that demon was easy to ignore. "I do love you, Belle. More than the world."

"I know." Her smile, despite her tear stained cheeks, grew a little cheeky. "I've seen your real face, remember?"

She leaned in and kissed him on the nose, and the fact that Rumplestiltskin didn't even try to pull away said a lot about how far they had come from that first disastrous kiss. He just leaned into her touch, burying his face in her shoulder and breathing in the amazing scent that made Belle into Belle. "I'm sorry," he whispered again.

"It's all right. I shouldn't have brought it up like that. I just…I just needed to know. If something like that can control you…"

Belle trailed off, and Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard. She can't know! his curse all but screamed. His head was pounding with every word it thundered. You've killed people for less knowledge than she has! The fact that the curse was right did nothing to change his feelings for Belle. He trusted her. Didn't he?

"I would never let anyone use me to hurt you or Gabrielle," he reassured her. But even as the words came out, he knew they were a lie. If someone got a hold of the dagger, Rumplestiltskin knew he would have no choice. "I would burn the world to ash before I let either of you be hurt."

"Don't say that," she objected, and Rumplestiltskin found a twisted little smile touching his features. His wife was such a good person; there were times that he wondered how she had fallen for someone like him. He didn't deserve her, but what he had said was the pure truth. Rumplestiltskin would destroy entire realms before he let anyone hurt his family.

"All right, then," he replied softly. "I won't say it."

Rumplestiltskin kissed the top of Belle's head, again gathering his courage. Belle might have accepted his apology, but she deserved better than that—and he had to do this before the coward won out. So, he freed himself from Belle's arms, feeling her shiver in response but refusing the coward's need to dive back into her embrace. He took a deep breath.

"To answer your question," he said softly. "Yes. This"—a flick of his wrist summoned the kris dagger out of his vault, with the jeweled hilt landing in his right hand. Its familiar weight rested heavily in his grip, and the curse's voice rose a little louder within his soul the longer the dagger was there, but Rumplestiltskin did not let himself banish it right away—"can indeed control me."

"Oh," Belle whispered, staring at the wavy blade. Rumplestiltskin had summoned it so that his name, carved artfully into the blade itself, was visible, and he could see her eyes tracing over the letters again and again.

"It is also the one thing that can kill me," Rumplestiltskin continued, trying to ignore the way his voice shook. He tried to smile, but he could feel the way the expression turned grotesque and tense right away. "Whoever kills me with this dagger becomes the Dark One. I killed my predecessor with it…and here I am."

"The books said something about that," she replied after a moment, looking up at his face instead of at the dagger. Rumplestiltskin imagined that his terror and his tension were written plainly there for anyone to see, but Belle gave him a real smile. "Thank you for showing me."

A jerky nod was the only response he could manage for a moment, until Rumplestiltskin found his voice enough to whisper: "I've killed everyone who ever saw this," he admitted. "Except Bae. And now you."

"I love you, Rumple," Belle said instead of thanking him, and then reached out for his hand. Even though her fingers were seeking his left hand, the hand without the dagger, Rumplestiltskin found himself jerking the dagger back defensively, his breath growing short and fearful. Yet Belle still managed to capture his free hand, squeezing it lovingly.

"I…do trust you, sweetheart," he told her, and they were some of the hardest words he'd ever forced himself to say. "I'm just…"

"Afraid," she finished for him, squeezing his hand again. "I can't imagine what it would be like to have something that you knew would allow anyone who held it to control you, to make you do anything. You always say that all magic comes at a price, but I never thought that your curse would come with one that is so steep."

"The dagger holds my soul, I think," Rumplestiltskin said raggedly. "Or what's left of it."

So many years of darkness. Did he have any soul left? Whatever remained of it certainly belonged to Belle, and he owed her these answers, even if his curse was trying to tear at his mind for giving them. Once, so many years ago, he had told another woman of this dagger, and Rumplestiltskin had lived to regret it. Only his lingering affection for her kept him from killing her for that knowledge, but Rumplestiltskin did truly believe that Cora was not so foolish as to try to control him. She was after other sorts of power, and knew that even attempting to take the dagger would be worth her life. Cora was many things, but she didn't have a death wish.

And Belle was nothing like Cora. He'd never shown Cora the dagger, but he had shown Belle. And she hadn't even tried to touch it, sensing his tension and seeking to soothe him instead. Rumplestiltskin truly didn't deserve her love, particularly after what he'd said to her earlier, but he allowed himself to embrace her again, anyway, after he banished the dagger back to the vault, whispering apologies in her ear as they curled up to sleep.

Shortly after the fire, Rumplestiltskin had shown Belle where he had buried the dagger, a demonstration of trust that still floored her on so many levels. Her experiences on that front back in the Enchanted Forest had taught her that her husband was downright paranoid about the dagger, and Belle had read enough of his books—and asked him enough questions—to understand why. She had no desire to ever even hold it, and yet now Rumplestiltskin was trusting her to dig it up and keep it safe while he was in the hospital. Belle was no fool, and she knew that her husband was far from perfect. There was a great darkness eating at him, and yet somehow he managed to overcome that enough to trust her with his very soul.

She drove the Cadillac out to the cabin as soon as she left, pausing only to go to the house and pick up the vial containing her and Rumplestiltskin's True Love potion. He'd made a second one, she knew, and had Prince 'James' hide it somewhere, but Belle had never asked where that vial was. It didn't really matter, anyway. Their vial was inside the blue and gold chest that the curse had delivered to her apartment, which she and Rumplestiltskin had then transferred to his study after she moved in. Giving her daughter a quick peck on the cheek and promising Marie and Dove that she would be back soon, Belle grabbed a shovel from the garage and drove out to cabin Mr. Gold owned.

Belle's memory was accurate, and she'd remembered that the cabin held a pair of battery powered lights, so finding the dagger was easy. Digging it up took a little more work, but there was no way that she was going to wait until after she brought magic to locate the dagger. Perhaps her husband had still been loopy thanks to the drugs in his system, because Belle saw the gaping weakness in his plan that he did not. He had asked her to bring magic late at night to keep anyone, particularly Cora, from knowing, but if Belle had learned anything about Cora over the last twenty-eight years, it was that Storybrooke's mayor was anything but stupid. She probably would notice the moment that magic came, and the way that she'd abused Rumplestiltskin under the curse told Belle that Cora would be eager to control him now. Her caveats were not nearly as all-encompassing type of control as the dagger would be, and Belle knew enough about the older woman to know she would want more. Cora would try to find the dagger with magic as soon as she knew that she could, and Belle was not going to let that happen.

So, she spent two hours digging holes—three of them in the frozen ground—until she finally found the exact right spot. Finally, Belle was able to kneel in the three-foot deep hole and remove the cloth-wrapped weapon, holding the dagger of the Dark One in her hand for the first time. Oddly, even without magic here in Storybrooke, Belle could feel power resonating off of the blade, even before she unwrapped it.

Rumplestiltskin.

The word was there, carved in deeply, just like she remembered. "The dagger holds my soul, I think," Rumplestiltskin had said to her, once. And Belle believed that now, holding the distillation of his curse in her hand and staring at the blade. Even here, she thought she could hear ghostly whispers if she concentrated hard enough. The whispers were too quiet for her to discern words, but Belle could tell they were there. Is this like what Rumple hears inside his mind all the time? she wondered. Her husband didn't speak often of the way his curse spoke to him, but he'd told her about its voice once or twice.

Shivering, Belle slipped the dagger inside her purse, hugging it close to her body and glad to have the wavy weapon out of her hand. Holding the dagger made her feel even colder than she already felt in the chilly January air…but even worse, it made her feel powerful. It's only going to get worse when you bring magic, Belle told herself firmly. So you'd best get used to resisting it now. Rumplestiltskin had never put it in so many words, but she knew that one of his greatest fears was having someone he loved control him with the dagger, and Belle would not let that happen. She was going to keep the dagger safe, and then give it to him. As soon as she could.

Returning to the car, she kept her purse close by for the drive, terrified that someone might leap into the car and steal the dagger away. Belle had watched Cora hurt her husband often enough. There was no way she was going to stand by while someone else did the same, just far more effectively. Fortunately, the drive to the well was not a long one, or at least the trip along the road wasn't. Grabbing her purse, Belle climbed out of car and started to hike up the hill, wishing she'd worn slightly smaller heels but deciding that it was too late to care. Under other circumstances, she would have taken her shoes off for the climb, but the ground continued to crunch under her feet and she passed several large patches of snow. The winter hadn't been too terrible yet, and the largest snowfalls had mostly melted away in the last week's warm spell, but the night was still around thirty degrees, and not wearing heels would have made walking faster a lot easier.

Still, she reached the wishing well without any trouble, only tripping a handful of times and never dropping her purse, which held both objects that were so precious to her. Once, Belle had hoped that coming to the Land Without Magic would free her husband from the darkness that gripped his soul. She had hoped that they could keep magic where it belonged, in the Enchanted Forest, and that way Rumplestiltskin could just be himself. But he'd already told her that he'd heard the voice of his curse—albeit more quietly—from the moment he woke up, and now Rumplestiltskin needed magic. He was in pain and facing injuries he might not recover from, and Belle was not going to let him suffer for one moment longer than she had to.

"I hope you're right, Rumple," she whispered, looking down into the miraculously un-frozen waters of the well as she shined a flashlight down into its depths. Taking a deep breath, Belle reached into her purse, put the flashlight away, and removed the vial of True Love.

The night filled with warm golden light, and for a moment, Belle felt warm. It was like this little bottle of pure magic could chase away even the coldest air around her, and that thought made her smile. The vial she held in her hand was proof of her love for Rumplestiltskin, proof of his love for her, and it would save him. She would save him, and that thought warmed Belle as much as anything else.

Planting a quick kiss on the outside of the bottle, Belle extended her arm and dropped it into the well. Several seconds passed, and then purple smoke started creeping up from the water, misty and ethereal in the light of her flashlight. It pooled around her feet, greeting her like an old friend, and Belle could feel the change in the air.

Magic was coming to Storybrooke.

A/N: Next up is Chapter 50—"Magic", in which Storybrooke reacts to the strange clouds, Rumplestiltskin starts healing himself, David and Mary Margaret talk about Regina, August spies for Cora, and Belle visits the hospital once more. Back in the past, Charming overhears Cora offering George an alliance.

For my tumblr followers, the sneak peek for the next chapter should be up Sunday.