Chapter Fifty-Five—"Trust and Belief"

Henry stopped by the Sheriff's Station after school, having listened to his mother's advice about not cornering Emma about magic too soon—but the day after she'd seen Regina do magic was waiting long enough, wasn't it? He was trying to be patient with Emma like his mom said he should, but that was so hard. Henry knew that August was talking to Emma about the curse, too, and his mom was still working to get her to believe, also. But now Emma had seen magic, real magic. That had to make her believe, didn't it? Henry was still trying to wrap his mind around the sheer awesome that was his mother doing magic to protect him, and he knew that this was what would finally get through to Emma. It had to. She had to break the curse and bring back the happy endings.

"Hey, Emma!" he said, rushing through the door and paying little attention to the pair of disgruntled men still in the holding cells. Henry wanted to feel a little sorry for Mr. French and Tony Rose, but he knew enough about what they'd done to find that hard. None of the lawyers in Storybrooke wanted to take their case, either; from what Henry knew, none of them wanted to go against Gold when he was both victim and possibly also the opposing lawyer.

"Hey, kid," Emma replied, looking up from the computer she'd been typing away on. The thing was ancient, and Henry wasn't sure how it kept going—unless, of course, the curse helped with that.

"So…you got a moment?" he asked, trying not to smile. Or wiggle. But he failed at both, holding his Book against his chest and shifting back and forth excitedly. Today was the day. Emma was going to believe. Henry knew it.

"For you? Sure." His birth mother sat back with a smile, but she looked really tired.

"Great!" Henry plunked the Book on the desk, shoving the keyboard aside to do that. He flipped it open without even looking at the page, easily finding the page that showed Snow White and Prince Charming at the announcement of Emma's upcoming birth, the event that the Evil Queen interrupted to tell them she was going to take away their happiness. "So, are you ready to break the curse?"

Immediately, Emma's face closed off. "Henry…"

"Come on. You've seen real magic. You can't say that it isn't real. Mom showed you," he argued, hating the exasperated look on her face. How could Emma deny this now? She wasn't stupid; she was just stubborn. She had to see.

"I know. I just…it's a lot to take in, okay?" she replied, and Henry sighed perhaps a little too noisily.

"Everyone's depending on you," he reminded her earnestly, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong and how he was supposed to get Emma to believe. "They need you!"

"Henry, that's enough, all right? I just need some time to swallow everything. Between your mom and Gold both talking about this—"

But Henry zeroed in on the last thing Emma said and didn't let her finish because he was too excited to stop himself. "Gold? You talked to Mr. Gold about this?"

"Yeah, he said some stuff about the curse when I went to see him at the hospital. It was kind of weird. Who the hell is he, anyway?" the sheriff asked, and Henry found himself blinking. She believes enough to ask that. That's a start, right? "There's no way that the Beast from Beauty and the Beast knows everything he knows."

"He's got to be the Beast," Henry shrugged. "The stories in the book aren't always the same as the ones in the movies. I think that the Beast had some sort of magic. There's something in the book about Belle not breaking his curse so that he could keep his power."

"And you think that's Lacey," Emma said slowly.

"It pretty much has to be, yeah."

The sheriff jerked her head towards the two men in the cells, separated from her and Henry by safety glass. "So, what's their excuse for attacking Gold, then?"

"I don't think Belle's father liked her and the Beast together," he said with another shrug. "She was supposed to marry Gaston before she went with the Beast as part of their deal."

"Right…" Looking conflicted, Emma bit her lip and then glanced down at the Book. "Can I…borrow this, Henry?" she asked quietly. "I think I need to read it again."

That wasn't the answer Henry had been looking for. It wasn't true and solid belief, but it was a start, so he grinned at her. "Of course you can!"

Maybe Emma was so stubborn that it would take forever, but she was going to get there. Henry knew it.

It had taken him days to track down the location of Sidney Glass' lockbox, but Killian finally managed. He was absolutely not going to let that damn reporter ruin his growing relationship with Emma Swan, particularly given how pushy Cora had been on that front lately. Still, Killian breathed a huge sigh of relief when he realized that Glass had left instructions for someone at the bank to give his belongings to Emma only if there was foul play involved in his death. That was a remarkably stupid decision to make, particularly in a town where Cora still controlled so much (like the lack of witnesses or evidence that might turn the supposed suicide into a murder investigation), but Killian supposed that was the curse doing Cora's dirty work yet again. She hadn't been able to force Sidney to actually kill himself—Killian had had to do that—but Cora had set the situation up perfectly other than that.

So, now the evidence was in his hands, and Killian decided to listen to the recordings Glass had gathered before burning the lot. Cora wasn't interested in them, but maybe—just maybe—Glass had managed to record something about the mayor that Killian could use. After all, he was sick of being her tool, and damn tired of doing murders on her whim. Cora had the tapes that showed him getting rid of Sidney. Now it was time for him to get some leverage of his own.

Emma had never been so glad to get a 9-1-1 call as she was after she'd hesitantly asked Henry if she could borrow the Book. She hadn't known what else to say, hadn't known how else to end that surprisingly awkward conversation. Just thinking about the curse made Emma's head whirl. She didn't want to believe in it, but she was running out of logical ways to explain what was going on in Storybrooke if it wasn't some horrible curse. But…if she believed in the curse, then she had to believe that Mary Margaret and David were her parents, and also that she—an orphan who had lost the only home she'd thought she'd ever have when Neal had skated out and let her go to jail—was fated to break this curse. Henry didn't seem to understand why she couldn't believe something like this was real, but how could she? If Emma started to believe in the curse, she would have to accept the rest, too. And she just wasn't ready to do that yet.

So, the frantic call from Marco about his shop having been broken into came as a huge relief. The old man sounded winded, maybe even hurt, so Emma hurried over to Standard Clocks after sending Henry home to Regina. Doing her job was a lot easier than trying to figure out if she wanted to believe in this curse.

Marco was sitting on the floor in the middle of the store when Emma arrived, bleeding from the back of his head and looking woozy. Moving over to kneel by the old man's side, Emma pulled out her cell phone to call an ambulance. In her experience, even minor head wounds bled like crazy, so even though this one didn't look too bad, she didn't want to take chances. Particularly since the sheriff could now see additional bruises forming on Marco's face. Someone had worked the handyman over pretty well, in addition to tearing his shop to shreds.

"Don't get up," Emma told Marco as he turned dizzily to face her. "Help's on the way."

"I…that's probably a good idea," he stuttered, pressing a shaking hand to his forehead as his cell phone dropped uselessly out of his fingers. It clattered to the floor as Emma glanced around.

The place was a disaster. Clocks were shattered, shelves had been toppled, and even the front counter itself was broken, with a huge crack running from the front left corner across the countertop and over the back. Shards of wood littered the floor like kindling, along with springs and other mechanisms Emma couldn't identify. Over half the store's stock had been destroyed, but not wantonly. The devastation was clearly deliberate, plainly full of malice and fury. Even the stool Marco usually sat on was missing a leg, and the cash register gaped open and empty. Poor Marco was in the middle of the mess, looking like he'd been thrown there. He was hunched over, appearing small and lost, so Emma squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Do you know who did this, Marco?" Detailed questions could wait until after the medics were through with him, but if she could get a head start on catching whatever bastard had done this, that would count for a lot. Violent robberies like this were practically unheard of in Storybrooke, and Emma wanted the robber off of the streets fast.

"I don't know—that is, I didn't see. I heard the back door open, and then something hit me in the back of the head. I swear I locked the door, but…I think, I think there was only one person. Maybe two. I remember an angry voice swearing at me, and then everything went black."

"A male or female voice?"

"A man." Marco straightened painful out of his hunch, wincing. "Maybe with an accent? I'm sorry. I didn't hear enough before I passed out."

"You did fine," Emma reassured him as an ambulance screeched to a stop outside. Two paramedics jumped out, rushing inside. Rising to make room for the medics, Emma squeezed Marco's shoulder one more time and stepped aside. "Well catch him. I promise," she vowed.

"Thank you, Sheriff."

Giving him a final nod, Emma pulled out her phone and started snapping pictures of the mess. Keith arrived after a few minutes to help, reeking of alcohol. At least he can walk straight today, and doesn't seem too confused by the camera, she thought wryly, heading for the back door to see how the robber had broken in. Strangely enough, the lock didn't seem to have been forced, and there weren't even the faint scratches that usually indicated someone had picked it. Maybe Marco was wrong, and he hadn't locked the door? He probably did have a concussion, and Marco was a trusting man.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that Emma almost didn't notice August approaching Standard Clocks from the back alley, eyeing the destruction with a sick look of horror on his face.

Back in his spacious apartment, Francis Scadlock stared at his hands uncomprehendingly. He'd washed the blood off by route, not really thinking about what he was doing until the task was done…and how he had a sink full of bloodstains. What the hell had happened?

"This is bloody brilliant," he muttered to himself. "Now I can't remember what I've done to me self."

Except he could remember. He just couldn't remember why he'd done anything. Francis vividly recalled storming into Standard Clocks, breaking everything in sight—including poor Marco's head. Now, why had he done that? He couldn't remember, only that he'd felt that there was nothing more important to do at the time. He hadn't even had to break in, had he? He'd had some weird sort of black key, the same key that was sitting on the countertop next to him. Squinting at it, Francis racked his mind to remember where the damn thing had come from, but he couldn't remember ever having seen it in his life.

"This is just weird," he grumbled, finally grabbing a towel to dry his hands. His knuckles were sore as hell, but aside from a few scratches, most of the blood didn't seem to be his. Still, he should get rid of the clothes he was wearing, too. Just in case.

Still, all the logical thinking in the world couldn't help him forget that he'd beaten a man and robbed him. Why the hell had he done that? Marco had never done anything to Francis—he'd even fixed an antique clock for him a few years back, the ugly one that Francis' mother had left him and Vicky had liked so much. It had broken with the little birdie sticking out, and it would cuckoo at the weirdest moments. But Marco had sewed up that problem in about five minutes, then stuck around to help Francis figure out how to put up a few shelves free of charge.

None of it made sense. Nothing did. Not beating Marco. Not taking Ana to that damn Basement—

Vicky. Francis swallowed, turning away before he could look at himself in the mirror. Her name is Vicky and we've been married for forever, but none of it's been that great. But that didn't make sense, either. How could he mix up her name after this long? Even the world's worst husbands—which Francis knew he was one of—didn't forget their wives' names, or at least not when they were sober. And he was sure as hell regretfully sober. Sober enough to destroy a shop, rob it, and beat a man. He'd dropped the money in some box by the docks, too, and didn't that just sound like some awful crime novel? Stupid, too. As stupid as thinking his wife was named Ana. Or of regretting taking Ana—Vicky—to Madam Merryweather's little shop of horrors. He'd done what he had to do then, hadn't he? He didn't miss her constant nagging and utter craziness.

But he missed some woman named Ana, who looked like his wife but who was nothing—and everything—like Vicky. She existed in the wisps of his memory, or maybe just in his imagination, but Francis remembered having always dreamed about her. And then Vicky had started claiming to be this Ana after she got out of the asylum, which only started making him wonder if he was bonkers, too. Maybe the wrong Scadlock had been locked up under the hospital. Maybe he should just get his own head checked out.

Maybe Doctor Hopper could tell him why he'd stormed in and hurt a man he kind of liked, too. Not that Francis would go. The jail was full enough already.

The gloves were coming off. The break in at Standard Clocks made that obvious. After that, Regina knew exactly who "August" was, a fact that obviously her mother had already been in possession of. Geppetto—technically Marco—being beaten was just another example of how Cora kept people frightened and in line. Regina knew how this worked. Now that there was magic here, Cora had even more control over her creatures; using hearts without magic was harder, but now there was nothing in the way. Of course, Cora still didn't seem able to use her own magic, but that wouldn't keep the hearts from working properly. Regina wasn't the rip-hearts-out sort herself (or at least not usually), but her mother had made sure she knew how.

Sooner or later, Cora would figure out how to do magic in this world, and when she did, Regina needed to be ready. Back home, her mother had defeated her more than once in straight up magical battles. Here, however, magic was different, and that gave Regina an edge. Rumplestiltskin had told her that the magic in Storybrooke was based upon love, and although the cagey bastard had refused to share anything more about how he'd brought magic to the land without, the fact remained that this gave Regina an advantage. That was why she'd finally decided to defy her mother. Yet she knew that Cora would not let her go so easily. Not in the long run, anyway. So, Regina needed to be prepared for that…and to warn the man she had so foolishly fallen in love with.

If Emma would just break the damn curse, none of this would be a problem, she thought irritably, sitting on a bench in the park—in the cold—and stewing. Or, at least I wouldn't have to come up with a plausible explanation for Mother's blood lust!

"You look troubled," a voice said from behind her, and Regina whirled to face Errol Forrester. He was wearing a goofy grin that immediately warmed her heart, looking hesitant and excited all at the same time.

Regina felt an answering smile grow on her face. "Not when you're here," she answered honestly, half hating herself for having such strong feelings for this man. She couldn't afford to risk it. She already had too many people to protect: Henry, Snow, David, and even Emma. Why should she add this man to the list?

Because I'm falling in love, that's why.

"I'm glad to hear that. Though there was a clue in the fact that you agreed to have a picnic with me on January 30th," he replied lightly, plopping down on the bench next to her. A picnic basket landed on his other side, complete with blanket and a pair of warm thermoses.

"I have to be mad to go along with this," Regina grumbled, but she let Errol grab her by the hand and drag her over to a nice flat spot that overlooked the water. There was a little snow on the ground, but he'd brought a thick blanket, and soon enough they were sitting on it together, laughing and joking.

Forgetting what she had come to this picnic for was almost too easy, and Regina let herself enjoy the moment for two hours as they sat together, bundled up against the cold and wet, talking about everything and nothing. She hadn't felt this comfortable with another person since Daniel, and while Regina certainly didn't want to compare the two men—Errol was bold where Daniel was quiet, and Daniel had been gentle where Errol could be insistently passionate—she had to treasure the feeling inside her heart. She would never forget her first love, would never forget the precious months they had stolen from the world, and she would never, ever, let go of him in her heart, but it was time to move on. Daniel, she decided, would be happy for her.

So, Regina cleared her throat and framed her words cautiously, looking down to study the blanket they sat on. "I need to warn you about something," she said quietly.

"Let me guess. You think your mother won't like the two of us together," Errol replied immediately, and Regina twisted to face him.

"How…what makes you think that?" she asked, blinking with confusion.

Errol gave her a crooked smile. "Regina, there aren't many people in this town that haven't figured out that your mother is both possessive and a bit certifiable. Knowing what I do about how she set up your marriage to David, I can only imagine that the last thing she wants is for you to find happiness for yourself."

"Well," she swallowed. "That's true enough."

"Look at it on the bright side," he reassured her. "I'm still Public Hero Number One. It'd be awfully hard for her to fire me, and even if the rumors are true about her having set Moe French and Tony Rose on Gold, well, I'd like to see two drunk idiots try to hurt me. I'm not an old man with a cane."

Neither is he, now, Regina thought to herself, privately treasuring the idea that Rumplestiltskin might go after her mother once he was healed and fully armed with magic. She supposed that made her a horrible daughter, but Cora had tried to hurt—or succeeded in killing!—those Regina loved one too many times. If she had to choose between her teacher and her mother, Rumple was going to win every time. He'd never even bothered to cash in on the favor she owed him for saving Snow after that terrible miscarriage, and Regina doubted he ever would. Despite what the sarcastic imp might say, she knew he was capable of caring about people, and Regina cared about him as well. Like he's some crazy uncle, anyway, she told herself firmly, and then returned her attention to Errol.

"Mother has a lot more tools than morons like those two," she warned him. "I know you can take care of yourself, but please be careful. For me?"

He'd been about to protest, but Regina could see the last two words winning him over. "I'll be careful," Errol promised, and Regina leaned in to kiss him lightly.

She shouldn't do this. She shouldn't lose her heart to a man who was still under the curse, particularly when he would wake up before too long. Every bit of common sense told Regina that she should get out now, that she shouldn't risk loving again when it might hurt so much…but she couldn't care.

So, she kissed him again and lost herself in the embrace of a man she knew she loved.

1 Year Before the Curse

"Why didn't you tell us?" Snow whispered once most of the crowd had departed, her hands tight on Regina's arm.

Regina sighed, glancing at the ground. "I…I couldn't. Mother would have killed Daniel if I'd tried, and she put a spell on me to keep me from telling you, anyway. It's a good thing Rumplestiltskin showed up, or—"

"Nothing good comes of the Dark One's presence, Princess," an holier-than-thou voice spat, making both Regina and Snow turn. "Nor yours."

"Blue!" Snow gaped, but Regina only rolled her eyes.

"Yes, because you've helped Snow and Charming ever so much," she retorted. "You just mouth useless platitudes about good always winning. At least Rumple's helped."

More than I have, she thought guilty, and if she was snapping at the fairy for her own failings, well, that was too bad. She was sure Blue deserved it.

"For a price," Blue sneered.

"Everything has one," Regina shrugged, even as Snow spoke up:

"Let's not argue, please," she interjected. "Charming and I are just happy to have Regina back and safe with us. She is my sister, Blue."

"Step-sister, your highness."

"Sister," Snow insisted, and Regina felt her worn-out heart warm a little. She'd been forced to betray Snow so many times. How could Snow still stand by her? She felt like she didn't deserve it when Snow pulled her into a half-hug, but Regina hugged her back, anyway. Aside from Daniel, Snow was the one person that Regina had always loved completely and unconditionally, and she missed her little sister so much when she was stuck by Cora's side, watching her mother scheme and plan her revenge.

Not this time, Mother, Regina thought with more than a little satisfaction. You don't get to win this time.

She didn't know if her mother would have let her die or not; Cora had implied that she would not, that she would have shown up to save Regina—or had Soulis step in—but Regina was not sure. Her mother was always hard to read, and Regina just wasn't certain. Cora was growing more and more desperate to get her revenge upon Snow, and Regina sometimes wondered if her mother wanted Snow to be responsible for Regina's death. That would have destroyed Snow, she thought, hugging her sister back tightly and knowing she would never, ever, share that epiphany with Snow. Snow had enough to deal with. Regina would not make her life worse.

"You may call her your sister, but that does not change the fact that she is the Evil Queen's daughter, the Dark Princess. She cursed you with a Nightmare Curse, child. You should never forget that."

"Nor will I ever forget her reasons for offering me that apple," Snow retorted, straightening her shoulders regally. "I chose to bite that apple, Blue. And I choose to remember that Regina is my sister before she is Cora's daughter. If you cannot accept that, you should leave."

The little blue bug's face went white with shock. "I have always been your family's patron fairy. I am, and have always been, one of your strongest supporters. I simply want to caution you about—"

"Your caution is noted. Princess Regina is my sister, and will be treated as such," Snow decreed, and Regina was not such a fool as to think that everyone else in the kingdom would be receiving that very same message soon enough.

The 'Dark Princess' moniker stuck, however. The title was unfortunate, and only partially earned, but somehow it later wound up in Henry's storybook, and Regina never did fully shake it.

The day of Regina's picnic, Mr. Gold was finally released from the hospital. Nurse Zephyr was mysteriously absent, despite the way she'd hovered over Rumplestiltskin from the moment he'd been brought in (and didn't that bring back unpleasant memories), but Rumplestiltskin didn't allow himself to dwell on that. Instead, he impassively allowed some other nurse to wheel him out of the hospital, since Whale had absolutely insisted that he couldn't try to walk more than a few steps on his own, even with the huge and uncomfortable brace on his leg. Dove was waiting with the car, however, and quickly assumed control of the situation, snatching the wheelchair away from the surprised nurse without a word and helping his employer into the car.

Whale, however, managed to stop the larger man before he got around to the driver's side to the car, leaving Rumplestiltskin wishing Belle was there. But they both knew why Lacey couldn't show up to pick him up; the amount of time she'd spent at the hospital must have undoubtedly made Cora suspicious already. They couldn't afford to make things worse. Cora might not have had magic now, but Rumplestiltskin knew it was only a matter of time. His former student was clever, and Cora would eventually find a way. For now, while the curse was intact, his 'please' that prevented her from harming his family would hold. But the moment the curse broke, Cora would be free to act. And while Rumplestiltskin didn't intend to let Cora live long beyond that moment, he knew that he had to prepare for that eventuality. Cora had gotten the upper hand against him before. He would not let her do so this time and endanger his family.

"Make sure he stays at home for at least two weeks," Frankenstein said, and Rumplestiltskin barely managed to keep a straight face as he listened to the mad doctor give Dove what Whale thought was good advice. "He'll need to use crutches at first instead of his cane, and he won't like that. He's very lucky to be in as good of shape as he is, but he can go downhill fast if you don't keep an eye on him."

"I will tell him," Dove promised solemnly.

Rumplestiltskin managed not to snort. Dove didn't know that he magic was rolling through his body even now, because Dove wouldn't understand that. Not yet. It felt wonderful, finally being able to heal the remaining breaks and damage that necessity had required Rumplestiltskin leave untouched. Fooling medical equipment was difficult at best, and he wasn't sure that he had enough of a grip on this world's different magic to do so more than he had. Yet, anyway. But now he could finish heal himself, and mitigate the most of the pain while he did so. Some things, like his leg, were already works in progress and would finish over the next few days with very little more input from Rumplestiltskin, but for now he could compensate with magic and walk without a limp for the first time in twenty-eight years.

But he would take the excuse to stay home and manipulate things from behind the scenes. Particularly since that home held his wife and daughter. He had left them alone for too long, all because Cora had felt the need to prove her power.

Do it while you can, dearie, he thought to himself with a thin smile, not watching the road as Dove drove him home in silence. Your reign is about to come to an end.

The trip to the pink house was mercifully quick, and Dove had even brought his cane along. Rumplestiltskin accepted it from his longtime employee, along with a helping hand to get out of the car. He was still stiff and sore, still paying the price for the sweeping magic he'd used to put his broken body back together, and still wore the infernal white plastic brace over his pants on his right leg. Rumplestiltskin could have gotten along without the help, but Dove didn't realize that. Though he was grateful that Dove didn't try to suggest he use the crutches lying surreptitiously across the back seat.

"Need anything else, boss?"

"No. Thank you," Rumplestiltskin replied quietly, testing out his leg's ability to bear his weight. It managed well enough with a magical brace, well enough that he could get rid of the one Whale had given him the moment Dove was out of sight. Walking would be a little uncomfortable now, but, ironically, doing so would be less awkward than it had been before Moe French and Tony Rose had shattered his leg. As long as those two never expect a thank you, I might manage not to kill them. For Belle's sake. Immediately, the voice of his curse reared up in protest, but Rumplestiltskin shoved it down. For now.

Yet Moe and Tony really didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was that he was home after too long away. So, Rumplestiltskin negotiated front walk carefully, giving Dove a nod of thanks as the big man headed for his own jeep. Dove drove away as Rumplestiltskin climbed his front stairs and let himself in the front door, ignoring the way his leg twinged. The pain wasn't too bad at all, better than it had usually been back when he'd been the poor spinner with no options. Had there been no magic in Storybrooke, he would have been able to manage this with painkillers alone, but magic made everything so much easier. That was why, once he re-locked the door behind himself (which was certainly not a sign of paranoia) Rumplestiltskin straightened, leaned the cane against the wall, and let his magic unwrap the physical brace on his leg, disintegrating the medical device and banishing its dust to a trashcan in the basement.

Being able to move without a cane or a brace, without the limp that had plagued him for so long, was its own kind of freedom, and Rumplestiltskin felt giddy. He closed his eyes to relish the feeling, to bask in the magic around him and the safe feeling of home.

"Hey," a familiar voice said, and his eyes flew open. A smile creased his face before Rumplestiltskin even knew he was reacting, and for once, his curse skittered away from his consciousness, seeking safety from the True Love that Rumplestiltskin could feel rolling through his soul.

"Hello yourself," he replied quietly, but there was nothing quiet in the way he lunged forward or in the way Belle raced into his arms. They met halfway across the front hallway, kissing like they had not seen one another in years, holding on tightly and just being together. He loved this woman so much, so completely; Belle was the other half of his soul, the person who kept him back from the edge when he would lose himself. Holding her was like coming home, and kissing Belle was like—

Oh. Magic was indeed different in Storybrooke, but he had to be careful. Rumplestiltskin was a touch too relaxed, far too ready to love and be loved. If he wasn't careful, his curse would break here, and take with it the power he so very much needed in order to keep his family safe. At first, he'd thought that the difference in magic in this world would preserve his curse and allow him to kiss Belle all he wanted, but that was not quite the case. He would have to be careful, would have to hold a tiny bit back. Should he tell her? There's no reason to worry her, Rumplestiltskin told himself, and the excuse was a reflex. Belle would want to know. But how could he tell her? I can't let you break my curse yet, sweetheart, even though I know you want to free me from this darkness. But I need the darkness, I need—

Yeah, that wouldn't go over well. But he still had to ease back from their kiss before it could grow too deep to come back from. To cover up his withdrawal, Rumplestiltskin reached a hand up to touch Belle's face, tracing her left cheekbone with his fingers. Their foreheads were still touching, and they were still wrapped tightly up in one another, because this was home. Rumplestiltskin would never be good at volunteering information, but he prayed that Belle would never doubt his love for her.

"You look so much better," she whispered, and he felt her smile under his fingers.

"I feel better," he admitted.

"Also because there's magic?" his wife asked perceptively.

"Because I'm home," Rumplestiltskin told her, and it wasn't even a lie. Yes, the magic helped immeasurably. It meant he'd never be helpless, that he'd be able to protect his family and find his son. He couldn't face Cora down without magic, not now that there was magic in Storybrooke. He needed it to protect those he loved, and that meant keeping the curse that always ate at his soul.

It's worth the price, Rumplestiltskin told himself. To protect them, I will do anything. If his soul was the price to be paid for keeping his family safe, he would gladly sacrifice it.

"Well, we're both very glad to see you. Even if Renee is napping right now," Belle replied, leaning in to kiss him again, this time lightly. "I do have something for you before she wakes."

That made him blink, and feel a little guilty about keeping the intricacies of magic and his curse a secret. "You do?"

"Of course I do, you silly man." Smiling, Belle stepped away, grabbing him by the hand to pull him further into the house. Soon enough, Rumplestiltskin found himself in the kitchen, which was surprisingly neat (and un-burned down) given how long he'd been gone. Then again, Marie had probably done the cooking in the eight days he'd been stuck in the hospital. Belle had told him that Dove and Marie had stayed with her and Renee while he was gone, and he was just glad to know that Belle hadn't had to deal with everything alone.

While he was deep in thought, however, Belle had reached into her purse, which was lying on the counter near the breadbox. When her hand came out holding the dagger, however, Rumplestiltskin's heart almost stopped. Unable to help himself, he froze, his breath going short and frightened, his eyes wide and his posture stiff. He loved her, and he trusted her, but with magic here in Storybrooke, Rumplestiltskin knew that the dagger's hold on him would be complete. Only once had anyone other than Rumplestiltskin held that dagger while he was the Dark One—so very briefly—and he'd sworn to himself that it would never happen again. But now here he was, standing with the dagger in the hands of another, bound to obey every whim and every command—

"This belongs to you," Belle said gently, reaching out and taking his right hand in her left. She must have seen his fear—Rumplestiltskin was in no mental condition to hide it—so she pressed the dagger into his unresisting fingers.

"Oh, Belle…" Words would not come, and she laid both of her hands over his to squeeze his fingers reassuringly.

"I would not have you be anyone's slave," Belle replied, reaching up to touch his cheek. Rumplestiltskin melted into her touch, feeling safe with the dagger in his hand and his wife by his side. "You gave me your trust when you showed me where you hid the dagger and then trusted me to keep it safe. I will not let you down."

"I love you," he whispered, and when he kissed her this time, Rumplestiltskin again almost lost himself so deeply that he let go of his curse. But he couldn't. Without the curse, without the power, he could not protect this woman who had risked so much to protect him. "I love you so much."

"And I love you," Belle replied, her hand still on his cheek. "Now, you'd best put that dagger away before Renee finds it and tries to build it into one of her block castles."

A startled laugh snorted out of Rumplestiltskin, and he wrapped an arm around his wife to pull her close. This was home. This was what he'd wanted for so many long years. He was home now, and with his magic intact, there was no one who could harm his family ever again. Not even in this world.

Nurse Zephyr had called the moment "Mr. Gold" left the hospital, again voicing her suspicions about how the pawnbroker had managed to heal so quickly. She was a smart girl, Zelena, and the fact that even her cursed self had decided to be so loyal to Cora was certainly points in her favor. In fact, that faithfulness helped turn Cora's horrible mood a little less sour. It even reminded her that she had options. Yes, Rumplestiltskin had magic. Yes, the Dark One was on the loose and able to heal himself, able to disregard the lesson she had sought to teach him. He was undoubtedly reuniting with his boring little librarian even now, and that thought made Cora absolutely sick.

So did the fact that her caveats would now prevent her from hurting him again. Oh, she could try, but even once her magic began to function beyond the few puffs of smoke she had managed, Cora knew that trying to do that to the Dark One was akin to playing with molten lava. She would have to be careful in her dealings with Rumplestiltskin until she could get the dagger. Then Cora would be able to do whatever she pleased, and no one would be able to stand against her.

For now, however, she needed to gather her allies. The curse would remain strong so long as Cora could remain ahead of the opposition. This was merely a setback, after all. She still owned plenty of hearts and had plenty of villains willing to work for her. Besides, the attack upon Rumplestiltskin had forced his hand, even if had not been in the way she'd planned. Her minions had hurt him terribly, and it was not a lesson he would ever forget. So, she had not lost. Not at all. She simply needed to focus. So, Cora sat down behind her ornately carved desk, pulled a specific piece of paper out of a false drawer underneath the desktop, and began updating her notes.

Emma Swan, she wrote first. Will not leave town. Drastic measures required. Nightmare curse?

Regina. Remains defiant. Kill the prince to cow her, or dispose of Henry? It may be too late to use the later to drive Emma from town, and magic makes Regina bold.

Gold. Cora would not write his true name, not with magic here. That could backfire on her. His anger will drive him to help Regina. Discredit him.

August. Use him against the Savior?

Hook. Turn him loose against Gold. Let him try to have his revenge now—it will keep Gold busy.

On and on she went, listing names of those whose hearts she owned and those whose allegiance she could command. Finally, however, she reached the bottom of the list, and she smiled. It was time to replace her disloyal daughter.

Zelena, the paper read. An alternative.

A/N: So, what villains do you think Cora is counting on as allies? As we now know, there are a few interesting people wandering around Storybrooke.

Next up: Chapter Fifty-Six—"Bait and Switch," in which Cora wakes Zelena up, August resumes trying to make Emma believe (with bad results), Belle tries to help Ruby, Regina attempts to corner Rumplestiltskin, and David runs into someone unexpected. Back in the past, Pinocchio eavesdrops and Zelena returns to her mother, meeting a certain pirate. While you're waiting, please do let me know what you think!