Belle returned with a book in hand only a few short moments after Hook and Elsa left. They'd only just barely managed to miss each other. She made a comment about him not working on the dirt anymore and he reminded her that working quietly was how his mind best solved problems. That wasn't a lie. Quiet and silence were how he solved problems best, but usually only after he had all the facts at his disposal. The facts were what he was sorely lacking but seeing as how Belle was sitting in the back room reading yet another book on magic, he knew it wasn't safe to even attempt to study any of it in front of her.

He'd never considered a world where she would become fluent and well-versed in magic. She didn't have a drop of magical blood in her, probably the result of generations of arranged marriages in her family tree. And she'd never shown a particular interest in it before he'd gone off to Neverland, a few questions here and there, but that had been it. His absence, it seemed, had forced her into the trade. And in the absence of any magical abilities of her own, it seemed she was determined to at least master the theoretical aspects of it, which could cause a problem if he wasn't careful.

Smart as she was, this meant that he couldn't claim to do one thing when he was actually doing another and depend on her ignorance to shield him. He couldn't study the hat and then claim it had something to do with Elsa's sudden appearance; she'd see right through that now.

Gods, he loved her. He loved everything about her, everything the world saw and didn't see…but he liked their relationship more when they'd had separate hobbies.

It was nearly dinnertime when she finally closed the book she'd been reading, stood and stretched, then grabbed her coat. "I think I'll run to Granny's, grab us some dinner to take home."

He was finally just finishing his work on the clock and nodded in agreement. "It'll be dark soon," he warned. He might not be terribly worried about her out on the streets, knowing what was going on and what they truly wanted, but she didn't know that.

She kissed his cheek, promised she wouldn't be late, and finally left him alone in the shop. A minute or two later he finished his work on the clock and headed into the backroom to find the place where she'd laid her book aside. He noted the marker and flipped it open…a chapter on magic and its interaction with temperature.

Fuck.

If he didn't get her out of here, then it really was going to be walking on a tightrope around her. But if he left her to her own devices, without any kind of notice if she was using the dagger…

Maybe there was something that he could do about that. Maybe there was a spell he could cast over the fake one to allow it to summon him if she attempted it. Or maybe a general spell to let him know that it was held in her hand was better? That would allow for more than summoning. He could enchant mirrors and listen in to see what she was going to demand he do with that dagger. Or he could just-

The phone in his pocket suddenly buzzed. It was Dove. He knew it even before he looked to check for messages, if only because Dove was the only one who regularly sent him messages to his phone. "I've got a name for you and more. We should talk."

Finally. A name! he'd been expecting this message hours ago, he'd been worried that perhaps the terror in the town had prevented the Apprentice from coming to town as Ingrid said he would or perhaps Ingrid had gotten distracted and closed the shop before Dove could identify him. But now-

His fingers were poised over the keypad when he heard it—a high-pitched whine coming from somewhere close by, in the back room. It was sharp, more like an overtone, a squeal—like a nail on a chalkboard or…glass. He moved to the place where he'd set the dust in its new glass vial.

There. A brand new crack, this one clear as day along the side. The vial was straining, the magic breaking it down quickly. He realized there was nothing left of the glass shards that he'd placed inside earlier, that they'd all been consumed by the magic and-

The glass in his fingers suddenly spiderwebbed. He instinctively let the vial go just before the entire thing caved in on itself and spilled out onto the table in front of him. A moment later, there wasn't a single piece of glass from the vial left. But even more fascinating…

The dust had fallen onto a spool of golden thread that he'd had sitting out. He watched in amazement as the gold his magic had imbued it with melted away until it was just…thread! It returned to a whiteish beige color, the color of fresh wool, what the thread probably would have been if he hadn't transformed it. And yet now it sat there covered in a pile of golden dirt, regular as regular could be. That was interesting. Very interesting.

"I'll call you later," he quickly typed out for Dove before closing the phone and turning his full attention to the mess before him.

The original spell on the urn had been meant to contain magic. Now, he was getting a glimpse at what it might have been like to be inside it and stripped of power. That was very interesting indeed.

Given what he'd just seen it do, he wasn't going to touch the stuff. He tried using his magic, recalling the spool of thread into his hand but…his magic rebounded. It was as though the spool was contained within an invisible capsule. His magic couldn't get in. It was like…like…a summoning circle.

It was like a summoning circle only…not quite a circle, at least not a purposeful one. The dust had formed a circular pattern all its own when the vial had broken above it, but there would have been a clear space where the spool was sitting on the table that was unaffected and unintentionally made it into a circle.

Curiosity seized him as he glanced around the backroom and found the brush and dustpan that Belle had moved. Personally, he had very little experience with summoning circles or magical circles of any kind. He'd used them but rarely because his magic simply didn't require them as others did. But he knew how to break them. It was simple: the circle had to be broken. He wasn't going to touch that dust, not until he'd done further testing on it. Besides, it likely wouldn't let him.

It didn't let his magic in. If he attempted to get near it, he'd likely find a solid wall preventing him from touching it, or he'd find himself without magic until its effect wore off. He had no idea how long that would be, and now wasn't the time to find out. So, with the dustpan and a paintbrush in hand, he reached forward and gently removed a bit of the curve, sweeping it into the dustpan.

Immediately, the golden spool became gold again.

He held his hand out and summoned the spool to him. This time, the magic didn't ricochet. The spool appeared in the palm of his hand, perfectly golden, just as it had been before. Very interesting.

And also, very problematic if he didn't find a way to safely contain it! He got to work sweeping the dust into the dustpan, then, with the help of a funnel, put it into another glass vial. The way it was eating through the vials, he figured he had an hour or so to get it home and fashion some nickel container to hold it. Hell, if he had to, he could always use actual nickels. It wouldn't be pure, but at least it might buy him a bit of time to do what he needed to do with it.

He was just finished putting a stopper on the vial when he heard the bell chime and the click of Belle's heels back in the store, bag in hand, which he was inclined to ignore altogether given what he'd just witnessed.

"We need to get home," he told her before she could take off her jacket. "I need to do something about this, it's too dangerous to remain in this vial much longer and the answers I'll need are in the basement books."

"What are you trying to do with it?" she asked curiously, coming around the table and plucking it from his hands so that his stomach lurched.

She wasn't magical, he reminded himself. It wasn't going to hurt her. But that didn't mean that he loved the fact that she'd pulled that "dangerous" substance into her hand without a second thought. If she was going to insist on studying and working with magic, they'd have to have a talk about that.

"Store it safely until I can find a proper use for it. Any tool that can stop a person from using magic like this needs to be stored in a very particular way. My vault was the perfect place for that urn in the enchanted Forest, but here…let's just say I might have to get a bit more creative."

She nodded as if in understanding as she held it up to the light and turned it this way and that, watching it glitter before she finally handed it back to him.

"You told Emma you had the urn because you were afraid someone would try to put you in it one day," she muttered. "Who would do such a thing? Who would put anyone in there and then just…just forget about them like that?"

"Well…" he sighed before pocketing the stuff. It would last an hour or two without question. But he was going to take an extra vial with him just in case he started to hear a whine again. "You live long enough you learn people are capable of most anything. Who put Elsa in the urn is a complete mystery that I imagine only she can solve when she gets her memories back. But we both know I had no shortage of enemies that would have been willing to lock me away for the good of everyone around me. I, for one, was always a bit suspicious of this maid that I had living in the castle. Something about her smile always made me a little uneasy…"

When he realized how close they were getting to a topic he'd rather not discuss, distraction and diversion were always his go-tos. And fortunately, they worked on her like a charm.

Her cheeks turned red, and she let out a breathy laugh before she leaned in to kiss him. Magic was nothing compared to her, nothing compared to the spell she could cast over him all too easily. Determined as he was to get home and get to work, her kiss reminded him that every second he was going to spend on this problem was going to mean a second away from her and in rebellion his hands wound into her hair, pulling her body closer to his.

They were both breathing heavily by the time she pulled away and rested her forehead against his own. He hated being pulled in two different directions. Hated the feeling of wanting her around every second of every day but needing her to be gone so he could get his work done properly. He couldn't wait to be done with this mess, for Ingrid's plan to succeed or fail, to be free of the dagger, free of the apprentice, for the dust to be settled. Literally and figuratively.

"I love you," he whispered.

"And I love you too," she echoed back, predictable words he'd never tire of hearing.

"Let's go home," he finally insisted. The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner things could get back to their new normal.

Again, you can see that I'm writing in a bit of frustration with their lack of privacy here. That's still what Rumple is convinced it is: a desire for privacy, not for secrets. I think he'll eventually come to figure that out, but not in this fiction. For now, all it really does is serve to make him really happy when Belle decides to go back to the library.

Thank you, Rsbeall12, for your review on the last chapter. Peace and Happy Reading!