I do not own Once Upon a Time: I'm simply playing around in the wonderful world Adam and Eddy have created.

Stipulations

Theirs was an uneasy alliance. It was understandable, really: they weren't used to having him in the fold, and they asked a lot of questions. Well, it was mostly Cruella asking the questions: she'd always been the one in charge of their little group, and she trusted him the least. Well, that was understandable too, after their last meeting.

'So, this Storybrooke,' she began as she drove towards the town: 'I take it there's magic there?'

'There is,' he acknowledged.

'And you're sure Maleficent can help us get into the town?'

He looked disdainfully at her. 'If you don't believe me, Cruella, you're welcome to find your own way to Storybrooke.'

'I'm not saying I don't believe you, Rumple, but you did say the town was protected by a barrier, so can you explain how we're going to get around it?'

'The barrier carries traces of the Snow Queen's ice magic,' he began: 'that's specifically what's keeping us out. To counter ice magic, we need its opposite.'

'Fire,' Ursula said. She'd been mostly quiet, content to let Cruella ask the questions, but she too was interested in Rumplestiltskin's plan.

He nodded. 'Precisely, and lots of it. A dragon's breath should do the trick.'

'And that's where Maleficent comes in,' Ursula guessed.

'Indeed. She'll transform into her dragon form and use her breath to undo the Snow Queen's magic.'

'Very well,' Cruella said, satisfied, but that wasn't the end of her questions. 'Once we get into Storybrooke, who are we up against?'

'You know of Prince James and Princess Snow White?' he asked.

'Of course.'

'They're in Storybrooke, along with their daughter, Emma. She has magic. Regina is there too, and working with them.'

'Regina's working with the heroes?' Cruella asked disbelievingly.

'For as long as it gets her what she wants,' Rumplestiltskin said.

'Which is?' Ursula asked.

'The same as you: a happy ending.'

'This Emma: she's powerful?' Cruella asked.

'Very, though she's hardly tapped into it. She's had difficulties controlling it, but she shouldn't be underestimated. She'll do anything to protect her son.'

'Ah, a weakness,' Cruella said approvingly.

'He's not to be harmed,' Rumplestiltskin warned.

She shot him a look out of the corner of her eye.

'Why do you care about some brat?'

He turned to look at her. 'That brat is also my grandson, and he is not to be harmed.'

Her eyes widened. 'You surprise me, Rumple: since when does the Dark One make time for a family?'

He didn't answer her and she rolled her eyes.

'Fine: we'll leave the boy unharmed. Any other caveats while we're at it?'

'One,' he said quietly.

She sighed. 'Go on.'

'You remember my maid: the one you kidnapped for that gauntlet?'

'How could I forget?' Cruella asked bitterly.

'I haven't forgotten either, dearie,' he said, 'and if any of you hurt her…let's just say what I do to you won't be pleasant.'

Cruella laughed. 'Oh, this is priceless: you've fallen for the help!'

'She's not the help any more,' he said quietly: 'she never really was anyway.'

'Then what is she?' Cruella asked coolly.

Rumplestiltskin was quiet a long moment before he chose to answer. 'My wife.'

Cruella laughed again. 'You married that little mousy girl?'

'Careful, dearie,' he snapped, teeth bared in a snarl: 'you know nothing about her.'

'I'm just wondering what could have attracted you to her,' she said, amused. 'She was pretty, I suppose, and I'm sure–'

'Enough!' he shouted, making Cruella and Ursula jump. 'I may not have magic right now, but I soon will again, and, trust me, you don't want to know what I'll do to you if you harm Belle.'

'Alright: no need to be so touchy, Rumple,' Cruella said dismissively, though Ursula was quiet, shifting back in her seat away from Rumplestiltskin's glare.

They lapsed into a tense silence and Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, seeking to block out his companions. This wasn't going to be easy, both because of the company he was reduced to keeping and because of what they were up against.

The Author, as he'd been calling the Sorcerer lately, was a formidable adversary, and he wasn't sure, yet, what his end goal was. The only thing that Rumplestiltskin knew for sure was that any happy ending he'd sought, whether through redeeming himself in death or taking the opportunity that damned hat had presented to him to be free of the dagger for good, had been denied him, and he wanted to know why: he wanted to know why a villain couldn't have a happy ending, even when he tried to change and be good.

He knew that there was more at stake than his fate, though: there was more going on here than denying him a happy ending. Regina was part of this too, and so, by extension, was her paramour, and also his own wife. That worried him: Belle being mixed up in this mess. She'd fought for the chance to decide her own fate and someone interfering with that bothered him. How much had the Author interfered in Belle's life?

Belle. She'd never been far from his thoughts these last weeks. She stirred up so many emotions in him: anger, fear, regret, sorrow, yearning, desire, but by far the strongest emotion was love. Every time he got angry about her sending him over the town line, he remembered her words and the look on her face, and he knew that he'd broken her heart with his deceit, and his anger melted away, replaced by sadness and self-loathing.

Her tearful face and her words haunted him. I just wanted you! I just wanted to be chosen! He'd let fear guide him instead of love, and he hadn't chosen her, and now it was too late: he'd made it so that, even if he told her now that he chose her, she would never choose him. He'd destroyed her faith in him, and that was something he was going to have to try to live with. She had truly loved him, and he had ruined it. He was going back to Storybrooke for answers from the Author and he would ensure that both Belle and Henry were truly free to make their own choices without someone interfering in their lives. While he did that, he'd make sure his companions didn't hurt his wife or Baelfire's son: that was the least he could do for them. He wasn't after forgiveness: all he wanted was answers, and, by the gods, he would get them.

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