A/N: I'm taking the tack that while Killian may have made careful study of Rumpelstiltskin, he may not know all there is to know about the making of a Dark One. If he didn't know about the dagger until he met Bae, it's likely that he didn't know—and still doesn't—that Rumple had to murder Zoso to become the Dark One.

A/N: Some dialogue quoted from S2E22 "And Straight On 'Til Morning".

Chapter 56

Killian Jones couldn't quite believe what he was about to do. It was one thing to end what had amounted to a blood feud at his True Love's request. It even made a certain amount of sense. Rumpelstiltskin was Emma's son's grandfather. If Killian wanted to make a life with her, it meant that he'd have to accept that the Dark One—former Dark One—would be part of that life, blood feud or no. And if their enmity wasn't put to rest…

Killian chewed his lower lip, frowning. Emma had lived a tumultuous childhood, he knew. He wasn't for a moment making light of it simply because, on the surface, it sounded somewhat easier than his own. This realm was far less harsh than the one in which he'd grown up, but a child without a strong parent, patron, or protector—or worse, a child betrayed by those who should have acted as such to her—was a child poised to grow up bitter, angry, and resentful. It wasn't as though she'd led some sheltered existence and didn't know that the world could be a cruel and unforgiving place. Still, Killian allowed that many ramifications of curses, immortal enemies, and blood feuds were far outside Emma's experience. She had no idea of the threats such could pose to the next generation. He'd been willing to try to mend fences with the Dark One if only to assure Henry's safety, as well as the safety of any offspring he (and Emma) might have in future. And, to her credit, when Emma had requested that he and Rumpelstiltskin come to some sort of accommodation, it had been without attaching an ultimatum.

Killian had spent too many years in indentured servitude as a youth not to resent being forced into things afterwards. Had Emma made their relationship incumbent upon his making peace with Rumpelstiltskin, he had little doubt that he would have chosen to end the relationship—not because he preferred vengeance to love, but because he balked at being controlled and ordered about, even by someone he loved. Especially by someone he loved.

He paused. That thought… sounded uncomfortably like one that must surely have gone through the mind of someone else he knew and he flinched as, from the depths of memory, a fourteen-year-old boy's angry voice shouted, You hated my father so much, you didn't even realize you were just like him!

Hook shook his head in unconscious response. It wasn't true. It wasn't. Except for those uncomfortable bits and pieces where it was. He didn't like admitting to those. The more he recognized parts of himself in the Dark One—he supposed he'd best get used to calling him Rumpelstiltskin now, after witnessing the events several nights ago—the harder it was to maintain his hatred. Not that he necessarily wanted to maintain it, but he'd carried it long enough for it to be comforting in its familiarity. And there was the matter of Milah. Wouldn't mending fences with her murderer be disloyal to her memory?

Wouldn't staying loyal to her memory be doing a disservice to the woman he'd grown to love?

Sometimes, Killian thought so. At other times, he didn't. But there were two things he thought he could be clear on at the moment.

The Dark One had murdered Milah.

Rumpelstiltskin was now, quite emphatically, no longer the Dark One. And Rumpelstiltskin—the man he'd met so many years ago on the docks—had been no murderer. Not then.

Killian turned those thoughts over in his mind and combined them with the behavior he'd witnessed since Rumpelstiltskin had returned from New York. He asked himself one more time if he still wanted to loose sail with the notion that had crept into his head the night before. Ranged against it were the memory of his first love, his pride, and the worrying idea that he'd grown so attached to the old vendetta that he might not know what to do with himself without it. But ranged with it? The knowledge that the woman he wanted to live the rest of his life with would approve. That Rumpelstiltskin was her son's grandfather. And that he'd already asked for a truce and—astonishingly—had his request granted. And if it had been granted with some caution and reservation, well, Killian could scarcely fault Rumpelstiltskin for that—not after so much history and bad blood.

Moreover, his years as a pirate had given him a good sense of which way the wind was blowing. And in Storybrooke, it was currently gusting in the former Dark One's direction. Attempting to sail against such forces was often a recipe for disaster.

And there was one other consideration—however minor—that had nothing to do with Rumpelstiltskin or blood feuds or forsaking comfortable hatreds and everything to do with a young man, currently laid up on a hospital bed, and fast growing bored with his situation. Killian didn't know August well, but he liked what he'd seen of the young man so far. Forced inactivity could make anyone restless. The former puppet would probably be glad of having something with which to occupy the time.

Yes, Killian resolved, he'd go ahead with this idea. And when he had the finished product in hand, well, there'd be plenty of time to decide whether to give it away as he currently planned—and who the recipient would be.

But the way events had been taking shape thus far, he rather thought it might be Rumpelstiltskin after all…

August let loose a startled laugh. "Excuse me?"

"Battleship," Killian repeated. "Perhaps you know it as Sink the Fleet or Flotillas in the Fog."

"No, no, I know what Battleship is," August said. "I guess I just didn't think… I mean… sure. If that's what you want."

Killian nodded, wondering why the cricket and the handyman seemed to be fighting smiles. Surely they couldn't have divined why he was offering the commission. He wasn't even sure he was going to give it away when it was done. "It is. Vessels from our world; perhaps you might use ships from the naval forces of two different kingdoms. If not, at least paint them in different colors. And the grids and firing pegs, of course."

"Of course," August nodded. "I won't finish it before I get out of here and with the details you're asking for, it'll take me a while—"

"And the price?" Killian shrugged. "I'm not certain the value of all this paper that passes as currency in this realm, but I trust that you are."

August nodded again. "Hang on." He beckoned to Marco.

"Papa? How many hours does this sound like to you?"

The handyman smiled. "The pegs, they'll be simple enough, but the boats will be harder. And we still don't know if you'll have the focus to work as many hours as you normally would in a day." He looked to Killian.

"Also, I must say you're not the first person to come here to commission my boy to make something for them. It seems that when they hear what he did, well, they want to show they appreciate by… making sure he has what to do to stay busy."

August nodded and Killian wondered at the relieved expression on his face. "I quite understand," the pirate said.

"I would say," Marco continued, "that you'd be looking at, perhaps a month's work, but that month might stretch to six weeks if he needs to rest more than usual. And he can't start immediately, because of the other orders."

"But," August said hastily, "I'd charge you for a month's work however long it takes me. Factoring in the cost of tools and materials…" He named a figure.

Killian spared a glance toward Marco, who was nodding approval. The handyman's reputation for fair dealing was beyond reproach. From the expression on his face, he thought that his son was driving a decent enough bargain. That was good enough for Killian. "Done," he said, extending his hand. August shook it.

"I'll have papa draw up an agreement before I get started," he said. "Just to make sure we're clear on the terms."

"And you can take it to whomever you like to review it before you sign," Marco added. "Just to make sure you know what it is you're signing."

The cricket spoke for the first time. "Rumpelstiltskin would probably be good for that."

Killian hoped his expression didn't betray him. "Thanks for the advice, mate," he remarked, "but I think I can read my own contracts."

"I'll let you know when it's ready," Marco replied without missing a beat.

After Killian had gone, the three men remaining in the room looked at one another. Marco stifled a laugh. August shook his head in amazement. "Thanks," he said, "for not telling him…"

"…That Rumpelstiltskin was in earlier to request the same thing?" Jiminy smiled. "Never."

August laughed. "When you told him to have Gold review the contract, I was afraid you were going give it away. And we don't even know that either one doesn't want it for themselves!"

"I've taken commissions from Rumpelstiltskin before," Marco smiled. "He may admire beautiful things, but when it comes to items he means for his own use, his tastes run much simpler. More economical. No, he means this as a gift. And when two grown men come in asking you to carve them sets for the same game… I think it's safe to guess who the gift might be for."

"Still doesn't prove Hook's not keeping the one I'm making him."

Marco's eyes widened. "Tell me, my boy, once he receives one as a gift… what will he need with the other one?"

August's chuckle morphed into a full-blown laugh. Marco and Jiminy joined in.

Rumple had to admit that it was good to be back home. He wasn't ready to reopen the shop quite yet; while he'd more or less recovered from the sprained ankle already, his arm needed a bit more time. It was ironic, really. Had the arm recovered first, he could probably have managed the shop, provided he spent the majority of the time sitting down. But when there were no customers, he tended to occupy his time with dusting and polishing and he couldn't do those comfortably with only one good arm. Using the drop spindle was awkward enough, but he could manage it for short intervals and the peace that washed over him when he did outweighed the discomfort—at least, to a point. It occurred to him that the pi—that Killian Jones, he reminded himself forcefully; if he wanted the man to address him by his proper name and not 'Crocodile', then he'd best allow Jones the same courtesy. Killian Jones would probably have some suggestions on how to get by with the use of one hand. (True, Rumple's problem wasn't the hand, but the arm behind it; still, it seemed that there was a bit of overlap in the limitations of each condition.)

Rumple wasn't certain he could get up the nerve to ask him, though. While things might be more cordial between himself and Ki—Rumple frowned, reflecting that he had some appreciation for Emma's discomfort in addressing him by his own name. Different reasons, but still. "Killian" was too casual, "Killian Jones," too formal. Perhaps, he'd be best off thinking of the man by his rank. "Captain" was polite enough, while still maintaining enough reserve for a man whom Rumple doubted he'd ever call friend. Though, perhaps, the gift he'd commissioned from Booth might help to defuse some of the tension that would probably always exist between them to a certain degree.

There were other reasons for the gesture, of course. He still didn't know whether his conversation with Snow several nights earlier had been the test he'd suspected, but it didn't take a genius to guess that for the foreseeable future, the eyes of the heroes would be scrutinizing his every word and action as they tried to determine how much of his past behavior could be attributed to the Dark One, and how much to his own character. This might be a second chance, but it was also a sort of probation. And the more he demonstrated that he was trying to be a better person—even if he knew deep down how low his chances were at succeeding at that goal—the greater the odds that when he failed, as he knew he would, then perhaps, just perhaps, they'd take it into consideration before they condemned him. He needed them to. Until, no. Unless he was able to use magic to protect himself, he had no illusions that he could mount any defense against those who might seek to settle old scores with him, now that his power was gone. He remembered again the mob that had gathered on Regina's front lawn when the curse had first broken. Emma and her parents had come to the Queen's rescue then. Emma would probably come to his now. But she'd also been weakened by the ordeal. And he had to consider the possibility that she wouldn't be able to reach him in time.

No, he had to assume that he was on his own for the immediate future, and he needed as many defenders in his corner as he could get. And if making friendly overtures to the pi—to the captain—would gain him some, then he'd make them. He just wasn't about to humiliate himself with obsequious fawning.

Besides, August had to be growing bored with lying in bed for hours on end. Rumple had found his own respite with the drop spindle, but if the former puppet preferred whittling, the least Rumple could do was give him a project to occupy him.

He looked over to the shelf by his bed where Belle's marionettes sat. This last one was somewhat better-made than its predecessors. At least, nobody would mistake its face for that of one who had drunk a dose of that potion he'd given Jiminy all those years ago. He took it down again to examine more closely, though he'd had ample time to do so in the hospital. The face might be better formed, it was true, but cutoff denim shorts and midriff tank tops weren't really suited to wooden puppets, particularly not those whose bodies were more or less genderless. Still, Belle had done a fair job of capturing Lacey's laughing cruelty in the painted hard red lips.

The Wild Child

Reckless and rebellious, ready to toss caution to the winds, she does as she will and if she has enough decency to occasionally try not to hurt others too badly, she doesn't care overmuch if she does. She doesn't come out to play very often; the others keep her shut away as much as possible, for their safety as much as for that of others. But occasionally, she does escape and then all hell breaks loose. Perhaps if she were allowed more freedom, she wouldn't feel the same need to have her presence known. Perhaps if she weren't treated as a shame and an embarrassment, she'd find better ways to express herself. And perhaps, if the others weren't so afraid to admit she existed, they'd take the time to see how much she has to offer.

Rumple shook his head. He could recognize an apology in that ramble, though he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. He would have thought that, feminine pronouns aside, the description would have applied more to him than to her.

And if Belle was trying to say that they had more in common than she'd ever let him think… did she truly mean to state that she thought it was a good thing? And even if she did, even if he wanted to forgive her, if after he finally let her in once more, she hurt him yet again, he truly didn't know whether he'd be able to recover.

All in all, it was probably a good thing that he'd asked her to come by the shop. By the time he reopened it, he'd hopefully be in the right frame of mind to talk to her. He just didn't know what he'd say when he did.

The Apprentice examined the object Regina held out to him with a solemn expression. "I can see why you wanted to see me," he remarked, handing it back to her and pouring a cup of tea. He took a second cup and saucer from his sideboard and brought it to the table. The mayor shook her head.

"Biscuits, perhaps?" the old man asked.

"No, thank you," Regina said, keeping her gaze trained on him. "Is there anything you can do?"

The Apprentice's eyebrows shot up. "I believe you were present when I cast the spell the first time," he replied. "You saw how close the Darkness came to taking an unacceptable price then," and there was a hint of challenge in his statement, as though he was daring her to gainsay his claim.

She didn't.

The old man sighed. "I suppose it's for the best that I hadn't foreseen this. Although I'll admit that, in hindsight, it does seem obvious. The hat was called upon to remove less than half the Darkness in Rumpelstiltskin's heart and even that proved beyond its capabilities. Had I known then that once you'd split his heart, both halves would need to be present…" His face was grave. "When I realized what the Darkness was about, I had the idea that Pinocchio's willing sacrifice would prevent it from achieving its aim, but there was a potential problem there, specifically the speed at which Pinocchio reverted to wood. We're fortunate that he'd been able to take in much of the Darkness. The hat was able to trap what was left. But I didn't realize that we were attempting to contain less than half of the Dark One's true power."

Regina looked at the blackened half heart she cupped in both hands and, while her expression didn't change, she felt her blood run cold. "You're saying that Rumple's heart…"

"That half was not present when the spell was cast and thus, it was not affected by it." He leaned forward. "I'm sure you understand why you can't return it to Rumpelstiltskin now."

Regina nodded. "So… what do we do with it? Crush it?"

"No!" the Apprentice exclaimed quickly. "That heart holds more than half of the Dark One's essence. If you crush it, you set that essence loose, and it will be free to enter whosoever would willingly offer themselves to it. And be assured that there will always be some soul desperate enough."

"I see," Regina said slowly. "Can you take it then? Keep it wherever you're keeping the hat?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "It is because I have the hat in my possession that I dare not accept the heart." He took a breath. "Guardianship of that hat was entrusted to me centuries ago. And despite all safeguards and precautions—both mine and my master's—it was still wrested from me a time or two. It may yet be again. And while it holds only a fraction of the Dark One's power, should any be willing to take on that burden, defeating them will be no easy task. But consider what might happen if someone were to acquire the Darkness in that heart as well. Rumpelstiltskin had nearly three hundred years to learn about the power he gained. More, he had strong reason to retain some small glimmer of the man he'd been. Try though it did, the Darkness was never quite able to snuff out those last specks of love and Light in his heart. But although the power never completely overwhelmed him, it grew all the stronger under his stewardship. Such power would quite overwhelm a new, less-experienced host."

Regina's hands were sweating, but her voice never faltered. "What do you suggest, then?"

The Apprentice regarded her sadly. "I think I know now my master's feelings when he laid my charge on me. As he did, now so must I." He hesitated for a moment. Then he took another breath. "Keep the heart safe. Weave as many protections and safeguards about it as you can. Eventually, Rumpelstiltskin will surely inquire as to its whereabouts. You may tell him what I've told you; I've no doubt he'll understand the need for discretion. But I do think it wise that everyone else continue to think that whatever Darkness was not snuffed out by Pinocchio's transformation is safely locked away in the hat."

"I understand," Regina nodded. "Very well. I'll keep the heart in one of the caskets in my vault; I've dozens there already, and I'll know if anyone attempts to break in." She frowned. "Normally, I'd seal it in with blood magic, but there's the small matter of my sister…" She thought for a moment. And then she smiled. "It won't be a problem."

"Your majesty?"

Regina let out a breath. "I think I know how to tweak that spell so she won't be able to get past it. If I—"

The Apprentice held up a hand. "On second thought, it's probably best that we don't discuss this matter further. Perhaps my time in the hat and under the Author's quill has made me wary, but I daresay that's better than being overly complacent. I can't reveal what I don't know. And if there's a chance that I could be controlled or coerced into helping the Darkness, as my master once feared when he wove his protections about the hat, then I think it best that I trust you know what you're about." He gave her a weary smile. "It's happened before. No. Do as you must to safeguard that item. But I think it best I be spared the details."

Regina nodded. "As you like," she returned. She hesitated. "You should be aware of one thing," she ventured. "About the safeguard I have in mind. It will hold, for now. But in about six months, there'll be a small chance that an assault on it could succeed. The vulnerable window won't last more than a year or two, though. And after that," she smiled, "we should all be able to breathe easier. I don't know if there'll be a living soul that will ever be able to get past the protection spell I mean to cast once that deadline's past."

The Apprentice smiled back, but his eyes were hooded. "I suppose then, that we'd best hope for an uneventful two years. And let us pray that not be false hope."

Regina felt her smile start to widen. Then she realized that the old man was dead serious and it dropped away entirely. Instead she merely nodded again. But she swallowed hard as she took her leave.

It was on a Monday some two weeks later that Rumple reopened the shop. He told himself that he just wanted to be certain that his arm was sufficiently healed to handle the day-to-day tasks, but he allowed that he was still hesitant about seeing Belle again. There had been no new marionettes in the interim; he supposed they'd served their purpose in softening him up enough to be willing to talk with their crafter.

He wasn't angry with her. He was actually grateful for the comfort she'd given him that night in the clock tower. But as to whether he could truly trust her enough to let her back into his life? He was still wrestling with that one. And he suspected he'd been stalling about reopening the shop in order to avoid the confrontation.

There was only so long he could putter about his house and he really wasn't comfortable receiving people there. So, while he was touched that Emma had made a point of stopping by daily on her way to the sheriff station, and that August had phoned several times in those two weeks, and that both of them had passed on well wishes from some of the others, it was time to settle back into the usual routine.

He wondered how long the camaraderie would last. Right now, they were glad that he was free of the Darkness. And it was gratifying to know that they were somewhat concerned about him. Still, it was just a matter of time before they returned to their usual lives, which had never included him as more than a source of magic and information. Well. At least he could still furnish half of that, he thought with only mild bitterness, as he unlocked the shop door and turned the sign from "closed" to "open".

As he'd expected, the shop was dusty. He hadn't texted Henry to come in today, not wanting the boy to come out here for nothing. He supposed he still could, but his grandson wouldn't have known that Rumple would be reopening today, and he had probably made other plans for after school. Well, Rumple allowed, he had managed for decades without an assistant and he could certainly handle some minor cleanup today. As for tomorrow, he'd see how today went. He could always send Henry a text this evening with his decision.

He went over to one of the shelves on the back wall behind the counter and picked up one of the knickknacks in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other.

The bell over the door jangled and he turned to see a small crowd of people hurry somewhat nervously inside. Rumple's heart sank. Emma, her parents, Regina, August… every face bore a serious expression. He pressed his lips together, squared his shoulders, and tried to keep his voice even. "What's happened?"

David spoke first. "We've… been discussing a few things," he said.

Well. That sounded ominous to Rumple's ears. He frowned. "Indeed?"

"I…" That was Emma. "I… uh… I've been sharing some of the stuff you told us in New York and…"

"And," Regina said, her voice soft but penetrating nonetheless, "I'll admit that if someone had come to me and in one breath told me that Henry," she looked at Rumple once more, "had been mortally wounded and fallen through a portal and in the next that they wanted me to put my emotions aside and work on saving a town that had almost universally decided it hated me, I'd probably have loosed a fireball or two."

Rumple blinked. Regina's tone was anything but joking.

"I won't apologize for prioritizing thousands of lives at risk over what you were going through," Snow said sadly, "but I will… we all will… for expecting you to just… drop everything and help us."

"That time, at least," Rumple said slowly, "you were somewhat less strident than usual with your request."

Snow shook her head. "It still wasn't right. I guess I could say we were desperate, but when has that ever been a good excuse?"

"Bottom line?" David's voice was firm. "We screwed up. Not just then, but on multiple occasions before and since. But that brings us to another problem."

Emma took a step forward, reaching one hand into the pocket of her brown winter coat as she did. "It's one thing to say that, going forward, we'll be there for you if you need us. The thing is, Storybrooke hasn't exactly been a quiet little town since before I broke the first curse. Stuff happens and… as much as I want to say, 'call me if you need anything' and mean it…" She shook her head. "I can't deny that if you call me right when a wraith, or a-a dragon, or a horde of ogres is wreaking havoc, I'm going to have to—like my mother said—prioritize the town's safety over you. I just am," she added nervously, looking to gauge his reaction.

Even as Rumple started to nod, August broke in, "But that doesn't mean you don't have a right to support from us. So…"

"So," Snow said, "we think we've got a solution. It's not perfect. And if you've got a tweak or two to suggest, we're ready to hear it. But I think this can work." She turned to her daughter. "Emma?"

Emma pulled a slip of paper out of her pocket and set it down before him on the counter. "Program this into your phone," she said. "And call it any time you want to-to talk. Or if you need some help, or you just… think you'd like someone around." She gave him a faint smile. "Even if it's because you want to vent and you're not looking for any real answers."

"The number connects to a phone that one of us will have with us at all times," Regina said. "We'll try to set up a rotation, but if, for example, it's my turn with it and… something comes up that could compromise my availability, I'll make certain to give it over to someone else who's free."

"Usually, when the town's under attack," August said, "it's the same people who have to fight it off. Most of whom are right here. But not all of us," he added with an easy smile. "And of course, you can always phone any of us directly anytime. Just, if there's a crisis, whoever you call might not be able to drop everything and be there for you right when you need them. Whoever's got the phone connected to the number on that piece of paper will."

"Even in a crisis," Emma added, smiling a bit herself, "there are downtimes, when more of us can be there." She took another breath and her smile dropped. "Thing is, I know that in New York, and even once we got back here, there were some things you found easier to talk over with me than with August and vice versa."

"Unfortunately," David said, "that's one drawback with this idea. When you call the number, you won't know in advance who's going to pick up. But anytime, day or night, someone is going to."

"Like I said," Snow smiled sadly, "it's not a perfect system. But if you don't want to face something alone, I can promise you that from this point onwards, you won't."

"You're part of this town, Rumple," Regina finished. "And it's high time that we all started acting like it."

Rumple blinked his eyes several times rapidly. Then he gave a jerky nod and snapped up the slip of paper hastily. "Thank you," he managed, shoving it into his pocket. He'd program it later, when they weren't all gathered before him and he had a better grip on himself. "A-all of you. I…" He pressed his lips together and spun on his heel. "E-excuse me," he said quickly. "I believe that there's something in the b-back that needs my attention."

Snow was right. This was a compromise, not a perfect solution. But it was the first time he could recall that someone in a position of strength had tried to strike a deal that wasn't predicated on an attempt to gain the maximum benefit from him at the minimum cost to them. He could have dealt with that. He could have crafted loopholes to exploit and laughed at them for thinking that they had the audacity to believe that they could put one over on him. But this? Nothing in his past experience had ever prepared him for something of this magnitude. A tidal wave of emotion rose before him and he knew he needed to be alone before it hit. Before the others all realized how vulnerable he truly was and some of them possibly judged that they didn't need to be quite so generous. Before…

He stumbled through the curtain that covered the entrance to his private office, relieved when nobody followed him. He practically fell into the leather chair behind his desk, and sat, one hand in his pocket, fingering the paper, while he let the tears he hadn't wanted to show publicly course silently down his cheeks, lips frozen in a smile he wasn't sure would ever fade. It wasn't until receding footsteps and the jangling bell told him that the others had gone that he made his way to the bathroom off of his office to splash cold water on his face.

Before he made his way back to the shop floor, he pulled out his phone to program the new number.

They were gone, but Rumple noticed a few pieces of paper that had been left behind on the counter, along with another shopping bag. He ignored the bag for the moment and looked at the largest page. He recognized Regina's handwriting. She'd left him a list of those who had volunteered to take a turn monitoring the phone line. Emma, August, Snow, David, Regina, Henry… He supposed he could have foreseen Archie's name on the roster, but Whale's was a shock. And Flora? Fauna? Tinkerbell? He was relieved that Regina had added a note at the bottom advising him that if there was anyone he'd prefer not be involved, he could let her know and she'd attend to it. Because being expected to keep company with fairies for any length of time was really too much to ask. Even if—to hear Emma tell it—Tink had stood up to Blue when the latter would have denied them access to the convent's library. Even if Fauna had been treating him, not just as though he was no longer the Dark One, but as though he'd never been the Dark One. Even if Flora…

It wasn't as though he expected he'd actually use the phone line. Still, he was touched that they'd set this up. And even if he never took advantage of it, it was still reassuring to think that it was there.

Belle's name wasn't on the list. He wasn't surprised. As much as he'd been pushing her away since New York, he couldn't really expect otherwise. Still, he found himself wondering whether she'd declined in order to respect his wishes, or whether she'd finally lost hope, or whether the others, knowing the state of their relationship, hadn't approached her in the first place.

His gaze flicked toward the shopping bag. One of the five who'd been in here previously must have brought it. He'd been so sure that they'd come to advise him of some new threat to the town that he hadn't been paying attention to much else. Well. He'd look at that in a moment.

There was a note from August to let him know that Marco was expecting him to dine on Thursday night and to phone if that date wouldn't work. And there was another from Emma to let him know that Henry would be by after school, unless Rumple called to advise him otherwise.

Rumple wasn't about to do that.

Hesitantly, he reached for the shopping bag and pulled out another marionette. His eyes widened and his heart seemed to thunder in his chest. This one wore a camel-colored coat over a sleeveless grey mini-dress. At least, he presumed it was sleeveless like the original garment it was modeled on, just as he presumed that the sleeves of the white shirt with silver beadwork on the collar were short and puffed. The puppet's hair was pinned back in a high ponytail with a rhinestone clasp. And, surprisingly, the face was nearly right. But there was something cold and flat about the eyes.

He almost didn't want to read the scroll attached to this one, but he drew it out of the coat pocket and unfurled it.

The Mon—

"The Monster," Belle's voice startled him. How long had she been in that corner behind the map carousel?

"Denied expression, denied a voice, denied the basic acknowledgment that she exists." She drew several steps closer. "But she does. You can… dress her up all you like, wrap her in all these ideals of what good people are supposed to be until she actually believes that's all there is to her and all anyone sees. But deep down… deep down it's another story."

Rumple shook his head. "Belle…"

"Like Paul in that movie we saw," Belle said softly, "I am the puppets. I'm a pawn, a sacrifice, a fixer, a wild child…" her lips curled in wry amusement, "…there are a few other parts of me that I didn't get around to making; even Paul only had four in Lili. But like him, there is a part of me that's a monster. No," she said, when he would have spoken. "Please, don't deny it. I've spent too much time down that path already. All it ever does is… make the monster find other ways of expressing itself." She locked clear eyes on Rumple's. "In my case, it convinces that because I mean well, it doesn't matter who I hurt along the way. It didn't matter that I left Anna to Ingrid's scheming in Arundel, because I was on a noble quest," her fingers formed quotation marks as she spoke those last two words, "and I wasn't about to lose the memory rock I'd traveled all that way to acquire. Even if she was the one who took me to the rock trolls to get it."

She sighed. "It didn't matter that I used your dagger, or at least what I thought was your dagger, because stopping Ingrid was the right thing to do, no matter who I trampled on to do it. I told you at the town line that all I could see was a monster. I just didn't realize I was holding up a mirror."

"You weren't," Rumple protested.

Belle blinked back tears. "I was. I couldn't see my own monster, but I had no trouble finding yours. I convinced myself I could defeat it with the strength of my love, when I couldn't see that…" She took a deep breath. "Rumple. There have been… many times when you told me that you couldn't understand what I saw in you. Did you ever figure it out?"

Rumple tilted his head quizzically at her.

"Well, then. I saw someone who took me for who I was, who listened to my voice instead of seeing me as some game counter or bargaining chip, who couldn't have cared less whether I was a duke's daughter or hospital patient with no memory of any life before several days earlier. But more than that, Rumple, I saw a man who was what I didn't dare try to become." Her voice faltered, but her blue eyes were steady.

"I do have a monster in me, Rumple. Everyone does, whether we admit it or not. My problem was that in refusing to see mine, I ended up seeing yours all the more clearly. And once I did…" She shook her head. "I let mine take over so that I could hurt you as badly as you'd hurt me, and then I cloaked myself in self-righteousness and resignation and told myself I'd done the right thing."

"I gave you cause enough," Rumple said quietly.

"To be angry, yes. To banish you without hearing you out?" Belle shook her head. "To take up with Will immediately afterwards and then look for reasons to be angry at you when you found out, as though that would somehow justify my betrayal? No." She took another breath and now Rumple saw a tear welling up in the corner of one eye. She swiped at it furiously.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I thought I could do this without breaking down. Rumple, when you called me from New York, and again when you told us some of what had been going on after Zelena, you said you'd been lying to me from the beginning. The thing is, so was I. Both to you and to myself. I thought that if I denied seeing the monsters, yours and mine, then they'd just… go away, the way I heard one of the servants in Father's castle tell their son that if he ignored the bullies who were bothering him they'd leave him alone." She shook her head. "The thing is, sometimes, when you ignore bullies… they just try harder."

Rumple nodded emphatically at that.

Belle took another breath. "I denied your monster until that night in the clock tower, when I couldn't anymore. I denied mine until… well, until you went over the town line to save Regina and David."

She pointedly avoided mentioning the other occupant of the car, Rumple noticed. She must have realized that he'd never have gone after the witch had she been out there by herself. The chicken, perhaps, but not the witch. "Henry showed me the recording of the speech you made then," Rumple said softly.

Belle blinked. "Did he?" she asked, reddening slightly. "I knew he recorded me punching Blue a few days later, but I hadn't realized he'd also—"

A startled laugh escaped him. "You punched the Blue fairy?" he blurted out.

Belle gave him a tiny smile. "I did."

"I wish I could have seen—" He caught himself. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "You were saying?"

Belle sobered almost at once. "I've been… taking a few hard looks at myself these last few weeks. And I think that part of what made me so… so angry was seeing in you pieces of me that I didn't want to admit were there. And yet, I had to make sure that you saw them. I betrayed your trust with the dagger and then," she looked down, "w-with Will, too I suppose. I wasn't even honest with myself about what I wanted from you, so how could I be honest with you about it? I blamed you for being too cowardly to give up your power for me, and yet I was too…" She looked away. "You heard my speech at the town line."

"Yes."

Belle shook her head. "All this time, I thought that if you'd let me explain, if you'd only hear my side, then it would patch things up and we could go back to where we were. I see now that… it won't work. We've hurt each other too much already, haven't we?" Rumple regarded her silently, and she couldn't tell whether the softness in his eyes bespoke forgiveness or empathy, but he wasn't protesting her summation. She gulped hard. "I'm sorry. So sorry. Th-thank you for finally hearing me out. For letting me tell you everything I needed you to know without shutting me down this one time. I won't bother you again." She shook her head sadly and turned away. "Goodbye, Rumple."

She was halfway to the door when Rumple called softly behind her, "Belle."

She turned back to face him and now, he could see that the tears that had been welling up in her eyes were starting to trickle down her cheeks. He shook his head sadly. "I-I know what it cost you to say all of that. Don't think I don't value it."

"But it's not enough," Belle finished miserably.

"To go back to where we were?" And then, the faintest of smiles flickered on Rumple's face, even as he shook his head. "No."

Belle nodded and started to leave once more. Rumple wasn't done. "But Belle," he continued, and now there was ghost of a smile in his voice as well, "would you truly want to? To a marriage built on a foundation of deception and distrust? One where we each hid the parts of us we didn't want the other to see, stifling them until—as you've just noted—they finally broke free from our control and lashed out in the most painful way possible? One where neither of us probed or questioned too deeply out of fear of what we might uncover? Because, that was what we had, wasn't it?"

"You're right," Belle said slowly, wonderingly. "And of course I don't want that. Who would?"

"Indeed." He was still regarding her and now Belle saw a glimmer of hope in his—or was she seeing a reflection of what must surely be in hers?

For a long moment nobody spoke. Then Belle screwed up her courage enough to ask, "What if we were to start fresh? If we built a new foundation, one created from mutual trust and honesty? On talking things out instead of assuming we each know what the other would say. On…"

Rumple nodded. "It's still not going to be easy. And I think… I think we'll need to take things a bit more slowly." He looked at her nervously. "Old patterns are hard to break. Particularly all at once. If we're to truly build something that can last, we can't rush into things and trust love to get us through. It will," he added, and Belle first blinked and then smiled to hear the note of certainty in his voice. "It will, but only if we set about building that new foundation. And that will take time."

"I can live with slowly," Belle's smile widened. "And nothing about our love ever has been," she gave the smallest of laughs, "easy. But… I know it's worth it. I know you're worth it. And more importantly, I know we are."

He stretched out his hands to her across the counter and she clasped them, scarcely believing that he'd made the gesture. "I know you are, anyway," he murmured. "But as much as we both might want this to be… I just don't know if that's going to be enough. But I will try."

"As I will," Belle said firmly. "That's a start. "And it's enough for today."

"One day at a time?"

"Too rushed?" Belle asked, half-joking, but half-serious.

Rumple shook his head slowly, a small wondering smile on his face as he squeezed her warm hands in his. "No. I think that might be just about right."

The kiss they shared was brief and tentative, but it was the first they'd shared with one another in quite some time. And the small spark of hope that each had been nursing flickered to life and began to glow with a steady flame.

Epilogue

The young woman stepped off the bus and into the bitter windy cold of a New York December. She took a moment to get her bearings before walking confidently down Madison Avenue. A couple of seedy-looking people regarded her with interest, but moved away, giving her a wide berth and she smiled grimly. She'd always been able to give off that vibe when she needed to.

She made her way along the street to the address she'd been given years ago and hesitated before the revolving door, wondering whether she'd left things too long, whether the person she sought had moved on. Or passed on, she added cynically. It had been nearly twenty years since she'd found out who she was and where she'd come from. No telling whether the contact information she'd been given then was still good.

She frowned at the sign on the cornerstone. Hornby Aquarium. This stone was laid by— Some guy she'd never heard of, over fifty years ago. She went in and looked about the lobby, wrinkling her nose. Yes, this was an aquarium, but did the whole place have to smell like bait? When was the last time some animal welfare organization had checked this place out? Maybe it was a good thing she'd come today, after all. In a week, going by the way things looked, this whole operation might be shut down.

She approached the ticket booth and glowered when she realized that the shade was drawn and a handwritten post-it note that read "Back at 1PM" was affixed to the window glass. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 1:30. Wonderful. She wondered whether the note was even from today.

Still… the doorway into the exhibits was open and there was no guard checking for tickets. She pressed on.

The place seemed to be deserted, but unlike the outer hall or the carpeting, the glass on the fish tanks was spotless. And, while she didn't know much about marine life, it looked to her as though the fish inside were active and well-fed. But then, she reminded herself, she didn't know much about marine life.

A slight sound startled her. It sounded like a shovel biting into crushed ice or slush. She hesitated for a moment and heard it again. Cautiously, she moved toward the noise and found herself approaching a large tank that held a number of good-sized fish and the biggest turtle she'd ever seen. And in front of the tank, there was a woman of indeterminate age in blue coveralls, scooping something out of a large plastic bucket.

"It's all I've got," the worker was saying irritably. "If you're not happy about it, try eating each other."

The young woman smiled. "Might give them a little more space in there," she said.

The worker whirled to face her. "Who're you?"

Well, she'd made it as far as this aquarium, going on twenty-year-old instructions she'd memorized long ago. And the next one had been to introduce herself to the first person she met and ask…

"My name is Lilith Page. I'm looking for… Are you… Ursula?"

The woman gave an angry start. "Who wants to know? Did that creep of a loan shark send you? You tell him I'll have his money by the end of the week, you got that!"

Lilith—or Lily, as she usually preferred—stood her ground. "Nobody sent me. Not exactly, anyway. But I've been looking for you for some time."

"Yeah, why?"

She hesitated. "This is going to sound weird, but I think you knew my mother."

Ursula snorted. "Yeah? And who was that?"

The expression "time to fish or cut bait" was almost too appropriate for the setting. "I never knew her," she said quietly, sizing Ursula up and waiting to see how she was about to react, "but I'm told her name was… Maleficent."

Ursula's eyes widened. "Why are you here?" she demanded and Lily wondered at the note of fear in her voice.

"Because I think that we're both after the same thing," Lily smiled. "Revenge. On the two people who harmed us most. Snow White and Prince Charming."

Ursula blinked. And then she smiled for the first time. "Let's talk."

The End?