Double Cure

Writer's note: Thanks to bad faery and thestraggletag for inspiring me to write Macelle! All credit for Father McAvoy's first name goes to bad faery, because I couldn't imagine him with any other name except the one she gave him!

Middlesbrough seemed like a peaceful town. Belle needed some peace. From the beginning of the ogre wars, her life had been a whirlwind of sadness and joy. The man she loved – her unlikely true love – the powerful Dark One who deep inside was still just the small, trembling man trying to find his son, was gone now. Here in this world magic was different and like everyone else he could not escape death.

Belle couldn't stay in Storybrooke. The town line had been removed years before. She had seen parts of the country, but her and her husband always returned after their searches, unsuccessful and heartbroken. No place on the North American continent felt far enough, so she tried Europe. That's how she ended up in the quiet town of Middlesbrough.

A month had passed since she arrived with a car full of keepsakes and necessities. An old but nice bed and breakfast was home for now. She wasn't in a hurry to find a job when she arrived; she had enough to keep her going. After the weeks of taking it easy and exploring, Belle passed a bookshop with a "help wanted" sign in the window. The local library had no positions open, but a bookshop was the next best thing.

Belle strolled out the bookshop wearing a smile and a bounce in her step that hadn't been there in nearly a year. Maybe Middlesbrough would work out for her; maybe she could finally find a place she belonged again. She was only working part time (2-7 five days a week), but it was something to do, something to contribute to the new place she was trying to make home.

It was an overcast day two weeks after she begin her new job. A light snow fall had melted earlier, creating slush on the streets. There weren't many people milling around due to the weather, but there was one man that seemed to catch Belle's attention from afar. His head hung low and shoulders slumped. She thought he was walking that way because of the damp coldness in the air, but as he drew closer, she could feel the distraught radiating from his whole being.

The man missed a crack in the concrete. He fell forward, catching his hand on the sidewalk, and tumbling into a muddy puddle standing against the curb. Belle gasped, a hand flying to her mouth, as she watched the poor man take the horrible tumble. She rushed to his side instantly.

"Are you all right, sir?" she asked, concerned, grasping his forearm.

The man nodded vaguely, face shrouded by the fringe of his brown hair. Belle pulled him to his feet, steadying him as he swayed. One side of his black jacket and pants were soaking wet and stained with sloshy mud, but the bloody gash on the heel of his left hand caught her attention.

"You're hurt!" she said, rummaging through her bag for a tissue to wipe the blood away.

"Please don't trouble yourself, Miss. "

He flinched when she took his hand gently in hers. He sounded as if he did not wish to bother her.

"It's no matter," Belle contended, dabbing the blood away. She hadn't glanced up yet, hadn't seen his downtrodden face. The poor thing was so flustered by the fall his hand was shaking. "You really need to have this gash cleaned. Your jacket and pants are soaked. You could catch a cold easily. My rooming is only a block away. I can get you cleaned up and bandaged in no time."

"No, really, Miss," his voice was near pleading, but he hadn't pulled away from her hold. "You need not worry about me."

"I insist." Belle finally looked up, smiling encouragingly. The eyes that met her gaze made her gasp in shock. The man standing before her was a spitting image of her late husband.