~: Henry :~

The problem, he realized as he ran half way home, was not getting out of the tower, but getting back into the tower. That's why Rapunzel had never left. He understood it now.

He looked up at the make shift ladder he had made an hour ago. It consisted of his bed sheets, his blanket and a jump rope. What had he been thinking?

Well, he'd have to try it. He couldn't have the Evil Queen finding him outside of his room. At least he didn't have the book dragging him down. He'd left it with Belle to peruse. If anyone could keep his book safe it would be Belle, though she'd probably finished reading it by now.

He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could do this.

He leapt up the rope ladder and began to climb. How had, Rapunzel's Prince, Done this, Every Time? No wonder he had wanted her to come live with him at his castle! This, was too much, work!

Henry finally made it to his window, which he clambered over, swinging his leg over the side of the window and rolling into it, panting. He'd made it. He'd made it safe and sound without –

"Welcome home, Henry."

Henry leapt up, and saw the Evil Queen sitting at the edge of his striped bed, her face livid. Oh no.

~: Emma :~

The phone ringing woke Emma right up.

Grumbling, glancing over at the clock to see that it was only 9:42 on a Friday night and she'd been passed out on the couch, she tugged her phone from her pocket, and mumbled into it, "Sheriff here."

"Sheriff Swan, would you get down here?"

Emma straightened immediately, sitting up, "Madam Mayor?"

Mary Margret and Isabelle, who had been putting left overs away in the fridge, paused. Mary Margret stepped forward.

"Get down here!" shouted Regina.

"What seems to be the problem?" Emma asked, pulling on her shoes. "Did we find Kathryn?" She looked at Mary Margret, who looked down at the floor.

Regina huffed into the phone, "No, we didn't. I need to talk to you about Henry."

"What happened? Has he gone missing? Is he ok?" Emma demanded, her pace promptly picking up as she attempted to tie a shoe lace on handed.

"He's fine. I would just like to know where he's been in the last hour and a half," she spat into the phone.

"Well I can assure you he hasn't been with me," Emma said, her urgency decreasing. She glowered at the floor as though it were Regina's face. "You've threatened to get me a restraining order if I see him, remember?" And she had been avoiding the kid as much as possible, and he'd been good about staying away from her as well. He knew better than to come to her apartment.

"He's missing his book, and he won't tell me where he left it. Where else would he leave it, Ms. Swan, except with you?" Regina snapped.

"He really hasn't been here to see me, Madam Mayor," Emma retorted. "Come up here and I'll prove it to you. There's no book here."

"I can't," Regina rumbled.

"What?" Emma couldn't understand. Sure she could. Just because it would take a minute of effort-.

"I can't get up there!" Regina shouted so that Emma held the phone away from her ear. "I've been – prohibited – by your new landlord."

"We don't have a new landlord," Emma shook her head, not understanding.

"Don't - play coy with me," Regina sounded dangerously on the edge. Emma could picture her now with flames fuming from her nostrils.

"I'm not," Emma shook her head.

"You really don't know anything, do you Ms. Swan?" Regina was annoyed.

"No, I really don't," Emma agreed, her face still puzzled, standing up to pull on her jacket.

"Fine," she said curtly, and then, hung up.

"What?" Emma spoke into the phone. "Seriously? I just put my coat on!"

"Emma?" Mary Margret stepped forward timidly. "Henry was here."

Emma blinked, "He was?"

"Yes," Isabelle agreed, holding up two or three cookies with small bite marks in them. "He was testing out my cooking- and he did leave the book here." She exchanged the cookies for the large, brown leather bound volume.

"Ugh, great," Emma slumped back into the couch. She'd just lied to the wicked queen or whatever Henry called her. She was so in for it.

~: Moe :~

Mr. Gold had bought their entire apartment complex, and then was giving him rent free for the next three months until he got back up on his feet? Moe hadn't been aware that the man had a conscience, let alone a heart.

But that wasn't the reason Moe was hurrying home that day. No. He'd been told that his daughter would be there, at home. He knew she was supposed to be dead, but that felt so long ago, and he didn't even remember what had happened to her. Someone had said suicide with razors, that she couldn't take the strain of reality anymore or something.

The stairs were proving to be far too hard to get up, taking more energy than normal, and the apartment was at the very top of the apartment, more of an extra attic than an actual room. Well, he had been in the hospital for a few weeks, he told himself, huffing for breath. He scrambled to get his keys at the top of the apartment complex, and dropped them. Annoyed, he stooped gingerly to pick them up.

The door to his apartment opened. The smell of muffins and freshly baked bread seeped into the air. He looked up to see her there, framed in the doorway. His daughter, taller than he remembered her by a little more than an inch, and very, very much alive, because her smile was too perfectly like her mother's to forget.

"Isabelle?" he asked.

"Papa!" she rushed into his open arms, and he pulled her close. Joy filled his heart. It wasn't a lie. It wasn't some trick. His daughter was alive! His daughter was there and smiling. "Papa I've missed you so much!"

"I've missed you too, darling, darling, princess," he hugged her tightly, as though the harder he held the less likely she was to disappear into thin air, "I got your notes."

"Did you?" she sounded euphoric.

"But you have to tell me everything. What happened?" Moe wanted to know, trying to look into her face, but his eyes were blurry.

"Oh Papa, there's so much to tell," she said hesitantly.

"We've got time, now," he nodded at her, and they walked into the apartment. "Apparently you're a convict now, breaking and entering houses and stuff. Should I call the police? She's moved in downstairs."

"Papa!" she told him with astonishment in her voice, "I'm not a criminal, and I'm not insane. They were lying when they told you I was."

"I often regretted that," Moe said, bowing his head. "Every day after you were gone…"

"There's nothing you could've done, Papa," Isabelle was so forgiving, just like her mother. She looked up at him in earnest then. "Do you… do you remember?"

"Remember what?" he wondered.

"Remember why… why we're here?" she was anxious, her delicate features worrying.

"Well, I couldn't pay off my debts," Moe admitted, shame faced.

That obviously was not what she wanted to hear. She sighed.

"But don't worry, Isabelle, we've got a fresh start now," he told her as she moved away from him. "Mr. Gold's paid for everything."

She turned sharply, "What?"

Moe was nodding. "Mr. Gold said he would pay off all my debts to the bank, all the medical bills and he said he would let us live here for free until we got back on our feet again."

"He did-?" Isabelle looked truly shocked, her face filling with hope.

Moe shrugged easily, "Obviously he felt really guilty."

"Oh Papa!" she exclaimed, rushing to him. "Papa I've got to go!"

She hugged him tightly around the middle, kissing his cheek in a hurry, before letting go. Moe was left a little shell shocked, "But-."

"There are muffins on the table!" she told him, stuffing her shoes on her feet, "I'll come back later!"

"Isabelle!" he shouted after her as she closed the door behind her, but she hadn't heard him. She was gone. He heard her feet on the stairs as she reached the landing below.

Yep. That was his daughter. If it had been his imagination she wouldn't have left in such a hurry. As it was, there was no doubt in his mind. Sighing, shaking his head, he sniffed the air again. Now about those muffins.

~: Belle :~

He really was sorry. Henry had been right. He'd paid her papa's bills, had given them a place to live for free, a place protected from Regina, because he'd bought it, for her. He had given her their tea cup- that had been the first, and very best sign. The chipped cup sat next to her beside, where she gazed at it until she fell asleep… He was sorry.

And she had never been one to hold grudges…

Isabelle ran down the stairs. It was ironic that her father's apartment was only three stories about Mary Margret's and Emma's apartment. Not ironic, but wonderful. She couldn't have been more pleased with it. It meant that when she moved back in with her father that she could come visit them whenever she wanted.

Both Emma and Mary Margret were out- Emma at work, Mary Margret meeting with Jill's parents, one of her students from school. Isabelle had often snuck out at night when they weren't paying attention. She hadn't been able to sleep much, so she left them at the dead of night.

She dressed up in dark clothing, stealing away into the blackness that wasn't blackness in Storybrooke. There were lights that were always coursing with electricity, always windows with lights streaming out of them. It was always bright, almost like day, and it made it hard to sneak about in. So she had learned not to sneak, but to walk, her face buried in a scarf and her hair and forehead hidden by a hood, hands buried in pockets and eyes wide, absorbing everything she could. It's how she'd visited her father in the hospital.

Now it wasn't night though. She could still hide away in a scarf and a hood, but she would have to lower her gaze. She pulled on a jacket with a hood, and wrapped a scarf around her mouth and neck before throwing the hood over her head. She would have to move quickly, and without notice. If she got caught she didn't know what would happen to her. They would take her to Regina, maybe? Would the Evil Queen lock her up again? But how could she, with so many allies on her side now. Emma, Mary Margret, Henry, Mr. Gold… Mr. Gold.

He heart beat in her ears, thundered as she gulped down air.

She could forgive him. She already had forgiven him. She had never been one to hold grudges, no matter how hard she tried. Especially with people that she loved… But she had questions for him, that he had better answer. So many questions. She would demand answers. He could not be elusive this time. Not when she stood in front of him and demanded them. He wasn't going to win her back without them.

And yes, she loved him still. She had read the story in Henry's book over, and over again. She'd read about his despair after she had left, had learned what the Evil Queen had planted in his heart, the belief of her death.

More furiously still, that the Queen had said that her father had harmed her in that way. Her father would never do that to her, though she hadn't exactly returned to him after she had left Rumpelstiltskin's Dark Castle. The Evil Queen had said that she committed suicide, something that Rumpelstiltskin should never have believed. She couldn't see herself killing herself, but then, she had never been tortured the way that the Evil Queen had described. What was more though, was that it explained why he'd never come after her, why he'd never saved her… Did it explain why he'd hurt her father?

She could see Rumpelstiltskin's fury, could see his pent up rage… it would make sense. It was still inexcusable. He knew that though. He knew that though…

She wrote down a note to Emma and Mary Margret, telling her where she had gone, and that she was fine.

As a last thought, she grabbed the tea cup, holding it gently in both of her hands, before leaving the apartment. Her only debate now was where to go- his house, or his shop?

~: Mr. Gold :~

His court date had been today. For that he was grateful. A distraction. The hole didn't hurt so much today. He had had something else to focus on, even though the focusing made his head pound and his ears ring. What he really dreaded was the night. He feared the hours of darkness where nothing was there to engross his attention, except for the agony, the bitter regret that saturated his mouth and choked his lungs of air. He felt his stomach fill with dread at the thought, swallowing it down so it melded together with the regret to make him nauseous.

Love makes us sick.

"Do you want me to drop you off at your house?" Emma's voice called out to him from the blur that he'd been in.

"No, no, back at my shop, please," he told Emma, watching the world pass by in the dusk. He couldn't go back to his house. He didn't want to fall into that pit for several more hours yet.

"Alright," Emma said with a shrug.

They drove in silence a little longer.

"So, how have you been?" Emma asked awkwardly.

"You don't have to make small talk, Ms. Swan," Mr. Gold told her listlessly, still not looking at her, "You can just ask me what you will."

She was tentative, "It's about Isabelle."

"Anything but that," he said through gritted teeth, feeling his heart constrict.

"Why did you beat up her dad?" she demanded.

She was trying to get information out of him. What else had he expected? "He stole."

Emma rolled her eyes as she turned the corner to his shop, "Yeah, but what'd he steal that pissed you off so bad?"

"Ah, that's the question, isn't it?" Mr. Gold smiled lifelessly. Nosy investigator of this sordid world. Didn't she have anything else to do in the world? Like watch after her nosy investigator of a son?

"I'll make them ask you that in court," Emma challenged.

"Do that," Mr. Gold nodded at her, mocking her resolve. She came to a screeching stop at the front of his shop, her glower burning holes in everything but him. He was not fazed by her. He got out of the car, bending over to see her fiery eyes. "Thank you Ms. Swan, for the ride."

"Anytime," she grumbled, her mouth tight.

He closed the door, and she sped away. He chuckled darkly after her, before rotating to face his shop. He entered with a sigh, all his treasures lined up from lifetimes of accumulating, and they were now accumulating dust. He shut the door behind him, looking around once more, before walking slowly to the counter he sat behind.

The leather swivel chair with wooden arm rests was ready for him. He slouched back into it, resting his tense leg in front of him. Back to the sickness, the fresh, all consuming, bitter regret that was his new cage in this cage of a reality.

He turned to his desk.

And froze.

There, on his desk, was the cup, the white porcelain delicate structure of a tea cup, with the chip in it. The chip in it. He swallowed, and then stood up, searching frantically around the room for her. He heard a small giggle, and swiveled, gritting his teeth at the pain in his leg, to pinpoint the sound. He couldn't see her.

"How did you get in?" he demanded, his eyes darting around to the corners of the room.

"Flimsy locks," she told him, echoing words not her own.

His mouth tightened at the phrase, his mind jumping to Her Majesty, "So you've read the boy's story."

"I have," she spoke decidedly. It sounded like it was coming from nowhere and everywhere all at one. It was more frustrating than he would have before believed.

"And you've learned how to be a ventriloquist," he ground out. She was here to torture him. Or worse. He was cracking under the strain. He could see himself doing that. He could see how it would be so easy to believe that he was making this up. This was a dream. Belle would be far too angry with him to be here. But she had never been able to hold a grudge.

"It's one of the few things one can do without books to read and nowhere to go," she teased. "I never liked to be bored."

That was the truth. Even when she was at Dark Castle, she had done everything she could to stay busy. It had been exhausting to watch sometimes.

"Are you – real?" he found himself asking warily, stepping out from behind his desk, taking the cup with him. He hated the way it sounded, so desperate, so lonely.

"Very real," she vowed.

Ha. It was more of a dream to him. "Prove it."

"You have the proof in your hands."

He looked down at the tea cup, felt it in his long fingers.

"You took the mug," she acknowledged.

"A trade, if you will," he said slowly, half donning the old goblin's mask as he rotated, eyes looking, eyes always looking.

"You always loved a bargain." He could see her smile, her knowing eyes. Where was she? Was she even real? "But I think I got the better end on this deal."

The mug and the tea cup. Both held such value in such different ways. "You're not "proving" anything, dearie," he sneered at a corner, taunting, "Come out come out wherever you are."

"I always wished you wouldn't call me 'dearie'," she sighed, sounding frustrated herself, "You call everyone that, especially when you're angry with them."

"I am angry with you," he pointed out, glowering around the room. She shouldn't be here. If her Majesty found out- a thrill of fear shot through him, a new found urgency to find her grasping at him. He needed to find her.

"Apparently," she grinned.

"You shouldn't be here. You should leave," he told her, harshly, trying to make her angry, make her leave. He couldn't stand this for much longer. He needed her to leave. Needed her to go now, before anyone saw, before her Majesty saw-

"Why?" she sounded hurt, not angry. Wrong reaction. It made guilt well up in his stomach.

You already have enough fun tormenting me from far away. I don't need this phantom to add to my anguish, "I made a deal with the Queen." Better to tell her than not to.

"What?" Her ventriloquism stopped short, gasping.

He spun on the spot, and found her behind him, hooded and swathed in a scarf, her eyes bright and horrified. He stepped closer to her, and she stepped backwards, right into one of the display cases. She'd been hiding near one. Caught, pinned between him and his trophies. The irony.

"I made a deal with her Majesty," he repeated, folding his hands over his cane, but still gingerly holding the precious tea cup. He watched her shake herself, gather her courage before he could think of anything to stop her from doing so.

"But- why?" caught, she stepped towards him. He stayed where he was, not showing fear. But he was afraid. Afraid of her. "I thought we were past dealing with her."

"I never pass up a good deal, dearie," he uttered the last word on purpose to bridle her. It worked. There was that familiar crease in her forehead.

"Don't call me that," she snapped, pressing on, "What was the deal?"

"For your safety," he tilted his head in her direction as she approached him, "I am to keep away from you, and right now, you're breaking the deal."

"You think that staying away from me will keep me safe," she puzzled, her steps carrying her closer and closer to him. He fought the urge to step away, feeling his heart beat thrum faster in his ears.

She took one step too far, and he leaned away, trying not to look at her mouth, "Oh, most definitely."

"I don't think it will," she breathed, her smile slow, her eyes flicking up to meet his. He felt her fingers reach around his that clasped the cup, and began to disentangle them delicately. He felt his fingers shaking as hers laced around his.

He took a deep breath, before answering smoothly, "It depends on what you count as safe, dearest."

She smiled at the changed nick name, her eyes bright and wide. Open. Innocent. She had already managed to remove three of his fingers that had been clasped around the tea cup. "Break the deal. You already have the apartment where I live. She can't harm me there," her voice was barely above a whisper, her voice sure and steady.

"Ah, she can't harm you there. That means nothing compared to her magic or her henchmen," he reminded her, speaking in the same quiet tone, but it was hesitant, unsteady.

She grinned, and finally took the cup from him, "I'll buy a lock." She held it up triumphantly, her smile enchanting as ever.

He turned from her, hands on the counter. "Get away from here, Belle."

She didn't say anything for so long it made him panic. He wanted to turn around, to see if she had really gone. "We're even, you know."

"Even?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her. She wasn't looking at him, but was cradling the tea cup in her hands.

"You sent me away once, and I sent you away once," she spoke softly, "We're even. Don't throw us out of balance all over again."

"Wrong. Emma sent me away," he corrected, half rotating to face her.

"Not wrong," her eyes locked onto his, conviction there that he couldn't argue, "Emma was saying what I was feeling."

"Well, in any case, I'm sending you away now. Leave," he gestured towards the door behind her.

"No." The word was quick to her lips and there was no hint of a smile anymore. Her eyes still focused on his face.

"I said leave," he ordered, stabbing his hand at the door.

"No." Her face was set, determined. More determined than he'd ever seen it. She stared him down.

He felt a scowl form on his face as he whirled to stare at her, "Don't try me," he warned.

"I'm not leaving you." She shook her head once, her eyes poignant and true.

He stepped towards her threateningly, but it was she who didn't back down this time, "You were supposed to be angry at me!" he shouted, his hands fisted.

"I was, but now I want answers," she said calmly, evenly. She was not afraid of him. How could he be so afraid of her? "You know I've never been able to hold a grudge," a small smile ghosted around her mouth.

It made him tighten his lips, "I won't apologize," he growled, trying to think of anything, anything to keep himself from thinking that she was right.

"You already have," her voice was kind, sweet. She stepped towards him again, tearing down his fortifications with every footfall, "You paid my papa's bills, his debts, and I can only fathom how much that cost you, because I know my papa. He was always fond of gambling on business ventures and odd schemes. You are letting us stay for free in our apartment. If you were not sorry you wouldn't have done this."

She spoke true. She knew about it all. How fast the world was unraveling around him, blasting apart his walls he'd built.

"You will not get your precious answers," he spat savagely. Another wedge in between them.

She was only inches from him again, her eyes holding great sorrow. "You believed my father tortured me and I killed myself because of it."

She knew the answers already…

She had been dead. It shot through him like a fresh arrow, leaving him gasping, "I – I did."

"I'm sorry," and she was sincere as she reached to touch his face, "I didn't mean to cost you that much heart ache."

He jerked back, "You assume a great deal," he told her selfishly.

"I probably do," she let her hand drop, and she smiled sadly, fiddling with the tea cup again, "Then again I was always the hopeless romantic."

He barked a laugh at that. "Yes. You try to hide it."

She laughed herself, "I've never been good at hiding things."

"Belle," he spoke in confidence now, a whisper, urgent. She needed to leave, before he cracked and the deal with her Majesty was broken. "You have to leave. Now. Before anyone sees you here."

"I won't leave you," she shook her head firmly again, looking almost like a mulish child.

"This is not the time to be stubborn. Go. Live. Get a job, go to college, be something," he gestured at the door again, leaning a little too closely.

"I can still do those things without leaving you," she pointed out.

He hung his head, "I don't want to think of what she will do to you if you don't go."

"Then don't," she said it so easily, "She won't hurt me. You made that deal in haste, Rumpelstiltskin. It was folly. It won't benefit you, it will only benefit her. Since when do you make deals like that?"

When it benefits you, dearest. "It benefits me."

"No it doesn't, and it doesn't benefit me. We're going to have to break this curse, together, Rumpelstiltskin," she peered into his eyes then, hers so iridescently cerulean that they must have been part of the sky once.

Her words were folly. Folly, and yet truth rang in them.

"We can't be seen together. You'll be in danger, even more danger now because I've broken the deal."

"Then we'll keep it a secret," she spoke, whispering the words onto his lips.

He could not resist her anymore.

Her logic was flawed – there was nothing they could keep secret from her Majesty, but her mouth pressed timidly against his, and he felt his hands grasp either side of her face, holding her there, pulling her closer, the hood falling from around her hair. He drew in her light, her strength, her bravery – the Brave Beauty and the Cowardly Beast- he would never possess courage unless he was with her. He needed it, needed it desperately as his fervor heightened.

She pulled away, gasping, but he caught her again, turning so that her back was to a counter top. She inhaled sharply as he tore the distracting scarf away from her face. Her tender caress was enticing, intriguing, but he needed more, more to consume the light that was her –

She cried out when he roughly pressed her into the countertop, his ferocity too much, but he didn't let her free. She had come to him. She had asked for this- She was his.

"I knew it!"

A bell chimed a few feet away, startling them back into reality, shocking them apart.

"I knew it would work!"

Henry stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

Rumpelstiltskin had had enough of this boy and his mother, he thought as Belle straightened her shirt. Glaring in monstrous anger he stared at the indignant prince, wondering what fate would be best to bestow upon him. He felt like changing the little prince into a frog, and send him hopping. He lifted his hand, felt the magic come –

And stopped.

The magic stayed, swelling painfully in the tips of his fingers. He knew automatically that he had to let it go, and shot it straight into the air. Lightning crackled, attached itself to the nearest light fixture, and the lights in the room went out.

Rumpelstiltskin looked at his hands, flipping them from their palms to their backs over and over. They were Mr. Gold's hands, but –

With a cackle he sent lightning into the air again- Belle squeaked and Henry laughed out loud. Magic.

"I knew she could do it!" Henry cried over the sound, he declared, jumping up and down. "She broke your curse too!"

"But – how?" Belle said, her voice muted.

Rumpelstiltskin inhaled, exhaled deeply, spinning to face her, his eyes wide and alive. He grabbed her face again, and kissed her square on the mouth, before he danced away in delight. He magicked his cane into his hand, realizing a half second later that he didn't need it. His leg didn't hurt- "Ha ha!"

Henry was hugging Belle excitedly, "You did it! You did it!"

"What did I do?" Belle wondered. She sounded worried.

There was no need to be worried anymore. He could watch her. There was nothing her Majesty could do now to harm her. Magic. He had magic again. The idea was completely and totally impractical- it was nothing like this world should be, but he felt it there again, at his beck and call as it had been in the past. It was because of her. She had done it- Belle.

"Belle!" he cried, taking both of her hands in his, and spun her around the shop into his arms, "Beautiful, lovely, little Belle!" he kissed her again.

He never knew he would feel so light with her there. Not a burden. Not like he had feared. She was the magic. She was the light. She was the source of everything.

She was smiling at him, but her face was full of worry, that little crease in her brow.

"Don't worry," he told her, "Everything will be fine, you'll see."

"You still have this face," she whispered, touching his human skin, peering into his eyes. "How?"

"I don't know, but it's absolutely wonderful!" he wrinkled his nose at her, and she wrinkled it right back. "You," he turned to Henry. Henry saluted with a smile.

"Yes sir," he stood to attention.

He flicked his finger at the door, "You get out of here before you become the next frog prince."

"But I was looking for Is- for Belle," Henry said, sounding distraught. "Emma's searching for her everywhere."

Rumpelstiltskin growled under his breath, before his eyes snapped onto Belle, "We can't breathe a word." He put his finger to her lips, and she smiled sarcastically.

"Not a word," she promised, kissing his finger.

He kissed her quick, and watched as she wrapped that infernal scarf around her mouth, drawing the hood over her beautiful hair. Leaving. But not for good this time. Just for now.

"We gotta hurry," Henry was peeking out the front door. "The coast is clear!"

"I'm coming!" she told Henry, looking wistfully back at Rumpelstiltskin.

"Wait!" he told her, glancing at the tea cup. It whisked into his open fingers. "Take it with you." He handed it tenderly to her.

She smiled at him. He couldn't see it, buried as it was beneath her scarf, but he saw it in her eyes, her wonderful, blissfully blue eyes. She took the cup, her fingers lingering-

"Hurry!" Henry ordered.

"Goodbye!" she whispered, and then, they were gone. Rumpelstiltskin stood at the door, watching them run into the night, disappearing behind a building.

However, the curse could not withhold magic from him anymore. He could watch over her now, wherever she went. Her Majesty wouldn't lay a finger on her ever again.