A/N: So four years ago, give or take a couple months, I wrote this Rumbelle Chuck AU. Or at least, I started writing it. I even got so far that I posted the first half of it. And then...I guess I just forgot about it? Anyway, I've been trying to work my way through old fics and story ideas this year, and I came across this little forgotten story, and thought, 'Hmm, let's see if I ever wrote any of the second part of that story.' And then I found that I'd written everything but the last bit of the climax and the ending scene. So, in the spirit of trying to finish some things, I sat down to finish it and here you are, four years late, the end of this little unlikely AU. I hope those of you who might enjoy this - or anyone who might possibly remember me - will enjoy this New Year's offering!

Disclaimer: And since it's been so long, just a reminder than I own neither Once Upon A Time or Chuck, and no copyright infringement is intended!

Rumple blushed when the door he was trying to open for her stuck, and though Belle thought it was a bit surprising—and maybe a little cute—that a man his age could still blush, she pretended to be intent on smelling the roses he'd brought her. She knew from her earlier trip to his sister and brother-in-law's house as well as the info she'd been given on him before arriving in Storybrooke that this car actually belonged to his sister, Mary Margaret Nolan. Rumple Gold didn't own a car—or a house, or a business, or even a dog. He lived with the Nolans, drove to work every morning with his high school friend Baelfire Neal Cassidy, devoted himself almost obsessively to his menial job, and returned home every night where he would turn his attentions to his hobbies—spinning, weaving, browsing for antiques he could no longer possibly afford on the internet, and probably, Belle thought, wondering how his life had gotten to this point.

Or at least, that's what his file and her own surveillance told her. But like Moe had said, if Darkin had sent the Intersplice to him, there had to be a reason for it. She'd looked all over for the Intersplice during her dangerous foray into his house, but though she'd found the carrier—the knife—she hadn't found the device itself. Which meant that, as much as she didn't want to even think about it, Rumple must know what the Intersplice was—and probably how valuable it was, not only to the United States government, but also to any number of elite criminal organizations and hostile nations—and he'd hidden it. Hidden it so well she hadn't been able to find it despite her very thorough search of his place of residence.

"So," Rumple said when he slid into the driver's seat and closed the door beside him. He dropped his cane between the door and his seat, as if hoping she wouldn't notice it. There was an endearing hint of shy uncertainty when he glanced over to her. "I…I haven't exactly taken in the sights of the town myself for a while. But there is a good place to eat over on Main Street. It's small, but it has good hamburgers. Although," he looked away, his voice going quieter, "hamburgers probably aren't exactly what you had in—"

"I love hamburgers," she said delightedly. It was easy, after all these years, to play a part, but she was actually sincere. Usually, her marks took her to expensive restaurants with sushi and cordon bleu and bottles of wine that cost more than a month of Rumple's current salary; she couldn't even count how many times she'd sat at those elegant tables and looked at the intricately arrayed plates before her and wished for a simple hamburger.

Rumple looked at her for a moment, studying her intently, and she had the feeling that he thought she was lying, so she gave him another smile and added, "I travel a lot, so I don't get to stop for hamburgers that often."

His expression eased a bit. "You travel for your work?" he asked politely.

Belle nodded, knowing he was watching her out of the corner of his eye as he drove them to the restaurant—Granny's, easily defensible, with an open floor plan that would make it easy to spot any possible hostiles coming her way. "Yes," she said. "I'm a librarian—or at least, that's the simplest way of putting it. I travel to find rare books that my clients want to add to their collections."

"Ah." His eyes were shuttered, his hands tight over the steering wheel. "Like antiques."

"Yes," she said, pretending to surprise. "Do you know anything about them?"

"I—" He paused, and Belle watched him expectantly. She'd given him the perfect opening to tell her about his antiques business—Golden Straw Antiques, the largest collection on the East Coast, rumored to be expanding even into the Midwest—and that would, she hoped, lead into him talking about what had happened to lose him that business. The CIA already knew that Bryce Darkin, or Agent ZO5O, had been his business partner before coming forward with proof that Rumple had forged many of his top-priced collections, but what they didn't know was whether it had been deliberate. Whether Rumple had told Darkin to betray him in order to make contacts with whoever the rogue agent was working with and give them the Intersplice.

Not that Belle expected Rumple to just tell her everything right away, but every little bit helped. She was very adept at reading emotion and intention and truth behind the lies and half-truths and evasions people were so capable of spouting off.

But Rumple just shook his head and gave a tight smile. "Not really. Maybe in another life."

"Ah." Belle sat back, a bit disappointed. Since she wasn't supposed to know anything about his past, he'd just made it almost impossible to press him on the subject.

"So what brings you to Storybrooke?" Rumple asked after a moment. "There aren't any rare books here that I know of."

"No," Belle said with a slight shake of her head. "But you do have a lovely library in need of some loving care. And I've been growing…a bit tired…of always being on the move. I was thinking of maybe taking over the library here."

"You might stay?" His voice was caught somewhere between polite interest and disbelieving awe, and Belle had to look over at him just to try to read his expression.

"Well, I was thinking of it," she said with a light laugh that disappeared when Rumple swallowed and looked away with the tiniest hint of a smile curving his lips.

"Here we are," he said abruptly, pulling the car into a parking space along Granny's. "It really isn't much," he added, that customary doubt leaking back into his voice.

"It looks very cozy," Belle pronounced.

"Yes, most things look cozy from the outside," Rumple commented dryly, surprising a genuine laugh from Belle. Truth to tell, it almost scared her, a bit, that he could do that to her—it was the third time he'd made her laugh without even seeming to try, and for an agent very used to her covers and her facades, it was disconcerting. It was just that every time she thought she had a handle on him—every time she was sure he was a sweet but washed up man who'd lost too much and didn't have the heart to keep fighting, he'd suddenly do something to surprise her—like make a teasing observation with an almost hidden bite to it, or blush at something simple and innocuous, or stare at her as if he weren't quite sure she was real.

"Let's see the inside, then," she challenged him, and had to smile again in response to Rumple's own shy smile.

He led her inside, and they were quickly seated in a booth table to the side. Belle made sure she was facing the door, not wanting to be surprised if Mills was following Rumple and decided to force a confrontation. The NSA, in her experience, preferred blatant conflict over the subtler methods of persuasion and infiltration the CIA favored.

"So…" Belle paused, looked around, then leaned closer as if to divulge a secret, pleased when Rumple indulged her by tilting forward. "I hope I won't scare you off if I admit that I'm not very good at dating." He was close enough for her to see the flash of consternation darkening his eyes, the minute stiffening of his body. He covered it up quickly, but that was the benefit of being so close—being able to see what he wanted to hide.

"Talking," she added before he could say anything. "I'm not great at talking, or getting to know people."

"Really?" His surprise wasn't faked. "But you…"

"What?" She grinned flirtatiously at him. "But I what?"

He shrugged, his fingers playing with the napkin under his water glass. When he answered her, she noticed that he was careful not to meet her eyes. "You talked to me. At Clothe More. And you've gotten me to talk about myself a bit—more than most people can accomplish."

She was charmed by the way he gained confidence as he spoke, the rise in the volume of his voice, the way he straightened and looked at her. For the first time, she thought she could see how he'd been such a successful dealer. She certainly felt more confident, which was strange since, well, yes, she didn't talk much—having to keep her entire life a secret from everyone but those with high security clearances made it almost impossible to confide in anyone—but she had only said what she did to make him more comfortable with doing most of the talking tonight.

In the end, she gave a nervous chuckle, pretended it was faked, and said, "Well, I do a lot of reading. I'm a bit of a bookworm. Social situations aren't my forte."

His smile was warm and slow and crooked. "Nor mine. Just pretend I'm a character in one of your books then."

Something fizzled and shook and fell to plop, unceremoniously, in the pit of her stomach as she stared at Rumple. So open, so gentle, so…hopeful. And so very dangerous. Because in only moments, he'd already seen through her. Oh, not her cover, not why she was really there or anything like that, but because…because that was exactly what she did. Every situation, every new cover, she mentally matched it with one of her favorite books, and she played the character and tried to read between the lines of the other characters in the situation.

Wanting suddenly to writhe under his stare, she pulled her drink to her and played with the straw.

As if he could tell he'd made her uncomfortable, Rumple swallowed and changed the subject. He told her about his sister and his brother-in-law—and Belle laughed again when he admitted that he called David Nolan Prince Charming—and about the people he worked with, and he teased her into using ketchup on her hamburger—said something about the taste being magic, and the line should have seemed irrepressibly dorky but it only made her laugh—and Belle almost forgot that this wasn't really a date.

Until the door chimed and Belle glanced up out of deeply ingrained habit—not for nothing was she sitting where she could see the entirety of the diner's open floor plan—and her eyes locked on the one person she had most wanted to avoid.

Regina Mills. NSA's most ruthless assassin.

Regina looked straight at Belle, smiled a smile so cold Belle actually shivered…and then she turned and went to sit at the bar. Belle had only seconds to be surprised before the door opened again and six men came in. Unsurprisingly bland, completely unremarkable…all of them carrying concealed weaponry and each one locking onto Rumple with disconcerting abruptness.

Belle leapt out of her seat and tugged on Rumple's hands. "Rumple," she said with a smile more faked than any since before he'd picked her up tonight, "I just thought of something I want you to see. Something I want to show you."

She'd picked a booth in the back of the diner, the last one before the hallway that led to the restrooms and a backdoor. It'd take her and Rumple only seconds to get out of Granny's and on the way to somewhere a bit more defensible. If, that is, he would just. Get. Up.

There was nothing of her urgency in his face; instead, there was only bewilderment and a spark of awe and something she didn't know how to name as he looked down at her hands on his, pulling at him in a useless attempt to get him to move.

"Uh, we don't have the check yet," he finally managed to say. When she handed him his cane, hurried and impatient, he went expressionless and silent. She was getting sloppy, messing up the dynamic between them, losing what little trust she'd earned from him, but the men were right behind him now, and there was no more time.

"Okay," she said, and swung to put her own body between Rumple and the NSA goons. She lashed backward with a sharply pointed heel and caught the first man in his instep. He went down with only a grunt—agents were trained not to make noise that might alarm the civilians around them, and right now Belle planned on taking full advantage of that.

She kept her eyes on Rumple, but her peripheral vision alerted her to three of Regina's goons trying to surround her. Rumple looked down at her hand when she placed it on his arm, stupefied into silence once more. It was enough of a distraction for her. She reached up, and with a single practiced movement whipped the darts from her hair at each of the closest three agents. One staggered and fell into a booth, another fell into a chair, and the third managed to make it out the door before collapsing.

Rumple turned toward the noise, and Belle only just barely managed to 'accidentally' jostle him. His hand caught at her elbow to steady her, and she stepped in closer to him, covering as much of his body as she could. Her body armor would be enough to stop any tranquilizers the remaining two men might send his way.

Unfortunately, her luck was running out. Rumple might not be used to feminine company, and he might be awed that a beautiful woman was paying attention to him, and he might even be desperate for the company, but he wasn't an idiot. Granny's dinner rush wasn't going to hide the men dropping like flies for too much longer, and Belle's own haste wasn't doing her any favors. Already she could see Rumple's eyes beginning to narrow. He let go of her arm and stepped back a bit too smoothly. Regaining his cool, distancing himself—beginning to suspect her.

She couldn't let that happen.

"Rumple," she said, and stepped closer to him, tried a coy smile. It'd been a while since she'd played a seductress and the part had never come easily to her, but needs must. "There's only one place in town I've really explored, and I want to share it with you. A way to make this occasion special enough to warrant this dress."

He softened. An almost miniscule change she saw because she was desperately looking for it. Then she was clinging to his arm, escorting him toward the back of the diner and through the back door. The last of the knives disguised as hairpins delayed the last agents, but the blades weren't tipped with the tranquilizing agent so she couldn't count them out entirely. And there was still Regina.

"Do you mind if I drive?" she asked, doing her best to disguise her impatient stride as eager flirtatiousness. She dropped her hand from his elbow to his hand and let her fingers play through his, callused along the edges of his fingertips in a way she'd never felt before. She smiled up at him and turned to walk backward, dancing back and leading him to the car.

"Planning on dumping my body in a dark alleyway?" he asked, and for a heart-stopping moment she thought he was serious. Then he smirked at her, reminding her of his wicked humor, and Belle let out a relieved laugh.

"Maybe I just want to test your bravery," she replied. It was the wrong thing to say. His smile dropped away as if it'd never been. His eyes went dead.

And Regina fired a shot that, though suppressed, still broke the stillness of the night in a way that couldn't be explained away.

"Get down!" Belle dove for Rumple and hoped she didn't hurt him too badly when he hit the asphalt with an audible thump. She came up on top of him, peering over his shoulder toward where Regina had been, her Smith & Wesson in her hand. It'd be safer to fire a shot just to keep Regina huddled up for an extra moment, and if it came to that, Belle would fire, but for now, she'd prefer not to alert the entire town that a shoot-out was occurring.

Her mistake came when she glanced down to Rumple. A split-second glance, but enough to throw her completely.

Rumple was still beneath her—unnaturally still, even, like a corpse, which was bad enough. Worse, though, worse than everything, was the complete betrayal painted across his face. The hurt, the bewilderment, the surprise…the resignation, the self-loathing, the anger. All of it there for just that glance before he shut it all away behind nothing. A mask of complete and total apathy that hit her like a sledgehammer to her body armor.

Another shot that nicked the road just inches away from Rumple's head ended Belle's moment of regret.

"Get up!" she ordered, half-pushing, half-pulling him to his feet and shoving him toward his car. She finally did fire a shot that left the dark form of Regina diving toward some bushes. Their time really had run out.

No more subtle digging for information. No more gentle prodding to see what kind of man Rumple was. They were down to the wire and there was nowhere to go now but to either a bunker or a prison.

Rumple tossed her the keys as soon as she slid into the driver's seat. Belle didn't know why but she wasn't about to question her good fortune. They peeled away into the night with the screeching of tires, black skid marks left behind them.

"So, I assume you will be looking for a place to dump my body after all, eh, dearie?" he asked caustically. She was driving too fast to really be able to get a good long look at him, but she could tell just from the color of his knuckles over his cane—bone-white and gleaming in the moonlight—that he wasn't nearly as calm as he was trying to appear.

And that, oddly enough, was what made her at once wholly and completely sure that he wasn't her enemy.

She still didn't know where the Intersplice was, and she didn't know why Darkin had sent the top-secret program that only a handful of higher-ups knew about to a nobody tailor, but she did know that Rumple didn't have the answers. He was part of this all right, but not of his own free will.

So it was time to come clean.

"Listen, Rumple, that woman who's after us—Regina Mills—she's from the NSA and she's after something that was stolen from the government. A program so dangerous that if it falls into the wrong hands it could easily be considered a weapon of mass destruction."

"Right," he drawled, the full effect of his sarcasm dulled only slightly by the way he had to cling to the door in order to keep his seat as Belle wrenched them through another tight turn. She didn't think Regina was close enough behind them to be following so she wasn't bothering to try to lose a tail. She was, however, pretty sure that the assassin had been able to plant some kind of tracker on either them or the car, so they'd have company entirely too soon. She had only moments to break through the walls Rumple was busy erecting and get him to work with her.

"I know this sounds unbelievable," she began, but Rumple cut her off.

"Oh, no, trust me," he shot her a venomous look, "it's much easier to believe that you were using me as cover than that you were actually interested in going out with me. This is really just my penance for daring to believe the universe was done punishing me yet."

There were all sorts of things to say to that, and yet…no way to find the right words.

"I wasn't using you as a cover," she said. Her voice was small, quiet, and she wished she could take it back. She remembered being on the other side of this tableau, after all, not that long ago, only she hadn't even had the chance to ask her questions. She'd been left behind without even a word, left holding the bag for a partner she'd trusted completely, facing questions from her superiors and the mark of suspicion that would never go away.

Rumple laughed. Not the warm, almost-surprised sound he'd gifted her with over hamburgers. A cold, disdainful snort that lashed out like a weapon. "I think the gunshots put paid to that excuse, dearie. No need to keep playing the ingénue."

"Rumple, you have the Intersplice—the program we're looking for. We traced it here to you." She parked the car in a hurry and turned to face him. "Darkin stole it from us, and we know he sent it to you."

The transformation that occurred then took her aback. His face twisted into a snarl so fierce she actually found herself gripping her gun half-raised, as if ready to shoot him should he leap on her like a ravening beast.

"Darkin!" he spit. "Of course he'd be the cause of troubling my life yet again!"

"What did he send you?" she pressed. She took her finger off the trigger, but only cautiously. She liked Rumple—a lot—but she didn't know this man sitting across from her, vibrating with fury and hatred. "What did it look like? Have you seen Darkin?"

A mistake to say the name again. Rumple sneered and opened his mouth, and—and then stopped. Something like a purple sheen crossed over his eyes. His expression froze. His body twitched.

Then, an instant later, he shivered and shook and thumped a hand against the side of his head as if to get rid of water in his ears. He blinked, and blinked again, and then looked at her. A helpless, plaintive look, the monster completely subsumed beneath the fearful, timid man who'd caught her when she faked a fall into his arms.

"What's happening to me?" he asked. "What did you do?"

That hurt, a sharp stinging pain. She never got used to these rare times when her marks saw beyond the cover and realized how much she'd lied. And she hadn't lied to Rumple, not nearly as much as she usually did, but she knew the semantics wouldn't help him—or her—feel any better.

"I don't know," she admitted. "And we don't have time to sit here. Mills will be here any second—and, Rumple, as mad as you are at me, just remember that I came here to get the Intersplice with your help. She came here to take it from your dead body."

He stared at her. Even when she exited the car and circled it to open his door and help him out, she could feel his stare on her, like a lightning bolt that wouldn't fade.

"You," he breathed as she tugged him up out of the car. "It was you in my sister's house, wasn't it? You're the one who took the knife?"

She didn't say anything.

She didn't have to.

"Lying to me wasn't good enough? You had to add breaking and entering to your crimes, too?" He was dismissive, contemptuous, even as he leaned heavily on her while she led him up the stairs that snaked up the back of the library. Far from angering her, his rage only made her admire him. He had gone from one extreme on the emotional spectrum to the other in only an hour's time, been shot at, betrayed, and lied to—and yet, even with his leg dragging behind him, he was unabashed and uncowed. He could have been an agent, a good one.

Of course, his words also made her realize that for all she'd outed Regina and Darkin and the Intersplice, she hadn't yet introduced herself. She almost never got the chance to besides the moments she established her cover with her mark.

"I'm not a criminal." She unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and led him into the dusty apartment. It hadn't been lived in for years, if not decades from the look of it. The only sign of habitation was the blanket folded up on the arm of the ratty couch in the corner. She'd beaten the dust out of the couch before sleeping there, all she needed to make the place livable. The agency always offered to put her up in apartments or hotel rooms, but she hated leaving a trail someone could follow. Squatting was the easiest way to make like a ghost.

"I'm CIA," she continued, and wondered that he was still following her. She'd expected him to balk long before they got here. It was only then that she realized she still had her Smith & Wesson in her left hand. He might not think he had the option of pulling away from her and planting his feet.

And truth to tell, he didn't. The roar of an engine outside alerted her to Regina's arrival. The Evil Queen liked her flashy cars. Belle had always preferred models that blended in a bit better and didn't alert the whole state to her comings and goings.

Belle tightened her grip on Rumple's arm and pulled him up into another stairwell off of the apartment. This door was locked, too; unfortunately, she hadn't had enough time to have a key made for this one. She drew away from Rumple long enough to slam her foot against the doorjamb. The rotting wood split and cracked, though the lock held. It didn't matter—there was enough of a hole for her and Rumple to climb through into the clock-tower. A perfect hiding place, really. It was a shame she had to blow it already.

"CIA," Rumple huffed. She could tell he was trying to cover how winded he really was, taking deep breaths and turning half away from her. He was slumped over his cane, though, his foot sticking out at an odd angle, and Belle felt a rare twinge of guilt thrum through her. She'd so wanted to keep this safe and quiet and subtle. To grill him over dinner and laugh with him until she proved his innocence, and leave him with good memories and no Intersplice.

She should have known that was only wishful thinking. She'd always been a bit of a dreamer.

"Yes, CIA. I was sent here to find and retrieve the Intersplice, a program that collects and stores all the information ever collected by the United States government. Every dirty secret, every backroom deal, every important player—it's all in the Intersplice, all collated and broken down and distilled into information the CIA, the NSA, every initial you can think of uses to protect our country. Darkin stole it, and sent it to you before he was killed."

"Why?" Rumple snarled, whirling on her. "Why would he send me anything? How could he even know about this Intersplice?"

"He was an agent." The sound of a door crashing open from below them made every muscle in Belle's body clench. She took three hasty steps to get between Rumple and the door—the only exit or entrance in the place.

It was beautiful here, the clock face silhouetted across the back of the wall, the moonlight breaking in fractured patterns along the floor. Definitely romantic—which meant secluded and quiet and the perfect place to hide a body.

"Darkin did send me that kris dagger," Rumple finally said, his voice coating the air like the dustmotes that shimmered in the glow of the moon. "But that's all he sent. I thought the cut it gave me was all the trouble he'd cause me this time. It figures that there's more to come."

Regina was on the steps, headed up, only split seconds away.

Belle suddenly felt as if the entire world paused and hovered between one page and the next. She felt her neck swiveling, saw herself turn to face Rumple, as it all clicked suddenly into place.

Why she couldn't find any sign of the Intersplice.

Why Rumple's hand had been bandaged when she first met him.

Why he'd gone so still and strange outside when she first mentioned Darkin.

"The Dark Curse," she whispered.

And then Regina burst into the room with a shot Belle had to duck from, and with no more than that, they were in a stand-off.

"Give up the cripple, French," Regina said coldly. "We're both here for the same reason, so let's not make this hard on either of us."

"Wait!" Belle called. Her hands were sweaty on her gun, but her aim was steady. Rumple stayed stock-still, for which she was grateful; it made it easier to try to stand in front of him. "Wait, Mills, this isn't what you think! He doesn't have the Intersplice!"

Regina shrugged. "Not my problem. My orders were to neutralize Darkin's accomplice, not worry about the program."

"Excuse me," Rumple interrupted, his voice smooth for all that there was a slight hitch to his breathing. "I'm not Darkin's accomplice."

"That's not what your file says," Regina sneered. She feinted a jab toward Belle and took the hit Belle retaliated with. She grunted at the impact but still managed to take a step around so that Rumple was now clearly in her sights. Belle's heart juddered and shook, and she swung her gun around to point unerringly at Regina's forehead.

"Stop!" she yelled. "Stop, you can't shoot him! He is the Intersplice!"

Regina hesitated. A single second of indecision, but in it Belle breathed out a sigh of relief. Mills had been briefed on the Dark Curse, then. And if she knew what exactly the Dark Curse meant, then there was no way Rumple was going to die tonight.

Unfortunately for all of them, Rumple didn't know that.

"I don't know what's going on here," he said, "but it sounds like Darkin's the one you really want. Well, I haven't seen him in years, but I'm more than happy to tell you anything that will lead you to him."

"I killed Darkin already," Regina said dismissively. Belle wished she could have been looking at Rumple for that, so she could have analyzed his reaction. As it was, she didn't dare look away from Regina for even a second, and all she knew was that he tensed behind her. "Now I'm here for the accomplice he sent the Intersplice to."

"Rumple," Belle said with forced calmness in her voice, "show her your hand."

There was a movement behind her—Belle's spine prickled; she hated having anyone behind her, though she knew Rumple didn't have a weapon to shoot her with—and Regina's face spasmed.

"I thought that whole Dark Curse nonsense was just theoretical," she spat. "Whose bright idea was it to shove that kind of information into someone's bloodstream?"

"What matters," Belle gritted, "is that he's too valuable to kill. Your orders are invalid."

"Fine." Regina smirked. "You put you gun down first, CIA."

"How about together?"

"How about," Rumple suddenly said coldly, "I leave you both here to finish this little tete a tete of yours, and I'll just show myself out."

He'd taken only two limping steps when Regina stepped toward him, her gun still held unwaveringly toward Rumple.

"I don't think so, cripple," Regina said. "You stay put or—"

"Or what?" Rumple sneered at her, his eyes shuttered and dark. "You'll shoot me? You both just decided I was too valuable to kill."

"Not too valuable for a bullet in the leg."

"Oh, yeah," Belle snapped back. "That'll definitely put him in a cooperative mood."

"She's right," Rumple said with a look she couldn't identify. She was afraid it was a bad look, but his tone was so carefully smug that it struck her as discordant. "The date angle worked a lot better. For a while, anyway."

One final searing glance shot her way—a pointed remark that made Belle feel strangely self-conscious, raw and exposed—and then Rumple made it to the stairs. He moved slowly, so gingerly Belle was sure she had hurt him when she'd tackled him earlier. Either she and Regina could have easily caught up to him, but they both stood there and let him leave.

"He knows this isn't over, right?" Regina asked when they were alone, their weapons finally pointed more toward the floor than each other.

"Yeah," Belle said softly. "I think he does."

Regina sighed a heavy sigh and finally holstered her gun. "I'll make the call. You make sure he gets where he's going without tripping and hurting himself."

"He just went through a lot," Belle said. She'd never defended a mark before, not like this, but then, he wasn't a mark anymore. Now he was an asset, and in a lot of ways, that was worse. Assets didn't get many choices aside from the color of their bunker's walls, and their handlers didn't usually care to listen to them much.

She would be different, Belle decided. She would listen to him. She'd do what she could to help him. She'd try to make sure he wasn't completely miserable in this life his ex-friend had just damned him to. And maybe…maybe he'd make it through this intact. Maybe by the time they found a way to lift the Curse from him, he'd still be able to blush and he'd still get shy and nervous before making a quip that got under her skin.

She'd come to Storybrooke on a mission to find a stolen object, then thought she might have to kill the man she finagled a date from, and now she was already planning her new mission as a handler. Things changed fast in the field, and she was fine with that. Besides, this was her mistake to correct. Her partner was the one who'd supposedly gone rogue and let Darkin and the Home Office have the Intersplice. She wasn't sure she believed it even now—Phillip was many things, but a hidden monster? no, it was impossible, so out of character for him—but it was still on her to clear their name and fix her image in the agency's eyes.

As she followed Rumple from afar, tailing him as he limped his way back to Mary Margaret's car, Belle tried to convince herself that Phillip and the Home Office and the threat of the Intersplice were the reason she was so intent on remaining here.

Unfortunately, as well as she could lie to others, she'd never been that great at deceiving herself, and she knew her reasons were so much simpler.

And so much more dangerous.

After all, handlers weren't allowed to have any attachment to their assets.

To Rumple, she thought.

"To my asset," she insisted, and heard the lie in her own voice.

Rumple carried the keys with him everywhere. He'd tried leaving them behind, tried throwing them away, but no matter what he did, they found their way to his pocket before too long. But then, he'd never been great at letting go of things.

The lock didn't stick at all even though it'd been nearly a year since he last came here. Rumple let the door swing shut behind him and flipped the lights on.

His tiny store had been gutted in the police investigation so long ago, so many priceless artifacts confiscated and probably still languishing in some police warehouse somewhere. Despite all the empty spaces he could still name, though, there were enough pieces left behind to make the place look smaller than it was. Even just the scent of dust and age and polish made him sway, a thousand memories rising in his mind.

And more.

An old leather ball made purple mist fog his vision as images of a refugee boy and security surveillance of that same boy running from armed soldiers shouting in a different language played across his mind. A unicorn mobile made more images, quick and varied and almost kaleidoscopic, swirl through his brain until he thought he was going to faint. Rumple let out a breath and leaned heavily on his cane, reaching out with his free hand to grasp at the cold display counters. Its familiar feel grounded him long enough for the visions to fade and the purple to blink away.

"Rumple?"

He'd known she was following—if this Intersplice was half as valuable and a quarter as dangerous as they told him it was, there was no way they'd just let it go wandering around the streets on its own—so he didn't jump to hear her voice. He did tense, though. It was easier to look around at the remains of his once-thriving business now dark and abandoned than it was to look behind him at Belle.

Belle.

Just the thought of her name made his throat tighten. The feel of her in his arms. The sight of her smile gilded by the sun. The way she laughed at his jokes and reached for his hand.

All of it lies.

Fake.

A trap designed to snare him.

She'd been the one protecting him tonight, but that was only, he reminded himself harshly, because of the Intersplice. It could just as easily become her pointing at him the gun she'd pulled from somewhere in that dress he'd tailored so specifically for her.

"I want to stay here," he said in a carefully modulated tone. He'd done this before, after all, negotiated and demanded and come to agreements. He'd been ruthless once, in his own way; maybe it was time to remember that. And maybe the Intersplice would help with that. His blood was sizzling with power and manufactured courage, like when that masked intruder—Belle, he reminded himself again—had fled Mary Margaret and Charming's home.

"They're not going to like that," she said softly, "but I think we can make them agree to it."

"I want it out," he said, though he wasn't sure he was telling the truth. It'd been so long since he felt worth anything. So long since he was worth anything. And even longer since he'd felt brave.

"That's what everyone wants," she assured him. "All the best experts will go to work on it. I'll get the people who designed the Intersplice here to help. Rumple…" She paused, then, long enough he had to lock his joints into place to keep from turning and looking at her. "All the theories about the Intersplice actually being put into a person…nobody thought it would work too well. They call it the Dark Curse. Apparently, most of the scientists who studied it thought it would…well, it would have long-term ramifications on the host's sanity."

Rumple let out a dry and mirthless laugh. "This just gets better and better."

"Don't worry." Belle sounded determined. Protective. She sounded like she cared. "We'll get your life back, Rumple. No matter what it takes."

And finally he turned. Finally he looked at her. If he'd hoped that knowing the truth about her would make it easier, he was disappointed. She was still so beautiful, so mesmerizing…so unattainable.

She was only there because it was her job, he reminded himself, but all he could see—an image so much stronger than any the Intersplice could throw at him—was the struck and wondering look on her face when he told her to pretend he was a character in a book. The slow way her smile grew and turned into laughter.

Maybe she was lying. Definitely she was far outside his reach. But he knew from experience that when his life was turned so drastically on its head, he needed something to hold onto. His store. Neal.

Belle.

"I'll help you," she promised him, "if you trust me."

A deal, and that's what he knew best, wasn't it?

"The deal is struck," he said, and heard the hope in his own voice.

The End