Extended Summary:

Regina did not lie, Belle did return to her home and was tortured by clerics. But as Regina is about to be defeated by Snow White, she makes a deal with Rumplestiltskin to return Belle to him-whom she'd imprisoned long ago-if he stopped Henry from undoing her curse. The Belle she unveils however, is a broken doll, long mad from the crimes committed against her. Rumplestiltskin takes her anyway, and curses her with The Curse to bring back her mind, even if the life she remembers never happened.

Izzy French is two important things in Storybrooke, the town's tragic nut case, and hopelessly in love with Mr. Gold. pining for him from a safe distance, she does everything she can to discourage the town gossip, keep him safe, and stay as close to him as she can. But lately, it's getting harder; she's loved him for so long, and finally, he's not holding back anymore either. It would be so easy now to love him like she's wanted to since she was fifteen, before her father discovered her secret and ruined her. She wants him, and he wants her, but the town is small, and gossip ruins lives. Izzy will fight as hard as she can to resist him, because she will protect him, after everything he's done for her, she must.

Meanwhile, a band of heroes works to undo The Curse and overthrow the Evil Queen once and for all. But breaking The Curse could break Belle, and Rumplestiltskin will not allow that to happen again. Gold plots with or against Fate, it's hard to tell, all the while mentoring Henry for a fate only the Dark One can foresee.

Author's Note:

I am reposting this story with new edits and better continuity between early and later chapters. I'm putting the finishing touches on Chapter 25, which is about half way through the story, and will be posting often as we ramp up to Season 2. This story isn't compliant with the actual timeline anymore, sadly the Season 1 finale didn't end as I thought it would so this is an AU story just prior to A Land Without Magic. However, I'm very happy with this story, and am highly motivated to finish it, edit it continuously, and share it with my readers.

One of my greatest joys as an author is to find out what people think is going to happen next before I post. As a reader, I'm always trying to guess how an author will move the story forward, and I'd love to hear what your ideas might be. I love adding reader's ideas in whenever I can, so know I read them all!

Please enjoy Between Worlds, and if you do, please review!

"Stop! Wait!" With one hand at her throat, the other out before her, the long black sleeves of her elaborate gown billowing in the raging winds surrounding the glowing green circle etched with unnatural designs along the cobblestone floor, the Queen's look was beseeching, but buried deep within her eyes, she knew she'd won.

"Don't listen to her, Henry, keep going, say the words!" Emma was kneeling beside her ten year old son as he held the book open in front of him, reading the restored pages that had once been forever missing. The boy looked poised to continue, opened his mouth to speak the words that sprung up, one after the other, the moment before he spoke them, when that evil voice rang out across the hidden interior room of the mayor's office.

"The words on that page appear because he wills them too," The Queen threw her hand to the right, her eyes now calculating and triumphant as she looked at the one who held the balance of power in this hellish world of unhappy endings. "But, what if I was to make you a deal, Rumplestiltskin, a deal more powerful than the one these simple fools offered you to restore those missing blank pages and make them speak!"

Impeccably dressed in a leather jerkin, with a high collar in various shades of greens and browns, Rumplestiltskin offered a grotesque smile as he tipped his head to the side and let loose a most inappropriate giggle. "Ah, but you have nothing I want, dearie, and what the boy has promised me is soooooo delightful."

From the open book before the boy, the next word glowed a brilliant green, waiting to be spoken before it turned black, its magic spent as the Great Curse was finally lifted. Emma hugged Henry tighter and beyond them, Snow White and Prince Charming stepped forward, towering over their descendents in a protective stance. The power of this place crackled around them, sending sparks into the air like a dozen firecrackers dancing, their light illuminating a still human Jimminey Cricket and Grumpy, the doctor hunched over the toppled dwarf who even now clutched his magic scorched arm.

"Oh, but I do," Drawled the Queen, her eyes alight in triumph as she smiled knowingly at the Dark One. "I have something worth more than a thousand deals that silly boy could make. Something I think you'll want to deal for, Rumple, something that overcomes even your hatred for me."

"Don't listen to her," Dr. Hopper cried, as he lifted his arm covered in Grumpy's blood to protect his face from the relentless winds, "She means to trick you!"

The dark and evil laugh that came from the Queen stopped them all, and even Grumpy, stoic and brave despite the pain, gave a shiver at the sound. "Trick him, trick him! Ha! I don't need to trick him, you fool, I already did that, long ago, and for this exact moment." Her blood red lips enunciated her three final words as her lips curled back to expose her perfectly white teeth. With a tip of her head, the Queen held out her right hand, and with a swirling motion, produced a delicate white tea cup with a simple light blue pattern and a single noticeable chip missing from the rim.

The maniacal smile disappeared from Rumplestitlskin's mouth, and he bared his decaying teeth at the Queen as he curled his body in for the strike. "Give that to me!" he hissed, his voice barely audible above the howling wind, though his words caused the fire pit in the middle of the room to suddenly burst into raging flames as high as a man. In fear, Emma pulled her son in tighter to her frame, and the prince moved to stand at the ready before his family, sword drawn, stance defensive, as Snow White kept one hand at his back and the other on her daughter's shoulder.

But at the show, the Queen's smile only grew wider. "You'll recall the significance of this broken trinket then." And the way she said it, all in the room knew it was no simple bobble she held, at least not to the man now crouched with death in his eyes for the beautiful devil. "If you remember, I told you of the fate of the one that broke this cup. Of how you were the cause of one more ruined life in a long line of tragic stories." She shifted, throwing back her shoulders as she stood straight and tall, confident that the only man that could break her curse was reliving every last agonizing memory. She paused, letting those memories add salt to old wounds before she turned and showed the room her back, swinging the delicate cup by its thin handle.

Most of the room stared at the Queen as she moved, but Henry's eyes saw the panic on scaly features, and the almost inperceivable movement of his black tipped fingers, as if to reach out, to catch a tea cup that he knew would fall, all the while knowing he was far too far away to save it.

"You'll no doubt recall how the story ends." Her turn was slow and calculating, her eyes locking and holding his. "Well," and now she smiled, her mouth twisting into a mixture of hatred and satisfaction, "I lied."

And here, she let slip from her long blood red fingers, the chipped tea cup, allowing it to fall end over end, until it met its inevitable conclusion, and shattered into a thousand pieces on the cold stone floor.

The roar of pain, of enduring loss that echoed from Rumplestitlskin's open mouth was a hollow sound of unimaginable heartbreak and eternal regret. Like a beggar he rushed forward, his hands shaking, his head moving back and forth, as he tried in vain to scoop up the broken pieces at the Queen's feet.

His whimpers of pain were in stark contrast to the Queen's maniacal laughter. "Oh Rumple, so worried about your little keepsake you didn't even hear what I said." Her hands went to her skirt then, bold and black, with rich patterns of filigree woven in with gold, silken thread, and she lifted it before shooting her foot out and kicking him in the shoulder, sending the slighter man backwards, and all the delicate pieces he'd accumulated high into the air around them. There were no words to describe the sound he made then, a beaten animal, a lost soul, the wrenching of the only thing left that tethered mind to reality and not madness.

The tinkling laughter issued again from the Evil Queen's lips, as she walked away, "My, if I'd known it would be this much fun, I might have done this sooner, Rumple." She turned her wicked sneer on him, "Now get a hold of yourself and pay attention.

"There was no dramatic leap from the tallest tower, no heart stopping plunge to the cobblestones below. No, instead there was me, offering a way out, a way to save face. It meant my deepest," her voice dropped an octave, "darkest," and then another, "dungeon." She stood, her voice rising in pitch, "But really, the merchant didn't seem to care as long as I got rid of his little, problem." She turned, her teeth bared and her eyes intense, "Do you understand, Rumplestiltskin?"

When Henry looked, the mischievous and diabolical imp was no more, reduced instead to a trembling, dirty, man. "Y-you said-"

"Oh I know what I said, what I made you believe. Come now Rumple, when have you ever known me to forgo long term planning for the fleeting moment of seeing pain on your face? Relayed that tragic story was a bit of fun, but knowing you'd pay any price for my captive was oh so much more important. I mean after all," her lip curled, "making you relive your greatest pain, over and over again, all the while knowing what was locked away in my dungeon, oh my dear man, it was absolutely priceless."

She turned then and circled the room, and to his credit, Rumplestiltskin stood on shaking legs, his body still hunched over, but in his eyes, even though it was very, very small, there was hope. The Queen continued, "I bided my time, held my captive and waited for the perfect moment, and now, here it is! At the moment of my seeming defeat, when Snow White might actually get her happy ending and finally be rid of me, I have bested her yet again!" She turned her wicked and cold eyes on her step-daughter who stood fearful but determined. "And to see the hope die on your pretty little face, it makes my victory all the more sweet, you ungrateful, wretched chi—"

"Prove it." His voice was no longer filled with giggles and trickster glee, it was dead inside, weighted down by the reality of what could now be true. He looked broken and haggard, and despite the fact that magic crackled at his fingertips, he lifted not a one towards the Queen, just stood there instead, small and defeated, and demanded proof.

Her smile turned into a smirk as she regarded him, "First the terms," and she turned, sweeping the room as the occupants watched the battle for their way of life waged between the two most powerful magic users in any realm. "You agree to retract your help to end my Curse, of returning Happy Endings to these sniveling-"

"PROVE IT!," and as the sound of his demand rebounded around the room, swept up by the swirling wind, even the Queen, strong, beautiful, and evil, faltered, for just a moment, against the raw brutality of that single demand. Fear it would seem, was not lost on the Queen, and she seemed to realize that baiting a wounded and crazed animal would only get her bitten.

Straightening, she hid her unease, and smirked to cover her weakness. But she had been Henry's mother for ten years, and in his child eyes, he could see the truth as he watched her smile. "With pleasure."

Long fingers grabbed the edge of her black cloak and drew it before her, higher and higher until it reached just below her chin, and then her arm dropped, exposing a waifish girl, dirty and decked in rags that vaguely resemble a hospital gown. Her long brown hair was stringy and dull, bordering on gray. Her skin was pale, her cheeks hollow, and her eyes, were pools that reflect only what was before her. She was an empty, lifeless, doll.

"...no...," his voice was lost to the wind, but his lips move in denial to what he saw before him, and his hand reached out as if to save her.

"Well, maybe I should rephrase, I didn't lie about EVERYTHING." His weakness gave her power, as if there was only so much within the room, and it was torn between them in a constant war of wills. "Everything I said up to the point of her suicide was indeed true. She did return to her father's castle, and he did cast her out as unclean. She saved her entire village, and he cared more about knowing how you had defiled her and stolen her virtue. Ah, but she is a rare thing," Those manicured fingers reached up and gently stroked the girl's cheek, but the girl did not move, did not react at all, oblivious to the world around her. "She would hear none of the accusations, and instead, defended your honor, Rumplestiltskin." Her words were frozen daggers aimed with the greatest marksmanship, striking him true. "When he promised her an end to the beatings, the torture, the kind of brutality that can only befall a maiden," she watched in delight the realization slash at his soul, "told her all she needed to do was admit to your evil, and he would end her pain," the Queen looked at him in mock pity, "She would not. Instead, she defended you, spoke of your kindness, of your care of her, but mostly," the wicked grin split her face once again, "of her love for you."

The Queen turned in a grand, sweeping gesture, and circled the living doll before her. "She screamed in agony during the beatings, the brandings, the cleric's special brand of justice, but always, until not a single sound more could be driven from her lips, did she profess your honor, and her love for you."

Behind the girl now, the Queen placed both hands on her boney shoulders, and over the top of her greasy head of hair she regarded the Dark One. "They were preparing to drown her as a witch when I," she paused, smiled and touched her hand delicately to her chest, "offered to take her off her poor father's hands.

"And in all that time, and my dear Rumple, you know it has been a very, very long, long time, the dear child has said not a single word." And here the Queen had her final triumphant moment.

A perfect fingertip touched matching lips as if thinking on a deep subject. "Now there I go again, lying, just a little mind you, nothing you would see as much consequence considering you're hell bent on destroying my magic. But, just in case, you might like to know," with deceptive strength, the Queen pushed the girl to the side, so that she was no longer within the glowing green circle with its alien markings that showed the growing area no longer affected by The Curse as Henry read the words.

Her legs didn't stumble to catch herself, instead the girl fell hard to the stone floor, her legs buckling under her. But once outside, a transformation began. A delicate hand, caked in dirt, braced against the stones, and a thin arm pushed with shaky strength. Carefully, hesitantly, she sat up, her muscles twitching at the exertion. That same delicate hand shifted then, and brushed back her curtain of greasy hair, until her eyes, no longer empty, but now filled with confusion and fear, regarded the room before recoiling in on herself in terror. Her hand went to her mouth, as if holding in her cries for help. There was no fog of madness, instead there was a young woman in deep confusion and understandable fear. When she spoke, her voice was horse with disuse, but the drawling sound of a light Australian accent was obvious, "W-Where am I? Who, who are you people?" And then, as if drawn by Fate, she found him in the room, and their eyes locked. For the briefest moment there was nothing, and then, as if even the Great Curse held no power over them, she tipped her head to the side, "I, I know you. Don't…don't I know you?"

The Queen wasted no time. "End my Curse, Rumplestiltskin, and your love is returned to our world, where madness has left her a hollow and empty shell of the woman who was once brave enough to love you. But leave my Curse as it is, let my revenge against Snow White continue, and your little love is just another Storybrooke resident. No painful torture, no blank and empty eyes, just the clean slate that they all are, before they are remade for this world of hellish endings."

Then she turned, no longer looking at Rumplestiltskin, but instead at her step-daughter, and their eyes locked as she asks the unnecessary question, "So, Rumplestiltskin, do we have a deal?"

"Deal." His hands reached out, one towards the book in Henry's grasp, the other towards the still confused girl. In the blink of an eye, the unspoken word on the page, once glowing with magic, extinguished, turning black and useless before it and all the other spent words disappeared, and the girl, once a dozen feet away, was again a rag doll, but this time cradled in his lap, as his cheek brushed hers, and his hands smoothed back her limp tresses.

"NO!" Emma stood, throwing Henry behind her. "You can't do this, Gold, we had a deal!"

The Queen's laughter was tempered only by Snow White's gasp of teary disbelief, but Henry didn't hear any of it, he is watching, with eyes older than his years, as he saw what the others did not.

Scaly hands with black nails were reverent as he touched her cheek. His golden eyes absorbed every inch of her face, committing it to memory, reminding himself what he already knew-he'd never forgotten one inch. His memory was perfect, and she, his heroic maiden, was exactly as he remembered her. The grime, the years, the endless longing, had not changed her, she was his living memory, no longer embodied in a chipped tea cup, but gently breathing within his arms, and still too far away for him to touch.

"You will never escape me, Snow White!"

As the child watched, Rumplestiltskin lifted the young woman effortlessly within his arms, and turned, carrying her over to a high wooden table. A dozen ingredients for a hundred potions sat upon the surface, but with a flick of his finger the clutter flew to the right, smashing into the far wall and exploding outwards, leveling the wall, and the building beyond.

He gave the show little mind, engrossed instead in laying his prize upon the table top. Rotating his shoulders, he removed his leather vest and balled it before lifting her head as carefully as he would that of a newborn, before resting it upon the hide. With but a thought, it morphed into a pillow of pale gold silk. His hand brushed an errant, half formed curl from her forehead, and he smiled to himself, remembering a particular section of hair that used to give her so much trouble; always falling out of place when she dusted the high shelves.

In their continued shock at the destructive power of his true magic, his real power, he ignored them, taking his time to arrange her arms so that her hands folded ever so delicately under her breasts. The dirty blue gown she wore was too high for his liking, and with a scowl and a sweep of his hand, the rags became a beautiful pale blue sundress, long and delicate. Her skin once encrusted with grime, gleamed in the fire light as if freshly scrubbed, and though she was still pale, her rosy lips were pink and smooth, while her cinnamon lashes were curled lightly against pale but flushed cheeks. She was beautiful, an image of a sleeping angel. Pure.

But the Queen's words remind him that her purity was now tainted, though she would always be pure to him. His eyes grew dark and deadly as he thought on the short work the Clerics had made of his beloved's virtue.

Now this he knew, pain, vengeance, rage, this he could command.

His voice was low and dangerous when he spoke, and around the room, ice formed on every surface save the table where his love rested. "You know, your Majesty, the funny thing about deals," and at this he looked up, rage and madness converging in his demon eyes, "you have to be, very, very, specific when you make them."

Fear fell across the Queen's face, and her voice was nearly a whisper, "We had a deal-"

"Yes, yes," the imp agreed, as the glee of escaping an otherwise perfect trap echoed in his flamboyant gestures and manic giggle. "We had a deal, we had such a wonderfully, marvelously, ambiguous deal." His grin split his face and showed off his grotesque teeth.

From the corner of the room, came a snort of laughter, "By the devil, you worked her up into such a revenge speech she never even gave the terms." Grumpy chuckled, gripping his arm as pain flooded his features. "Good for you!"

"No! I said—"

"Oh I'll tell you what you said dearie as my deal with you was very simple, I agreed not to help "them"," and he giggled at the ambiguous pronoun, "undo your Curse, and in exchange, I get the girl, who I might add, is ruined in our world, but safe in this one." He paced behind the table, grand gestures making his hands and arms create sweeping, whimsical dance movements in the air. "And then there's the deal I had with Henry, to help 'them'," and he giggled again, "lift the Curse by mending the book so the magical words appeared and could be spoken by none other than Snow White's grandson." He lifted a finger to his cheek as if in thought, "Well, I do believe I upheld that bargain, as the magical words did appear, and were spoken by young Master Henry, even if they weren't fully completed, but again, dearie, you must make your deals specific." He waged his finger at Henry, "Let this be a lesson to you."

"You bastard!" Emma shouted, but Rumplestiltskin ignored her. His pace measured as he rounded the table delighting in each step.

"Well then, that does appear to be it, doesn't it?"

"No, that isn't it." The book was closed, but still clutched to his chest as Henry tried to take a step towards the Dark One, but Snow White held him back. "That can't be it!"

"Oh?" With a smirk, he closed the distance between himself and the boy, bending at the waist to come down to Henry's level, though he was far too close. His expression was knowing, "And why might that be, Little Prince?"

Henry shook his head, "Because whoever that lady is, she loved you, and you loved her too. The Evil Queen tricked you, she knew what was happening to her in the tower and she let it happen anyway. The Evil Queen is responsible for what happened and, and you're not the type to just let that go!"

Slowly, painstakingly, and with a grin so evil it bordered on madness, Rumplestiltskin turned his head towards the Wicked Queen. She took a step back, and then another, her hands before her as if to ward off the impending attack.

As if she could defend against him.

"I-I saved her life! They were going to drown her!"

"You'll spare me all your little details, in the end, the boy is right." He straightened to his full height, which while not tall, filled the room. His voice was once again low and deadly, "You stole from me, tricked me, made me the fool, and now, dearie, I'll return the favor."

With a snap of his fingers, the glowing green circle traced by magic around the floor fractured, lines of power shot across the ground like lightning strikes until one fracture touched everyone in the room except his sleeping maid. Then in a brilliant flash, all the energy from the circle's edges pulled inwards along the fissures until they struck each person in painless light before showering them with delicately fluttering sparks of magic that disappeared as they touched skin and cloth.

Another manic laugh filled the room, "There now, everyone here, save the most special person of all, is free from the memory erasing component of The Curse. You are all free to remember whatever you wish to remember, or forget whatever you wish to forget." He turned then to Snow White and her Prince, "And you, your Majesties, I expect to use my vengeance well."

"NO!" The scream was wrenched from a place so deep and black within the Queen's soul it had no equal. But before him, the young princess bowed deeply.

"It is a gift we will not squander, Dark One."

"No, no, I expect not, dearie." And then, with an inhuman lung, Rumplestiltskin closes the distance between himself and the Fairest One in all the land, his oily fingers gripping her cheeks and yanking her face until it was mere inches from his own. He felt cold steel at his throat instantly as her prince leveled his sword, but Rumplestiltskin paid it no mind, steel could not harm him. His voice was a promise of the most painful vengeance, yet as his eyes shone fire and death as they locked with Snow White's, "For you heard the Queen. Do as you like, boil her in oil, tar and feather her if you can catch her, burn her at the stake for all I care, but if you make a move to lift this Curse, if you even think about sending us back to our own world, I will bring the wrath of hell upon you and yours as no living soul has ever had the misfortune to experience. Cross me, dear Snow White, and I will make your most unhappy end seem blissful compared to what I will deliver to you and your family."

And then with a cackle, he shoved her face away from him, releasing her to be swept behind Prince Charming as if the country boy turned Prince could protect her.

"You will pay for this, Rumplestiltskin!"

He rolled his eyes at the Queen, "Oh, do shut up. Your beat, bested, you lost." He sung, "And now," His eyes grew narrow and sharp, "Now you best run off and hide, dearie, lick those wounds and prepare your defenses, for something tells me, your dear step-daughter might just have the charisma to end you yet."

Bared teeth showed her to know and believe his words, and with a sweep of her cloak, she disappeared as if she was never there.

Rumplestiltskin tittered, clicking his nails together before him. But his eyes fell upon something he had not seen during the exchange, nor did it seem the others had either.

Standing on a forgotten chair, Henry was poised over the resting girl. His hand hesitated and then brushed back her hair. His expression, confused and pensive, but also curious, and it took him only a moment before he lifted and cocked his head to the side, regarding the sallow man. "Who is she? I mean, what's her name?"

He hesitated, and then in a show of his power, transformed his body into its most human form, no longer Rumplestiltskin in all his flashy glory, but Mr. Gold, in his tailored suits, and cultured ways. He set his cane on the floor and allowed it to make a click, before he shifted his weight to his good leg and took a step, and then another, until he was standing across from Henry, regarding the young boy over the body of his angel. His Scottish accent made his words sound warm, "A name is a very important thing, Little Prince, it's not to be given lightly."

The boy nodded absently as the adults watched the exchange with trepidation. "Still," he finally said, "She's not really one of us until she has a name, right?"

"Henry," Emma called, but Gold lifted his cane and pointed it menacingly at her without looking at her, before moving it to rest along the table.

Deep in thought, he hesitated before finally asking, "How do you mean?"

Henry shrugged, "She's obviously one of us, well like everyone but me and Emma, so she has a story. I mean, she's important to you, right? Don't you love her?"

From any other it would have been a threat, an unspoken promise to strike against that which he held most dear. But Henry was a boy, a special boy who had yet to understand just how special he was; and the others, they each had their parts to play as well. After all, there were rules of course, rules the heroes must always follow…

He glanced down at the serene and distant face, then nodded his head, "Yes, Henry, very, very much."

Before him the boy grew excited. "Then she is important, maybe super important! We won't know until we know her name." He drifted for a moment in deep thought, "Hm, if you're Rumplestiltskin..."

He couldn't help it, he gave a quick chuckle, "I think that's well and good established."

Henry nodded, "Yeah, well if you're Rumplestiltskin, then maybe...maybe she's the Miller's daughter! Yeah! Didn't you turn straw into gold for her so she wouldn't be killed by the king?"

At this he burst into a deep and robust laugh, shocking all in the room. "Ay, Henry, I did indeed spin straw into gold for the Miller's daughter, but I think you'll find that story without a pleasant ending, and as different from the retelling as any other of our stories." He looked down, trying again to memorize her features. "She is most definitely not the Miller's daughter."

"Well, if you tell me her name, I can help."

Glancing up, he regarded the young child, so much like his own son, envisioning how time would change his precocious nature, and the destiny that lay in wait for him. "Oh, and what can you tell me that I don't already know?"

After a moment, Henry shrugged his shoulder, "I don't know, but it can't hurt, right?"

And he realized with a start, that no, it couldn't. On its own, his hand snaked out to brush that same stubborn curl from her forehead, and he smiled with the memory.

"Belle, her name, is Belle."

Henry rocked the chair he was standing on in his excitement, "As in Beauty, as in Beauty and the Beast?" He nodded his head, and to everyone's surprise, Henry gave a loud whoop, and jumped off the chair before running into his mother's arms. "It's ok now Emma! Don't you see? Everything is going to be ok now! This is so awesome!"

"Henry," Dr. Hopper, approached the boy, careful to skirt around Gold. "What do you mean, why would you say that?"

The boy nearly glowed with happiness, and squeezed his mother's hand for lack of something else. "It's obvious, I mean, it's so obvious!"

"Henry," this time his mother tried, but the room waited on baited breath for the answer, "What do you mean, 'It's obvious'?"

With a sigh of exasperation, Henry pointed to the sleeping woman, "She's Beauty, and he's the Beast." When it became apparent no one followed his logic, Henry sighed again, "It's so obvious! In the story, Beauty breaks the curse! Her love breaks the curse. The story doesn't say which curse, so duh, she's going to be the one to break the Evil Queen's curse!"

Around him, the other adults chided the boy, disregarding his protests that he was right and trying to explain to a ten year old, the large leap in his logic. But in silence, Rumplestiltskin casted his eyes to the slip of a girl who once proved herself to be the bravest person he'd ever met, by standing up to him in the middle of a cold dungeon to tell him he would regret his choice for all of time. She'd been right of course. Delicate and small, she'd given her life to defend his worthless honor, and within him a thought stirred. Fate was a strange thing, dipping and twisting along a given path, but always there was order to its seeming chaos. Could the boy be right? Could his Belle do the impossible and end The Curse, and if she did, would this too cost her, her life?

He would not lose her again, he wouldn't risk it. She was here, beneath his fingertips, and he would not, could not, let her slip away from him again. Let these foolish ones fight over scraps and hunt the Wicked Queen, his world had been reduced to mere existence the moment she left him in that cell so long ago, and now that he had her, now that he could see and touch her, hold her close to him, he cared little about the trivial nature of those around him. This time, he would not let his fears and doubts overrule his heart, he would not be a coward this time.

"What will you do with her, Rumplestiltskin?" Snow White was many things, but always she had been observant. She had slipped from the protective stance of her husband, and now stood at the head of the table, regarding him, her eyes analyzing his intentions as she gazed into his soul.

He paid her little mind, but answered her question all the same. "She will need a name, and an identity in this new life." He ran the back of his hand lightly over her cheek, as if he could not stop touching her for fear she'd disappear once again into the blackness of death.

"How are you going to do that?" Emma asked, anger still in her voice, but now calmed and mixed with curiosity.

"Watch." He said simply, and with the barest hint of his power, he placed his index finger above the center of her forehead and spoke the words, "Fill the vessel and add her drop to the rest."

From his finger, a small droplet of shimmering magic danced. Within it swirled light blues, pale pinks, deep purples, rich greens, and always the color he thought of when he thought of her, gold, with the same gossamer weight as the silken strands she used to watch him spin late into the night.

And then, it fell, touched her forehead and split into two streams that ran through unseen tributaries into the edges of her closed eyes. For a moment her cinnamon lashes shimmered with the magic, until, as quickly as it was there, the magic absorbed into the vessel and spread.

Instantly he closed his eyes as images of Belle seeped into the memories of the residents of Storybrooke. Behind his closed eyes, he saw her, and realized that her name was Isabelle French, the daughter of Moe French. He saw her younger, small and frail as she walked with her long hair down, laughing with a teenage Ruby as she made her way from school back to her father's house. Another memory, watching the flashing lights of the police car whirl as Graham cuffed her father and hauled him from the house. He watched as Granny wrapped her still young frame in a brown wool blanket before Ruby ran up with an ice pack for the deep purple marks that colored her pale face. He listened as Granny came to him for the extra money needed to care for an additional mouth, and how he gave it to her for the ridiculous promise of pie whenever he wanted it. And then the new evening ritual, added to his existence, a ritual he'd performed for more than ten years now; close the shop for an hour at 5:30pm, walk to Granny's, and sit at the last stool of the counter, and wait for Belle, for he was the only one that was allowed to call her that, bring him a slice of pie. Always their conversations were brief, but knowing, he was checking up on her, and she was checking up on him. Then in another memory he saw her walking to Dr. Hopper's office for her weekly visit, and saw her leaving, sometimes with a smile, other times with a tissue still in her hand and her cheeks still red from tears.

It was only recently that the memories altered. A new venture for the girl, one his mind rejected, both as Mr. Gold and Rumplestiltskin. Old enough to make her own way now, she'd taken a second job bartending at The Cove Friday and Saturday nights; wearing skimpy clothing to increase her tips. She was harder now, not nearly so kind and trusting, she danced with the men, too closely, too personally, as if in doing so, she could exercise the demons chasing her. And like her, his habits had changed as well. He no longer went to the diner for a slice of pie on those nights she tended bar, instead he closed his shop an hour later and made his way to the bar with its loud music and riotous crowd. From his booth closest to the stock room, he watched her tend to the customers, laugh and flirt with the patrons, and occasionally dance with the clients, or sing at the open mike to get the crowd going on a slow night. But always, at a quarter to ten, she would take her break and come and sit across from him. They talked about nothing, and yet their time together was just as important as it was every other night at the diner. Fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes in her presence was all he received, and yet it was enough. She'd wish him a good night, and he'd leave, retrace his steps alone, and return to his empty house.

It was their routine, it was her life, condensed into a single droplet of magic that rippled from her and into the lives of everyone in Storybrooke she touched. Ruby and Granny's lives were forever altered for taking in the young girl with the abusive father, Moe too was forever shunned in the small town that never forgot his sins. And he, her silent benefactor, watching her silently, despite the hushed comments of the townsfolk that saw a man in his late forties forever shadowing the broken girl. In her life but not; whispering encouragement and offering her a smile so rarely bestowed on others. She knew the whispers, and whether she believed their hypotheses or not, she treated him no differently than that first rainy evening he had sat on that bright red stool and asked how her day had been.

He was in her life, but not a part of it. Good. She deserved better, even if he couldn't let her go.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the others do the same, reaching for their heads as if to shake the new memories into place. The town would be confused for a few hours, but by the morning Isabelle French would be Ruby's best friend, and the tragic girl they'd known, well, as long as they could remember.

Reverently, he looked down at the sleeping woman and smiled sadly before lifting her carefully into his arms as if she weighted not a pound, and the limp so pronounced in his daily life, was as if it had never been. To his eternal surprise, she gave a soft sigh, and turned her cheek into his shoulder and snuggled against him.

Within his chest, his heart shattered into a million pieces before soaring for the heavens. She was where she belonged, and he would spend the rest of her life making up for the damage and pain he'd caused her in his fear. He turned for the door, intent on leaving the heroes where they stood, but Prince James's confused voice stopped him.

"Why? Why wouldn't you compel her to love you? You have the magic to do so, why not force her to remember at least her feelings for you?"

A thousand snappy answers rushed to his mind, but he found he didn't care for any of them. Instead he walked to the door and paused at the threshold. He didn't bother turning around, "Because I love her enough, to lose her. And maybe, if I can somehow become a better man than I am, I can love her enough to let her go." Then he stepped through the doorway.

"But not today."