40. Isn't that what life's about? Holding onto your good memories.

"Rumplestiltskin."

Her desperate whisper brimmed with need: the need to see his shy smile and hear his jokes and feel him hold her tight. Of course he wasn't there and even in her dreams the seeping wound refused to heal. The gentle swash of breaking surf beneath the starless sky swept across their lonely stretch of beach, reinforcing the desolation and Belle lifted her golden skirt while stepping sideways out of reach.

What if she really never saw him again?

The vagaries of life never granted them enough time to be alone. Once she'd flown back to him overeager to try and break his curse, their future seeming bright and limitless with a never-ending love: the kind that couldn't ever bend and break beneath the storm. Now her heart hurt dreadfully as if she were sluggishly bleeding out upon the sand. His loss was marked with streaking tears and she pressed a palm against her chest as if to stem the painful flow.

Turning leisurely with zero expectations; a slight frown suddenly creased her brow throwing off her morbid train of thought. The stone wall was something new though as a barricade, it appeared decidedly ineffective. Nothing but plain grey brick sticking from the sand, it was maybe ten feet tall and half as much across oriented roughly perpendicular to the shore. What its purpose was she couldn't work out as she moved close enough to drift fingertips across the unmoveable partition then circled round to the other side.

It was simply… there.

Completing the circuit with a mental shrug, Belle sat down with her back against the stone, at once ignoring the conundrum. Instead, her mind reverted to her love, skipping numbly from one tender moment in his presence to the next, the tableau taking on an odd similarity to the yawning years spent trapped in the Queen's tower with nothing to do but remember him and hold on until they finally met again.

At least then she'd been full of hope no matter how deep the darkness pressed.

She idly sketched a flower in the sand with her index finger then watched entranced as it softly shimmered, the loose grains pulling themselves together and reforming into a perfect three dimensional rose. It glowed pure white for a briefest flash then transformed again from simple sand into a fresh cut version with silky crimson petals still damp with drops of dew.

For you. If you'll have it.

She delicately sniffed its fragrant scent. Belle could hear his voice ripped from her memory speaking clear as yesterday. A watery smile wiped away the tears and then she sighed, staring thoughtfully out across the darkened rolling waves.

Eventually a husky murmur broke the stillness, "You can't keep us apart forever," though she didn't know to whom she spoke. As soon as the vow faded from her lips Belle slipped from the bonds of sleep, her clear blue eyes fluttering open to sunshine dawning palely across her peaceful face. Her gaze was pinned to the now pair of roses tucked in the crystal vase on the table beside their bed.

Magic tendrils, soft as touch, lovingly enveloped her with warmth. She snuggled against his pillow with a slowly spreading smile.

Somehow her broken heart would search until she found another way.

38. She's playing me? How?

"Henry!"

Emma's feet pounded hard against the rocks, her breath coming in deep and patchy gulps, every stride a vicious fight against muscles searing with fatigue. She pelted round a jagged corner catching her sleeve along the edge.

Blood oozed and dripped across her skin. A piercing gaze searched high and low.

"Henry!" Her shouts gave way to whispers, soaked with desperate agony.

Shadows, shadows everywhere: she reached out for her son's flailing arm only to have it vanish in the night.

With a heaving gasp she flung awake, her sweaty sheets twisted into knots.

Chasing after shadows: it was all she ever seemed to do. Her whole body shook in reaction to the nightmare and she swallowed against the fear and anger thundering inside her heart.

A soft footfall broke the silence as she settled back to bed. At first Emma thought it was just one of their group. Killian ought to be out on watch.

Two steps and a pause then another three; someone was inching down the stairs. Suspicious, she unsheathed her knife and silently crept to the door to listen. Across the hall came the tentative creak of hinges and now she knew for certain something was wrong. That didn't sound like Hook at all.

Emma flung open the door and lunged forward; the soft glow from an oil lamp lit the hall as she tackled the intruder, bashing them together against a wall inside the pirate's quarters. The person ducked, but not fast enough. She had a vague impression of long blonde hair as she threw a punch then spun her other arm around.

"Just who the hell are you?" The flat of her dagger pressed to a woman's slender throat above a sparkling dolphin necklace. Funny, she didn't seem at all afraid.

"My name is Tinkerbell."

Emma couldn't hide her goggled stare when given such a name and the steel blade wavered ever so slightly in her suddenly flagging grip. "The fairy?" she asked, incredulously.

Deep green eyes the shade of a cool forest glen at sunset pinned Emma with a curious expression and she gently pushed the knife aside, stepping backward out of reach. "Have we met?"

The scuffle had roused the others into action and there was a shout as the pirate skidded belatedly down the stairs. "Swan?!"

The fairy shot him an appraising glance and grinned though it didn't carry any warmth. "Hook. It's been a while since I've seen your ship travelling around these parts."

34. That little light inside of him that still glows: that's his love for you.

Searching, searching, searching…

Find her, find her, find her…

Now, now, now…

Rumplestiltskin's heart thundered inside his chest just as hard and just as loud as he pounded repeatedly against the unyielding stretch of wall. Someone who truly loved him: a tattoo of desperate promise beating in sync with heart and fist.

"I'm here," he murmured intently, hoping, praying, wishing she was listening and could hear his frantic call though who she was remained veiled in mystery. His memory was shot to hell. All he knew for certain was there was someone beyond the agony and he held onto that with all he could. "Sweetheart." Sweetheart? He paused a moment, wondering if the endearment sounded right upon his tongue.

Ragged gulps of air refused to calm the swirling storm of bitter loss. Tentative, he continued, "Please."

He'd spent days impatiently trying to blast past the hated brick, but couldn't figure out the way.

A sound vaguely like laughter filtered through his scrambled brain. Out of the corner of his eye Rumplestiltskin caught the swish of a coarse brown cloak vanishing around the corner and he sprang backward instinctively. Then a patched leather ball bounced down the hall and it sent him chasing after ghosts.

Footfalls echoed on the flagstone floor. So close, so close, so close. He peeled around the corner as Cora stepped from a chamber to the right.

Damn it.

Fury and revulsion burbled outward. He didn't bother to hide it from his face.

"Rumple. There you are."

Did she see? Did she know what he'd been up to? He utterly despised the heartless smirk she always wore.

"What do–"

Too late, Rumplestiltskin was thrown into another hated memory of a choice he wasn't ever allowed to forget, the worst repercussions of his life a repeated hammering designed to crush him into pulp. His son who used to love him: his angry son who'd grown to hate him because of the dreadful thing he'd done. Unexpectedly, his mangled ankle twisted out beneath him and only a last second grasp at a golden handled cane stopped him from crumpling to the floor.

"You have no idea what I've lived with," Bae said in a quiet brutality laced with ice. The tightly restrained rage festering in his son sent dread fingering like a wraith touching his soul. "You're so worried about you; you know what I've dealt with? Every night for more years than you can know the last thing I see before I sleep is the image of you." Rumple cringed and shook his head against the terrible pain he'd caused, picturing a tortured boy curled up alone and scared to hear him lay out why. "You and me over that pit–"

This wasn't really happening. Still, the knife blade slipped between his ribs and dealt a mighty blow. It's just a memory, just a memory: he tried to block the painful depth of animosity flaring brightly in Bae's eyes. Somewhere, somehow he sensed there'd never been any sort of reconciliation with his boy. Truth left him dying in incremental stages as it pilloried his soul.

"Your hand wrapped around mine," he continued flatly, "and then you open your grip and as I fall away all I can see is your face choosing all this crap over me. Letting me go." He gestured as if to mock the imp's flamboyant flair; to indicate the magic and the power that were far more imperative to a father than keeping hold of his precious Bae. Their eyes were locked together as the final hammer blow fell with deadly precision. "Now it's my turn. Now I'm letting you go."

Rumplestiltskin couldn't breathe at all. Guilt and abandonment heaved a fierce double punch straight through his breaking heart, the shards exploding outward in a shattered sea of glass. He tried to assemble an apology born of desperation. After centuries of trying to right the wrong, it wasn't ever supposed to end this way. A rejection of forgiveness: his happy ending was blowing ash. The cowardly excuse of a father silently begged for another chance yet was cruelly turned aside then forced to face that some betrayals couldn't ever be forgiven and put right.

"Oh Bae."

The seething hole of vile blackness sucked him down into the morass. In pathetic weakness he lusted continually after power no matter the cost in broken love. His left hand stung where he'd first clutched the cursed dagger and forged that choice of evil upon his soul.

"No. Time's up." Bae was finished with him and walked away.

His gaze was pushed downward magnetically though he tried instead to turn and watch his son. Rumplestiltskin blinked, the scene suddenly viewed as if through a smattering haze of molting dust.

Entranced, he stared at the flaming brand that flickered brightly upon his scaly outstretched palm then flexed clawed fingers into a fist against the intoxicating reddish glow. He'd chosen darkness and daily that strangling noose continued to tighten about his neck.

Trapped, he couldn't move until he sensed a piercing gaze burning through his back.

"Enough!" He yanked free of the cursed recollection though the gaping wound persisted; wouldn't, couldn't ever heal. "And what's your hell, dearie?" Rumplestiltskin whispered viciously to Cora as if he didn't already know. There was a brief glint of a burned out roadway then with the maniacal laugh of a raving lunatic, he gave her a push and they were falling, falling, falling through the haze.

"Well she ruined my slippers," the obnoxious princess pouted as if the miniscule dusting of flour had truly damaged them for good.

Knocked to the ground in a powdered sea of settling white, Cora stared upward through tangled strands of chestnut hair, enraged at the nerve of the spoiled chit to serenely sidestep all the blame.

"I don't think the girl meant any harm." Prince Henry immediately stepped in to try and sooth it over though it plainly didn't work, his haughty father much less tolerant of one considered nothing more than worthless chattel in his eyes.

"You shall receive no money for the flour and you shall apologize to Ava," he announced with arrogant distain.

She'd been tripped on purpose! The unfairness rankled. A seething hatred for the girl boiled briskly inside her breast while she quickly gained her feet. "Apologize? The wench tripped me!"

A pompous gaze coolly sized up her insignificance to the realm; put her in her place with the rest of the gutter trash. "Curb your tongue. This is Princess Ava from the Northern Kingdom, our honoured guest. She's a very important woman."

"She's a girl," Cora spat, clearly not impressed.

"And who are you miller's daughter? What's your name?"

She straightened her shoulders in her tattered peasant clothing with the regal posture of a queen. "Cora."

"Then kneel, Cora."

Dropping to one knee, mutinous thoughts flit past her eyes while she choked on the insulting words; was forced to beg pardon from the girl.

Rumplestiltskin had once been made to grovel in the dirt and kiss a boot before his boy; knew firsthand the sparking flame that fueled an inferno of bitter resentment and revenge. It made him want to kill and taste and wallow in the blood. He watched Cora now with cruel detachment, revelling in her power stripped away. Then stepping backward from her hell, the imp smirked and quietly slipped away.

Hours later he was still at his wall, palms lying flat against the brick as he tried a different tack. Leaning his forehead close, he screwed shut his serpent eyes against the ebb and surge of agony wrestling determinedly against a tender shoot of hope.

Insanity lurked and thrust and danced and clung to the monster inside his head. The need to pace and fling a spell was strong, but so far ineffective so he held back against the plan.

Just give up, give up, give up a phantasm hissed softly from the dark, tempting him with the morphing swell of evil power unlimited by constraints of mortal decency. He flinched at the thrumming grip it kept clamped tight about his wavering soul: an enticing allure that constantly sought to obliterate the jumbled remnant of belief in someone special and important.

Rumple groaned then leaned his head against the wall while concentrating on his heart and the aching thud that resonated in his chest.

He'd chosen wrong before and it was peril... Somehow he knew that truth for what it was and strove for focus to carry onward through the harsh and hostile night.

Focus, focus, focus…

Love, love, love…

He had felt it once before.

Focus on a chip in the rim of a talismanic cup a-and… and the whisper of a kiss pressing sweetly against his parted lips.

This means it's true love! A woman's voice both imploring him to listen and simultaneously tearing him apart…

It could have been a painful shout against the roaring siege of swamping anger yet came across as nothing more substantial than the faintest gossamer etching of emotion, hidden deep inside his heart.

Long hours might have passed for time had ceased to mean a thing.

A tiny glow of white outlined splayed fingertips then inched downward to his palms. It must have been enough. Blind to everything outside, Rumplestiltskin begged and muttered a stream of incoherent nonsense with himself, trying to look past the driving fury in his soul to harness the heartfelt truth beyond.

The tiny flicker strengthened yet he was ignorant to the infinitesimal sinking of calloused hands into the stone.

Against a howling backdrop of violent wrath was… a cup. And a kiss. And as simple as it could be: the swirling magic of true love melting swiftly through the barricade.

Eyes jolted open as he overbalanced, the imp suddenly tumbling forward through vanished brick and landing on newly banged up knees. He cursed then noted the seductive call of darkness had muted the instant he'd fallen across the line.

A stone staircase spiralled upward to the left and he stood awkwardly, somewhat uncertain as to exactly what he'd done. Did it really matter? He was in. Finally. She must be here.

Rumplestiltskin grinned feverishly while hurtling upward, taking two steps at a time. As he ground to a halt at the very top, he pivoted his wild stare, finding sanctuary and protection in an abandoned tower room. Something nudged at a corner of his tattered memory but he couldn't place the wispy threads that hinted strongly of déjà vu.

It was filthy and mostly empty; tainted light stripping through the wooden shutters threw the gloomy chamber into dusk. Bare shelves reached high up to the ceiling around a circular perimeter and, across from him, a daybed was draped haphazardly with a shabby canvas cloth.

No one was there and keening disappointment circled around and around his chest.

On a large round table to his left lay a messy collection of maybe a hundred shiny blocks. Moving closer, Rumple picked one up and could have sworn it whispered 'aksel.' It was black and oddly shaped. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this wasn't really it.

33. What if we don't belong here? Isn't it worth it to fight for what we really want?

"It was an accident." Belle ghosted her fingertips centimeters away from the charred trunk of a dangerously leaning maple as they made their way through the decimated forest, now annexed eerily straight from the bowels of hell itself. Most of the undergrowth had burned away to barren dirt in the inferno leaving behind only the heaviest of ghastly groping brambles. Every step crunched over death, her pants and sturdy hiking boots long since smeared with a layer of dusty blackened ash.

Neal grunted, "Do you really believe that?" Somewhere distant the snapshot crack of a splitting branch and falling limbs reminded them to be extremely careful crossing through such unstable terrain.

Truth be told, her nerves heaved heavily at what appeared on face value nothing more than an ill coincidence of timing. She chewed her lower lip, poorly masking indecision as he slanted a sideways glance at her face.

Some unseen force making it all happen, regardless? Bae had shared that idea and more – everything happens by design – and the words had sparked a recollection of Rumple once muttering the same after she'd apologized for shoving him away: for casting aside their precious love like it didn't matter, for callously shattering his heart.

Is that what he truly believed? That they didn't have a choice?

The sickening concept churned her stomach, absolving the responsibility for those hurtful actions in a way she truly didn't like. Being pushed and pulled at the whim of another's choosing railed so deeply against a lifetime of ingrained independence and the intent, no matter what, to select her own destiny.

Still, the latest vow she'd offered upward in a dream… It flashed like a lighted beacon brightly illuminating all corners of her heart.

You can't keep us apart forever.

Had she been speaking to Fate itself, determined to twist an evil ending into good? As if it knew, the relentless draw of Rumple's dagger instantly spiked with a mammoth shot of darkness racing slipshod through her blood and she outright flinched before the pull gradually waned backward toward its ever present thrum. Belle suppressed a shiver at the fleeting impression of being watched, a turned head and careful scan revealing nothing to her eyes though the lingering sense of malevolence would not leave her alone.

Breathing through an unsteady wheeze that she hoped Bae wouldn't notice, she murmured, "I didn't say that. I'm just repeating what the fire chief said."

The scorched remnant of the scout camp came into view and she sighed, amazed that anyone had survived such an inferno let alone the entire group. Quick thinking and proximity to life-saving water had made all the difference between an excruciating death and weeks of painful rehabilitation. Michael Tillman was hailed a hero by the town though his son continued to hang his head in silent shame no matter how Archie tried to coax him from his deepening disconnection from the world.

She tramped over to where she thought the fire pit might have been. It was very hard to tell. "I'm still not sure what we're looking for."

"Evidence of foul play: something the others missed."

Even if they found it, what use would that knowledge really bring? That someone or something was trying to stop them? Her hands rested on her hips as she tried to sort things out. It wouldn't open a portal to Neverland and all the beans were gone. Not to mention relying on the hope that Rumple and the others would magically return on their own in time seemed nothing short of precariously ill advised.

Thirty-three more days…

She unconsciously rubbed her upper arms against a chill.

Neal scrutinized the clearing with a critical eye and she followed his stare, carefully trying to distinguish what amongst the destruction could have possibly been overlooked.

"You weren't out here battling the fire, Belle. You didn't see how it moved and jumped," he doggedly maintained. "It came for the beans like it was alive." A lonely wind soughed through the denuded trees while his mouth pressed into a grim and haunted line. "No matter what we did. And… it might've come for you."

As he turned to emphatically press his case, intense brown eyes so like his father's tapped into her niggling concern that someone was trying to kill her, specifically, for without her they all were doomed. It had started at first as an offhand thought clawing deeper bit by bit. No matter how hard she tried to brush the irrational fear aside there remained the wishing well when she'd first claimed the dagger's power then the mine collapse and now...

Coincidence she tried to breathe, but it fell flatter with each successive day.

"You didn't want me out here," she tested the idea to see if that was truly what he'd meant, "beyond just the idea of a 'normal' forest fire."

"No. I didn't." Neal struggled to explain. "If you can break my father's curse… Maybe… Well, maybe not everyone wants that to happen," and he gruffly turned away.

His protection fanned a special sort of warming flame inside her heart. She smiled then glanced bashfully at the ground, seeing shades of the hopeful boy she suspected he'd used to be long ago. Belle may not be his mother, but she was glad to count Bae as a friend. She liked to think this also meant that he was softening, at least a little, to the idea that his father wouldn't betray him in the end.

Regardless, time was ticking down and they needed a new plan. She needn't take it quite so far as everyone they knew were merely puppets dancing on someone else's yanking string. If at the very least an accidental fire was untrue…

"Who would do such a thing?" The why seemed patently obvious now that they were well and truly trapped in this world.

He shrugged. "If I knew that…"

Frustrated, he turned in place, not finding whatever it was he sought.

Slowly opening to the possibility, she quietly offered, "Say you're right…"

"Yeah?"

Cold wind whipped ash into her face and she blinked against the sudden violent gust. At first she couldn't manage to marshal a continuation to the thought and then with a soft huff, reverted to her prior position. "Oh, I don't know." His aggravation was seeping into her bones leaving her jittery and in doubt. Focus, she told herself. Focus. They needed a way to Rumple. Now.

Gentle fingertips pressed unconsciously to her chest and something shifted subtly, the frustration instantly melting clean away. Her mind went blank as she paused to listen carefully to the shielding call of love. A gentle tugging on her heart resonated deep within much like the vibrating strings on a violin, stroked by a master musician softly striking up a tune. Her eyes drifted closed at the precious beauty flitting feather-light through her soul and instead of deadly fires and the draw of evil came the sparkling hue of gold and blue weaving wonderfully into song.

"Oh," she whispered in surprise. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Someone who truly loved her: she wasn't alone at all.

Neal simply stared perplexed and Belle thought to share a little more about the changing man she loved and the belief that remained cradled deeply in her heart.

"We didn't know it, but your father and I started dreaming to each other when Regina held me captive in her tower." She wondered now if that was part of the magic of their love, tightly bonding them together. "It grows stronger even when," she frowned a little, "perhaps especially, when we've been pulled apart."

Somehow that truth appeared clearer now. Whether distance, time or memory, their love was always infinite no matter how far they stretched apart. A low fluttering note of promise seemed to echo in her soul, and like a thunderclap came the burgeoning realization that out of the ashes of deepest heartache might grow something far more resilient than they could ever have imagined before.

The song faded in her mind yet a peace of dawning understanding settled lithely across her heart.

Neal still looked confused, either at her faraway expression or as if he hadn't expected her to say any such thing at all. Perhaps a mixture of the two? "Anything new there?"

"Just some kind of wall. About five feet wide by ten feet tall sticking out of the beach. I don't have a clue what it means." She gently shook her head and smiled, slipping from her silent reverie and wondered how to describe such a depth of love to a son currently mired in disbelief.

A considering eyebrow rose then he curiously cocked his head as distraction pulled aside his attention. "Do you hear something?"

Just like that, the moment was gone and they shared a baffled look. "Sounds like a… car?" Belle answered, but there wasn't even a logging road anywhere nearby.

"That way, I think." Neal pointed northwest and they hurriedly scrambled up a gentle hill behind the camp, following the gurgling stream and weaving between the spindly upright trunks. The destruction made it far easier to traverse than the last time she'd taken to the woods: or easier at least until they came across an erratic jumble of scorched and fallen trees.

"Over there." A glint of light off chrome seemed to indicate it wasn't far beyond.

The way around was blocked between the creek and the steeply rising valley wall to their right. Neal scrambled easily up and over. She had more trouble crossing with her shorter arms and legs. Picking her way with care, Belle shuffled sideways while reaching out a hand for balance just as the pile gave way and rolled.

She yelped and tripped, an ankle slipping down between the dangerously shifting logs.

"Watch out!" Neal yelled. Pivoting, he threw himself forward at her flailing arms. In seconds the ground seemed to give way beneath them, but his large hand clamped round her wrist followed by a massive wrenching pull. Safe for the moment, they scuttled backward on their butts like crabs hurrying for the sea.

Bae's eyes slid from hers to the still dangerously creaking logs as they tumbled and crashed downhill. The drone of evil pricked at the back of her neck; Belle's racing heart took time to slow.

"Thanks. That could have been a nasty tumble."

She swivelled her throbbing foot around, testing for damage then was thankful it was just a bruise and she could stand. He continued to walk her backward out of danger, his wary expression focused on the settling pile now jammed up against a lower grove of blackened trees.

Too much like the mine… It seemed to hang between them: a crushing weight of reality set to fall.

"An… accident," she thought lamely to explain it away against the rising hand of fate. "I've always been clumsy."

"Right." He frowned, obviously not convinced then surprised her with, "It feels like someone's watching," and Neal glowered into the distance.

She clenched her fists; could feel it too as much as she didn't want to admit the same aloud. Finally, Belle hiked on with a hushed, "I know. I've felt it for a while," and surreptitiously tried and failed to find the source herself.

Silently agreeing to let it go for now, they popped up on top of an undulating rise then moved covertly toward where they'd seen the flash of light. A midnight black SUV was parked a few hundred feet inside the shimmering wall that cloaked the town in secrecy and until they were certain they were safe from notice, they stealthily snuck from tree to tree trying to gain a better look.

Outside Storybrooke the verdant forest stretched away as far as they could see, the singsong chirp of birdsong sounding odd from their position within such a bleak and devastated ruin. As destructive as it was, the fire hadn't burned an inch beyond the line.

"A magical fire wouldn't exist in a land without magic," Neal pointed out logically, and she found she had to agree.

Of more immediate interest was the narrow road tracking off through the woods that displayed only the vaguest continuation through their side of the glittering barricade. Neal strode from the gravel end, following the trend it took toward the truck, two worlds coinciding over top of each. The vehicle was parked off on the shoulder though unbeknownst to the occupants inside, a burned out hulk of a massive pine protruded through the unharmed engine block.

"So there is a road. Sort of."

Belle and Neal walked closer and he reached out, his fingers passing through the tinted glass. With a shrug they stepped forward to stand in the back seat; discovered Tamara and Greg in the midst of a discussion.

Neal immediately growled and swiped at her throat even though he knew it wouldn't make a difference, the hot burn of his hostility pointed directly at the woman who had shot him. "What are they doing here?" he hissed. "They're supposed to be in Neverland with Emma and my son!"

Momentarily frozen with hesitation, she worked at piecing together what she knew. "The last Rumple told me, they'd tossed Greg and Tamara in the hold of the Jolly Roger! If they're here now…" Gnawing her lip with worry, she tried to push aside the growing panic to calmly evaluate what that meant. Could Rumple be in this world too? No, he'd have come straight home to her. And besides – their dreams – wouldn't they work if he were back? Something must have happened, but she still couldn't decipher what.

"They probably think they're on the other side of the barrier. Searching for a way in," Belle answered mechanically, sticking to the simplest certainty they could surmise.

The other woman was scrolling intermittently on her phone through what appeared to be an email and Belle leaned closer, crowding Neal, to try and catch a glimpse of what it said. "Preliminary genetic results are in. She's not human."

Greg muttered, "We'd already figured that out. These people are useless."

Tamara rolled her eyes. "Science geeks love to state the obvious. They still haven't cracked open the box she was carting around, but Tech finally managed to get a decent MRI image of the contents. Here." She tapped an image then enlarged it so her partner could see.

It seemed nothing more uninteresting than a random collection of human castoffs, once forgotten and thrown away only to become the cherished treasures of another: a bent fork, a tarnished mirror and a few chipped marbles too…

Greg abruptly grabbed Tamara's phone from her hand and panned the image sideways, his eyes bugging out with furious incredulity. "That's mine! That thieving little twerp stole my phone!" He jammed his finger at the screen.

"You're still hung up on that?" his girlfriend asked and the conversation devolved into an argument that held little interest to their eavesdroppers.

More importantly, a battered patchwork doll was folded into one corner of the box with dangling button eyes and a faded tattered gown. Nestled in the stuffing beneath where its heart would lie… Belle sucked in a breath of heady disbelief and blinked, but no, it was still there. Her hand shot out, gripping Bae's wrist as they shared a tense flash of recognition.

A pair of beans stood out in relief, so much larger than the rest.

He gave her a deviously calculated grin then chuckled shortly. "Pack a bag, Belle. We're going to New York!"

Neal didn't have to tell her twice. She smiled in return, her entire countenance alight with faith renewed.

o0o0o0o

Emma's little yellow Bug was parked just inside the Storybrooke town line, packed and nearly set to go.

"Figure out a way to let us know where you are without letting the Home Office in," Neal instructed the blue fairy. They stood conversing next to the driver's side door as he stared intently down the road.

Belle caught Walter dozing on a rock near the town sign; walked over and gently cuffed his shoulder. He jerked awake muttering an apology and sheepishly moved off to take his place. The other dwarves were spread out in the forest on either side of the road keeping watch for Home Office intruders that would love to catch their friends' escape.

"I've been working on some ideas," Blue admitted while stepping backward from the car. "Nothing so far."

Neal merely nodded, trusting that part of their hastily thrown together plan would work out fine in the end. "You have a month. I know you'll figure out something. Let's go," he called to Belle and she quickly slipped into the seat beside him in the Bug.

She slammed her door with relish. She was going to see the world! And Rumple. Nothing would stop them now. "I'm ready."

"I tossed a bottle of scotch and something slutty in back. You know, just in case."

He smirked in her direction and Belle's eyes widened in flustered horror, not at all sure if he was teasing. "B-but Ruby didn't revert–"

The dwarves signalled the all clear in rapid succession and suddenly there wasn't any time left to question. Neal abruptly threw the car into gear while jamming his foot onto the accelerator to make good their getaway.

Her stomach lurched in anticipation when they accelerated across the line.