A/N: Sorry for the delay – this chapter took much longer than I expected to write, but in payment for your patience, it's over 14,000 words!

Part VIII.

"What are those marks, Gold?" the Savior asked, and Rumplestiltskin froze.

He hadn't asked her to heal him. He hadn't wanted anyone to see. Letting Belle know about the not-quite-healed wounds—even more than three months later—had been hard enough. He'd used magic to cover them every time Belle had a chance of seeing them until the night before, and forcing himself to trust her that much had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done, including admitting that Zelena had raped him. But now, knowing that all these people, Storybrooke's 'beloved heroes', could see the blackened half-scars, half-wounds Zelena had caused, almost made his breathing stop. Belle was still holding his hand, still squeezing his shoulder, and her hands were the only things rooting him to sanity. He just wanted to sink into the ground and hide.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin sat up, funneling magic into his worn-out body. He'd pay for that later, would probably be stuck in bed for hours at least, but it was worth it not to display any kind of weakness in front of these people. Bad enough that my shirt is in burned up pieces on the ground beside me, he thought acidly, feeling Belle's wordless support as her hand shifted from his shoulder to his back to help steady him. I will not let them think me weak.

"None of your business, dearie," he answered Emma before she could ask him a second time. "Nothing you can heal."

That made the Savior scowl, and Rumplestiltskin tried to shrug off her steady gaze. Henry's was harder, because he really did care what the lad thought, and his grandson looked worried. Emma, however, was the one who demanded: "Why not?"

"It doesn't matter," Rumplestiltskin snapped before he could stop himself, and then forced himself to take a deep breath. Distract them. Change the subject. So, he added: "I do owe you thanks for healing me. I…appreciate it."

"You're welcome," Emma replied, sounding a little taken aback. Her expression annoyed Rumplestiltskin a little, despite his nervousness; he'd never had a problem expressing gratitude, so why did people look surprised when he was polite enough to say thank you?

"Those wounds were caused by magic," Regina spoke up, and Rumplestiltskin could have killed her. There'd been a time when his star pupil wouldn't have volunteered such information in front of the Charmings, but now she was trying so hard to be one of them, to be included in the little party of heroes, and that meant she was now much less restrained.

"Go to the head of the class," Rumplestiltskin replied dryly, rolling his eyes to hide his discomfort. Why did she have to butt in like this? If Regina thought she was trying to help, she was so far from doing so. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go home. The demon's dead. Your problem is solved."

The last bit was directed at the Charmings, particularly Charming himself, who had led the little group who had come to demand Belle force him to kill that demon. Instead, Rumplestiltskin had done so of his own volition, and he felt like he'd been run over by a Mack truck after doing so. Even with the magic rolling through his veins and the way it could sustain him for quite some time—particularly after Emma had healed him—Rumplestiltskin was still in too much pain to mitigate the older pain the way he had every day he had magic to do so. Colors were starting to merge, no matter how hard he forced himself to focus, and he really just wanted to get away from these people. The thought of using magic to conjure himself up a new shirt occurred to him, but Rumplestiltskin knew that might actually make him pass out, so that was hardly an option. Time to leave, then.

Thinking like that made him glance down at his left hand, where the dagger was gripped tightly. Too tightly, maybe; his knuckles were white for anyone to see, but Rumplestiltskin couldn't bring himself to care right now. Ever since Henry had given it back to him, Rumplestiltskin had gripped that dagger like it was a lifeline, because it was. The dagger was his freedom, and since he'd promised he wasn't going to try to use the hat again—and knew that if he did so, he'd likely lose everything that was important to him—keeping the dagger safe was the only way to preserve his own free will.

"If the wounds are magic in nature, why can't they be healed?" Emma spoke up, ignoring his comment about wanting to go home. Probably because I'm still sitting here on the ground, trying to decide if I can get up without falling back down.

They weren't going to let it go, and he was too tired to fight with them. For a moment, Rumplestiltskin contemplating teleporting himself and Belle away, taking them back home and away from these nosy heroes, but even the thought of using that kind of advanced magic made his head spin wildly.

"Because I'm the Dark One," Rumplestiltskin snarled, worn out enough to be honest. "Wounds made with the dagger on me can't be healed."

"With the…?" Emma trailed off, and then her eyes went wide. She was a smart girl, and was obviously getting there quickly enough.

So was Regina, judging from the quiet noise of shock she made.

"Who could do that to you?" Snow spoke up for the first time, still supporting Regina. Rumplestiltskin's old student looked unsteady on her feet, and if she thought she felt bad, he didn't want to think about how he felt. He'd lost more blood than he'd meant to, and was just so damned exhausted.

"Well, it certainly wasn't Belle," he retorted, rolling his eyes again and immediately regretting the motion. It made his head feel like someone was pounding nails into his skull.

"Zelena?" Charming guessed the answer his daughter and Regina had already arrived at. Rumplestiltskin wanted to meet his gaze, wanted to brazen this through and pretend that it didn't matter, but he found himself looking away.

Had Belle's hands not tightened on him, Rumplestiltskin might have fled, might have teleported himself away despite what a bad idea he knew doing so was. He couldn't even focus well enough to mitigate the pain from those old dagger wounds, and Rumplestiltskin knew he'd probably not make it to his destination, yet he still wanted to run away. I'm still a coward, he thought exhaustedly, feeling himself shake. They were all waiting for an answer, this curious and accusing crowd surrounding him, and he had nothing. What could he say that wouldn't be akin to admitting how badly Zelena had abused him?

"Let's get you up," Belle whispered softly, and Rumplestiltskin seized the opportunity to do something other than answer Charming's question. He allowed his wife to help him to his feet, feeling his right kneecap—why was it always his right leg?—protesting the sudden usage. It responded, though, still held together by the spell he'd cast earlier. That wouldn't last too long, but it should get him home, albeit limping. Still, he had to lean heavily on Belle, which he hated, even if that gave him an excuse to stand closer to the woman who had always been his strength.

"Gold?" Charming asked, sounding concerned. "Did Zelena do that to you?"

The worry in the prince's voice finally gave Rumplestiltskin the courage—and the fury—to turn and face Charming. "What do you care?" he snapped. "Don't pretend it matters to you. It doesn't now, and it didn't then."

Had he hit David in the face with a fireball, he probably would have looked less shocked. And was that hurt in Charming's eyes? How ludicrous.

Snow, however, rather inevitably jumped to her husband's side, at least metaphorically speaking. The princess' voice was damnably gentle, and she looked utterly horrified, with wide eyes and an upset expression. "She hurt you?"

"Don't look so surprised, dearie," he said before could stop himself, his voice growing sharper with each word. "Zelena was willing to sacrifice your newborn son to make her plans work. What makes you think she had any kind of moral values that would stop her from punishing her slave as she saw fit?"

"Rumple," Belle whispered, and for once she wasn't trying to stop him, or at least not for anyone's sake save his own. But he was so damn tired and hurting so much; Rumplestiltskin's normal defenses, the walls that kept his demons buried where no one could see them, were as shredded as his abandoned shirt.

They wanted to know? Fine. Let them know. Let them look at the truth and wrap their perfect little world around that. These little heroes had been so shocked when he'd wanted to kill Zelena, because wanting to avenge his beloved son was not reason enough for them. Well, let them know this. He was done shielding them from the nastier parts of the truth.

But even thinking about that made memories rear up, made Rumplestiltskin remember Zelena's hands and Zelena's touch, to remember the humiliation and the pain and the utter inability to resist. He shuddered, and maybe even flinched; his exhausted mind wanted to tip right off the edge and lose itself in soul-crushing memories. And it would have, had Belle's presence not still been warm and comforting next to him. Sensing his unease, she reached out to take the hand opposite the side that was still leaning against him. Her touch helped push back the worst of the demons, and Rumplestiltskin let out a shuddering breath, forcing himself to focus—and to open the eyes he hadn't known he'd shut—and look out at the damn heroes once more.

At least none of them knew the worst of it. He'd be damned if he'd ever let them know about that. Telling Belle had been bad enough.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" Snow asked, looking mortified.

It was just too much, despite Belle's reassuring presence at his side. "And when was I supposed to do that?" Rumplestiltskin retorted angrily. "When you were all busy happily leaving me in my cage, happy that I was out of the way and only worried about what uses Zelena might put me to? Or perhaps afterwards, when you all decided it was safer if I was controlled?"

"Based on what we knew—" Charming tried to say, but Rumplestiltskin cut him off.

"Based on what?" he snarled. "On me killing Pan? On our alliance in Neverland? Because, yes, I was so terrible a danger to you before I died." Belle's hand squeezed his tightly, and Rumplestiltskin reined in his temper with an effort. Only then did he feel his magic responding to his emotions, swirling around him exhaustedly but dangerously. Sucking in a ragged breath, he forced the magic back, clinging doggedly to self-control. When he spoke again, his voice was more level, soft and acidic. "Let's not pretend any of you—excluding Belle—have ever cared about me. I'm the Dark One. I'm dangerous. You don't care that someone locked me in a cage—having done it yourself—and you certainly don't care that Zelena had her fun with me. So don't bother pretending."

"We aren't pretending," Snow snapped back. "It matters."

Rumplestiltskin snorted. "Just like Zelena killing my son mattered. Had it been Henry, you lot would have lined up to kill her. But because it was Bae, you didn't care."

"That's not fair," Emma interjected softly, and Rumplestiltskin was suddenly seized by the memory of her crying over his son's body. He blinked back emotion.

"Not to you, no," he admitted roughly, giving the Savior a half-shrug as Belle shifted closer to him. She nodded in response, and for once, they seemed to understand one another.

Of course, her father took the opportunity to jump into the conversation. "Belle was right in what she said earlier," Charming said, wearing the expression of a man who was facing his own mistakes and not liking what he saw. "We never thought of it. We just looked at you as the Dark One and never saw beyond that."

"I never wanted you to," Rumplestiltskin admitted. That much raw honesty deserved some in return. Besides, the truth was out there, now. They knew that Zelena had hurt him, tortured him, knew that he was more human than he'd ever wanted any of them to know. Oh, he'd wanted them to acknowledge the fact that he was an individual with choices, but Rumplestiltskin had never wanted them to see his weaknesses, either.

Now they had.

"I'm sorry," Regina said abruptly. "I didn't…think when I kept the dagger. I just…"

"I know," he replied quietly, not wanting to admit to her that, although her apology meant far more to him than the Charmings' sudden compassion, he wasn't quite ready to forgive her. Not quite. Someday, however, Rumplestiltskin knew he would.

Just not today.

"If there's anything we can—"

"Not today," Belle cut Snow's attempt at offering help off. "For now, I'm going to get Rumple home. He killed the demon for you. Surely that's enough for today."

He might have kissed her had he not been so dizzy; magic was holding him together, but even magic had its limits. Besides, he'd pay the price for that soon enough. Rumplestiltskin could feel the price lurking in the back of his mind, ready to knock him down. Not yet, he told himself. Soon.

"Of course it is," Regina got in before anyone else could say something, throwing the other heroes a look. And then Leroy spoke up.

"Someone should—" the dwarf started, only to cut off when Belle gave him a more furious look than Rumplestiltskin had ever seen out of her.

They'd been friends, once, he knew. Were they still?

"Someone should go with you. Make sure you get home okay," Leroy finished lamely, and there wasn't a single person in the crowd who thought he hadn't originally intended to say that someone should take the dagger while Rumplestiltskin was weak. Belle, however, gave him a sweet smile that said she knew exactly what he'd intended.

"That's a great idea. Henry, do you want to come along?" his wife asked brilliantly.

A huge smile split Henry's face. "Sure! I'll call you later, Mom. And Mom," he said to both Regina and Emma, who exchanged unreadable glances.

"Can you use magic to take us there?" Belle asked quietly, and Rumplestiltskin shook his head.

"Bad idea."

"Well, then it's a good thing the car is at the shop. I'll drive," she said, and Rumplestiltskin could only nod tiredly.

Together, Belle and Henry got him to the Cadillac and then into the pink house. By then, Rumplestiltskin was limping pretty badly, the magic that held his injured leg together collapsing along with the rest of his ability to keep himself upright. Somehow—he never could quite remember how—the pair got him into bed, and Rumplestiltskin drifted off to sleep with the knowledge that his wife and his grandson were there.

Gold, Belle, and Henry disappeared into Gold's Cadillac, and Emma heaved a sigh of relief once they were gone. The demon was dead, the town was safe…and now she got to deal with the aftermath. For the moment, she didn't even want to think about what they'd learned about Gold or what that meant. What really counted was that he was kind-of-sort-of-mostly on their side again, either because of Henry or for his own reasons. While Emma wasn't necessarily going to trust Gold not to go on some crazy power trip once more, Belle did have a point—trying to suck up everyone's magic really was not in character for him. So, the likelihood of Gold going off the deep end again was low.

For the moment.

Unfortunately, the fact that the crisis had passed meant that Emma now had to face her other problem, the one she had absolutely no idea what to do with. An uber-powerful demon trying to destroy the town? Easy. Emma knew what to do with that. Killian Jones, having tried to kill Belle and make Gold watch and suffer, but who claimed not to know why he'd done that? Emma had no idea what to do.

The damnable thing about it all was that she still had feelings for him, and she shouldn't. Not if this was the kind of man he was going to be. Oh, Emma had known he was a pirate, had known Killian had done some terrible things. And yet…she'd thought he was past that. She'd thought he was trying to be better. He'd apologized to Belle, and had worked with the librarian countless times since then without ever seeming to want to harm her. This had come straight out of the blue, and Emma didn't know how to deal with it. He'd tried to kill an innocent woman, and had ignored her begging husband to do it while he gloated. Seeing that had made Emma wonder about a lot of things, and yet it wouldn't hurt so much if she hadn't cared about Killian the way she did.

Why did she always fall for the wrong kind of guy? At least Neal had never stolen anything worse than a car. Killian…she didn't know what to think of Killian now.

"Emma, please, a word?" Killian said quietly, approaching her as cautiously as he would a wounded animal.

Sighing, she turned to face him. Emma couldn't avoid this conversation any longer. The threat was gone, and she owed Killian that much. "Okay," she said slowly, crossing her arms. "Go ahead."

"I…" Now that he had her attention, Killian didn't seem to know what to say. But he finally squared his shoulders and continued: "I never meant for it to go so far. Yes, I want—wanted—revenge against Rumplestiltskin for stealing my heart and making me do his bidding. I wanted to make him suffer for the way he tried to suck you into the hat. But I…I don't know what got into me. I didn't mean for things to happen that way. I truly did not. At the time, it felt so easy, and now it feels terrible."

Hearing such genuine emotion in his voice—and regret, interestingly enough—only made this harder. Emma sighed.

"Are you going to blame this on some cursed hand again?" she asked testily, remembering how Killian had told her that he'd worked a deal with Gold for the return of his hand, and that Gold had cursed it somehow. Yet there was no way Gold had done that this time—not with Belle on the line. The bastard was cold-blooded, and obviously didn't mind lying to his wife, but Emma knew that he'd never endanger her. Particularly not when someone else had his dagger.

"I wish I knew," Killian replied with a helpless shrug.

"I don't think why really matters," Emma said after a moment, crossing her arms tightly against her chest. She felt cold, so cold. She'd started to trust again, and look where it had gotten her. She should reserve her love for her family, for Henry. At least that wouldn't hurt so much.

"Emma—"

"You were going to let her die," she cut him off, her voice hard. "After telling me so many times that your killing days were behind you. How I'd made you want to be a better man. You told me that you'd changed." Emma spat the last word out, letting her heartbreak out, just for a moment. Then an ironic smile twisted up her lips. "You gonna try to kill Belle again? Because something tells me Gold's truce won't hold up for that."

"No! Of course not!"

"Really? You've said that before," she reminded him mercilessly, watching his expression, just like she'd watched him gloat over a bleeding Belle. "In fact, you've been playing the don't-trust-Rumplestiltskin card all day long, and he's the one who just killed that demon. And the one who said he won't kill you, even though you tried to kill his wife. Let me tell you, Killian, you're not the one who's come out of this smelling like roses."

"He tried to suck you into the hat!" the pirate objected furiously.

"And that's my problem!" Emma snapped back, stepping forward to poke a finger into his chest. "If anyone is going to get revenge for that, Killian Jones, it's going to be me. I'm not some damsel in distress that needs saving, and I sure as hell never asked you to be some knight in shining armor! You don't get to use me as an excuse for revenge, you understand that?"

Blinking and looking taken aback, Killian nodded. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"It's not me you owe an apology to," she retorted, coming down off of her anger but not quite able to forgive him. Not yet. Emma wanted to, and she knew that real love needed to be fought for, and yet…

"I'll do whatever I it takes to prove to you that I really have changed. I made a mistake, love, but that isn't me," he swore. "Tell me what I have to do to earn your love back."

Had Killian listed the ways he'd tried to help against the demon—none of which had escaped Emma's notice—she would have shut him down then and there, not caring that he'd done it for self-serving reasons. But he hadn't. And he sounded like he meant that. But how far was he willing to go?

"Put this insane quest for revenge behind you for good," Emma replied immediately, and watched him wince. "Gold's called a truce, and you're going to do better. He's our ally; so are you. You put it aside forever. You apologize to him and to Belle. And you mean it."

"Emma…" his whisper sounded more than a little terrified.

"Take it or leave it. You asked me what it'll take for me to believe you; that's what it is. Otherwise, all your talk of change is meaningless."

Their eyes met, and he looked distraught enough that Emma burned to reach out and take his hand. But Killian had to do this for himself; not for her, but for himself. If he wanted to be a better man, he had to act like it. She wouldn't go with him. She wouldn't spy on him. He could do it or not, and that would be that. And then they'd figure out where to go from there. But he had to show remorse—not just for what he'd done to Belle this time, but also for the other misdeeds they'd all swept under the rug when Killian had convinced them he'd changed. He'd tortured Archie, tried to kill Belle two other times, blackmailed Rumplestiltskin, and allied with first Cora and then the Home Office.

"That apology isn't a carte blanche, by the way. That's what'll convince me that you mean it, but not a promise that everything will go back to the way it was," Emma warned him. "I'm not saying I don't still have feelings for you, because I do, but I'm not going to date a man who goes around murdering innocent women, either. Or one who doesn't show remorse for any of the things you've done. So you either do it or don't, and then we'll talk about the future.

She wanted him back, but she wasn't going to lower her standards to get him. Not now, and not ever.

Rumplestiltskin had fallen asleep almost as soon as they got him into bed, barely managing to murmur a thanks to Belle and Henry before doing so. They sat with him for several long moments, watching his breathing steady out and his body slowly relax. Slowly, Belle reached out to take the dagger from his unresisting fingers and place it on the nightstand; it was not the safest place for it, but Rumplestiltskin would want to hide the dagger himself after he woke up. After all, whomever put the dagger in hiding had control of it, and neither of them wanted to risk that. Rumple was never so dangerous when he had control of himself. Now I just have to convince him that he can trust at least some people to help him preserve his freedom.

"Is he going to be okay, Belle?" Henry whispered, looking so very young.

Belle turned to him, looking at the concern in Bae's son's face, and realizing, not for the first time, how very much he looked like his father. But those warm brown eyes were all Rumple's, complete with the crease that formed between them when he was worried. Noticing that put a slight smile on her face, despite the knot in her own throat.

"He's tougher than he looks," she answered, leaning down to kiss her husband on the forehead. He stirred slightly but did not wake. Belle hadn't expected him to, but she still felt a flash of disappointment. He looked so weak and so beaten, lying there like this, and Belle wanted nothing more than to be able to kiss his hurts away.

"I lied to him," Henry admitted quietly. "When I told him why I wanted to work for him in the shop. I was spying for Mom. Regina, I mean."

Was that what was bothering Henry? Belle felt a real smile crease her face. "He knew, Henry. And Rumple didn't mind."

"I still want to apologize to him."

"And you will once he wakes up," she replied, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go downstairs and you can help me make some dinner."

"From what I hear, I'm going to have to do the cooking," her step-grandson quipped back, cracking a smile in return.

"Yeah, well, your grandfather shouldn't have dealt for a knight's daughter if he wanted someone who could cook," Belle retorted with a laugh. "Instead, I burned his kitchen down."

"You what?"

"I'll tell you the story while we get dinner going," she promised, leading Henry down the stairs after closing the door quietly behind them. Rumplestiltskin slept on, his breathing shallow but steady, and as much as Belle wanted to sit with him now, she knew that she could do so later. For now, Rumple's grandson needed someone to talk to, and Belle wouldn't take away this opportunity to bring Henry and Rumple closer together. She knew that her husband regretted not spending more time with Henry, and even if this was not the way Rumple would have chosen to kick off their relationship, it was still a start.

Together, the librarian and the Truest Believer headed for the kitchen, but they never made it before a trio of loud knocks sounded against the door. Exchanging glances, they headed for the front hall as another trio of knocks came, these sounding a little more hesitant than the first.

"Are you expecting someone?" Henry asked curiously.

"Not really. Do you think it's one of your mothers?"

"Nah, texted both of them. Emma healed Regina, and they're both fine with me being here. Not that I asked for permission or anything," the boy replied.

Belle snorted with suppressed laughter. "You really are something, you know that?"

"Yup." His cheeky grin was all Neal's, and for a moment, Belle's heart clenched as she remembered the man who should have become her stepson…and who had been her friend during that lonely time in the Enchanted Forest. She would have loved Neal—and Henry—for Rumple's sake if nothing else, but she found that even Henry, who she'd spent so little time with, was working his way into her heart.

"Well, then we should go see who it is," she shrugged, and Henry accompanied Belle to the door. But when she opened it, the person standing on the stoop was not the one she wanted to see.

Because it was the pirate. The one who had tried to kill her three times and who had forced Rumple to beg for her life. The one she had trusted, much to Belle's still-increasing horror. She'd thought she'd made her feelings clear to him, made it obvious that she didn't want him in her home, but apparently Killian Jones was too hard-headed to get the message. What if he's here to hurt Rumple? Belle thought fearfully, tension racing through her body. Rumple is weak now, and—

"What do you want?" Henry demanded before Belle could get a word out past her panic.

"Shouldn't you be with one of your mothers, Henry?" Hook asked instead of answering the teen's hostile question.

"No. I'm at my grandfather's instead," Henry retorted, and Belle finally swallowed her fear enough to lay a hand on her step-grandson's shoulder.

"You're not welcome here," she said quietly. "I think it's best that you go."

Lest I call Emma and have her drag you away, Belle didn't say, but she was tempted to. She didn't know where those two stood at the moment, but Emma had healed Rumplestiltskin instead of listening to Hook's reasoning, and that had to count for something.

"I'm not here to create trouble. I'm here to apologize," the pirate replied, with a hangdog expression that said he likely hadn't slept in days. Belle didn't care.

"That's a little too late, don't you think?" she replied, even as Henry snorted from her right.

"You're only here because Mom told you to apologize or she'd kick you to the curb."

"Henry," Belle chided him softly, though she really did wonder if he was right.

Judging from the torn expression on Hook's face, however, Henry had hit the nail on the head. Still, the pirate obviously swallowed back whatever response he was going to make and squared his shoulders. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "What I did was wrong. I got so caught up in getting revenge against the Dark One that I—"

Slap!

Belle's hand had swung almost before she realized she had stepped forward enough to slap Hook in the face, but she didn't regret the impulsive move one bit. Part of her might have been afraid of the pirate—part of her remembered dying at his feet while he did nothing—but Belle had always believed in bravely facing her fears. So, now she took another step forward even as Henry let out a short laugh, bringing herself face to face with Hook.

"You listen to me, Killian Jones," she snarled. "Apologies aren't about you or what you were feeling at the time. I'm done caring why you did it. You've been dogging me—and my husband—ever since you set foot in this world, doing your best to make us both suffer. Well, that's over. I've stopped him from killing you three times, and he's listened because he loves me. But I won't do that again. If you break this truce, I'll cheer him on."

Shocked blue eyes met hers, and Belle could see how Hook had never expected the mild-mannered, forgiving librarian to threaten him. But she was through protecting him. Rumple had promised to take the moral high ground, and she believed that he'd do that this time. But not twice. If Hook tried something else, Belle would do nothing, because enough was enough. And she knew Rumple wouldn't hesitate, either.

"You don't mean—"

"I do," Belle cut him off fiercely. "Rumplestiltskin is my husband. He's not some demon for you to slay. He's the man I love, and while he's done horrible things, so have you. So get off your high horse and stop pretending you're better than him. You stole his first wife, remember? And then you decided it would be fun to play with a cripple, so you taunted him and played your games. Oh, and then you handed his son over to Pan. Remember those little things?" Belle knew she should not say these things, particularly given how the first bit in particular was something Rumplestiltskin had only recently shared with her, but she couldn't stop herself. "Oh, and now you're busy romancing the woman that same son loved while you pretend to be better. Never mind that Neal's grave is barely cold. You stole Henry's grandmother. Why not steal his mother, too?"

"I loved Milah!" Hook objected. "And he killed her!"

"Yes, he did," Belle answered simply. "And you were both wrong. But until you see that, your apologies are worthless. Come back once you actually mean it."

"I do," he insisted.

"No, you just want Emma back," she retorted coldly, and saw confirmation of it in his eyes. "And, by the way, apologizing to me isn't going to cut it, either. When you actually feel like meaning it, you can come back and apologize to Rumplestiltskin, too. He's the one who you shoved to his knees to watch his wife die."

The pirate stared at her, slack-jawed, but Belle could feel Henry's approval radiating at her side. Perhaps she had said too much, but it was high time someone called Killian Jones on his so-called redemption. At least Rumplestiltskin is honest about it. This one just thinks he can be better because he wants to be, without atoning for anything he's ever done, she thought angrily. And then when he does something else wrong, he assumes he'll be forgiven because he's some 'hero' now.

"Come back when you mean it," Belle repeated, and stepped back inside, shutting the door firmly. Henry went with her.

"Of course I accept your apology," Archie said soothingly. "I understand that you were acting under…well, I wouldn't say duress, but something of a self-imposed compulsion."

Killian tried not to frown, tried to accept the words at face value, but he didn't manage to. Listening to his centuries-long quest for revenge reduced to a self-imposed compulsion was hard. He had spent years with only the thought of revenge against the demon who had killed his Milah to keep him warm at night, but Killian had always intended to have honorable revenge. He lived by a code, after all, and tried very hard to keep to it. He'd spent years trying to kill Rumplestiltskin, to avenge the woman he had loved so very much. That need had been his guiding light for so many years…and yet somehow he had lost his way.

"I…suppose it is. Or was," Killian replied slowly, swallowing hard. "I don't know."

The last words came out of him with more honesty than he'd intended, and the doctor gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Why are you here, Captain? I can't imagine you just came to apologize," Archie said quietly.

"I should have done that earlier," he admitted, remembering what Emma had said to him. All your talk of change is meaningless. She was right. He'd been trying so hard to be better, to be a hero worthy of Emma Swan, that he'd forgotten the most basic tenant of being a good person. You have to make right your wrongs, Liam had taught him so many years ago. A man of honor always does the right thing, even when it's hard.

Apologizing to Archie, who he had tortured for information about Rumplestiltskin, was certainly something Liam would have expected of him. It was something that he would have expected of himself when his brother had been alive. Killian had been so different back then; he'd been an officer and a gentleman, a man whom Emma could have been proud of loving. A man worthy of a princess. Now, he was nothing but a pirate, and a dishonorable one at that. Good men don't make women into their victims, no matter who they dare love, he thought to himself, wondering how he had drifted so far away from everything he had once believed.

"Yes, you should have," the shrink agreed, somehow sounding like he didn't blame anyone. His voice was still gentle, though, and his eyes were compassionate. "But that doesn't address why you are here now."

"Emma…" Killian sucked in a deep breath, and hated the way it hitched in his throat. "Emma told me that I need to do more than just try to move beyond my past. I have to atone for the wrongs I have done…or she won't stay with me."

"It sounds to me like she's already kicked you to the curb," Archie said gently.

Killian grimaced. "It feels like."

"Well, then you have to decide if she is worth fighting for. If so—"

"She is," he cut the cricket-turned-shrink off quickly. "I'll do whatever it takes to make her happy."

"I think that what Emma is looking for isn't for you to change for her, Captain," Archie corrected him softly. "I think she wants you to change for yourself. Otherwise, it's not much better than an act. Not if you don't really want to change in your heart."

His mouth opened automatically to protest, but Killian stopped himself, forcing himself to listen to exactly what it was that the doctor was saying. When was the last time he'd looked at his own soul and thought about changing, about doing anything more than winning Emma Swan's heart? He'd tried to be a hero for her, because Emma did give him a reason to be a better man. She helped him remember that he could be something other than just a pirate, but he'd never really walked away from what he'd been. He'd just turned his back on that, hoping that would be enough. But it isn't, is it? Killian felt like someone had hit him in the face with a two by four. He had tried so hard to be a better man because Emma wanted it. But what did he want?

He wanted to be worthy of her. Killian knew that much for sure. But the man he'd once been, the officer in the King's Navy, who would have been worthy of Emma, was long gone. He'd buried that man with his brother, had tried so hard to forget him until Emma came along. Milah had wanted an adventurous pirate, a dangerous man with a dark side. Emma, however, Emma deserved a hero. So, he had tried to be one. And somewhere along the way, he had started wanting to be a hero. Wanting to be the man he had once been, the idealistic lieutenant who had always done the right thing. Convincing himself that he could be that man again had been easy, because the prize at the end of such a journey was Emma Swan. But he'd tried to become that man again without facing the darkness he'd embraced in between.

"Emma wants me to apologize to Belle, but she won't listen," Killian admitted.

"Belle, you mean?"

"Yes. I tried, but she told me to leave."

Wise eyes found his. "Is that all she said?"

"She told me to come back when I meant it," he whispered after a moment's hesitation. Killian still couldn't understand why he'd decided that Belle had to die, what had made the darkness in the deepest recesses of his soul roar up and lash out like that. What had he been thinking? Belle had every right to be angry at him, particularly because she had—yet again—been caught in the middle of his quest for revenge. Once, Killian had been honored by Belle's trust. She'd handed him the dagger and trusted him to do the right thing…and he hadn't. Thoughts of revenge had consumed him once more, and he had lost himself in it.

"Did you mean it?" Archie asked directly.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to face the truth. "No. I just went straight there because Emma wanted me to," he answered. "I…I do regret what happened to Belle. She deserved better. I shouldn't have done what I did."

"And what about your quest for revenge?"

"I still think he's a villain," Killian answered immediately, and then took a deep breath. "But maybe…maybe I've been one, too."

You'll never find your future if you keep living in the past, someone had once said. Maybe it was time to start living for the future.

Henry was sitting in a chair by the bedside when Rumplestiltskin woke up the next morning. Rather, he slowly blinked his way towards consciousness, his entire body aching and a screaming headache bouncing around behind his eyes. But at least the room was not spinning. Now.

"I thought you'd be long gone," the Dark One whispered hoarsely, looking at his grandson in surprise. Something in the vicinity of his heart fluttered suspiciously, and memory stirred. How many times had a young Bae watched over his father after some town bully or another had hurt him, patching his father up when he couldn't help himself? If he squinted just wrong, if he let his imagination run wild, Rumplestiltskin could imagine that he was back before everything went wrong, back before he'd lost his beloved son.

But this wasn't Baelfire. This was Bae's son, the boy who his own son had died to get back to. I'll protect him for you, Bae, Rumplestiltskin promised his son's soul silently. I let you down, but I won't do the same to your son. I swear it.

"Nah, Belle said I could stay the night," the lad answered his question with Bae's smile. "You want some water?"

"Please." Rumplestiltskin felt like someone had scorched his tongue with sandpaper.

Jumping up from his chair, Henry grabbed a glass of water off the nightstand and then returned, perching on the bed next to his grandfather. Cautiously, he passed the glass over, and Rumplestiltskin was glad to see that his own hand was steady when he took it. Still, he sipped slowly, not sure how well his strung out body would accept the liquid. He was still dizzy and weak; his magic had knit up the few wounds that Emma hadn't, but the battle with the demon had taken a lot out of Rumplestiltskin. However, had Emma not healed him, he would still have been unconscious, probably for days yet, so Rumplestiltskin was rather glad to be awake, overall.

"That help?" Henry asked after he'd taken several sips and found that, much to his surprise, the water stayed down.

"I think so, yes," he replied slowly, handing the glass back. Another deep breath, and then he sat up slowly, feeling muscles in his chest spasm as he did so. He was still sore and tired, but apparently functional. There were some perks to being the Dark One, after all. His still-human body might hurt, but it would work if he used enough magic to force things along. Of course, he was still paying for doing that exact same thing while fighting the demon, but Emma had managed to inadvertently sidetrack some of that price onto herself. I bet she slept like the dead last night. So, Rumplestiltskin could afford to do the same thing again, knowing that he could stretch out the costs over the next few weeks and function almost normally in the meantime. Albeit uncomfortably.

"I'm glad," his grandson said quietly, shifting uncomfortably.

"What's wrong, Henry?" Rumplestiltskin asked after he finished laboriously maneuvering himself into a sitting position.

The lad looked away. "You almost died saving me."

"Ah, it wouldn't have killed me," he reassured the boy, forcing a half smile. "Even if certain people in this town would have preferred it to, I'm not so easy to kill."

"But you came close," Henry argued, turning to look at him, and Rumplestiltskin found himself looking into eyes that were so very like his own. Bae's eyes, he thought before he could stop himself, before Henry could ask bluntly: "Could it have killed you?"

Somehow, he couldn't lie to a boy who looked so much like his own son. Not today. "It could have," he answered honestly, letting out a ragged breath. "If I'd been less careful. I did plan things out rather specifically, you realize."

"You're good at that, aren't you? You planned out the entire curse so that you could find Dad."

Had Henry said that accusingly, Rumplestiltskin would have clammed up, would have slipped back inside the protective shell he'd erected after Bae's death. Only Belle had been allowed fully inside that shell, and not even her until he'd screwed up so badly that she almost died because of it. But Henry…Henry was his blood. Henry had been everything to Bae, Henry and Emma had, and Rumplestiltskin had allowed himself to lose track of that when he'd been lost in his own pain. Henry deserves better. He deserves a grandfather who can tell him about his father, who can be there and care about him. Caring meant risking losing again, but Bae wasn't able to be here for his son. That means I need to do it for him.

"Yes," he answered quietly. "Yes, I did."

"Was it worth it?" Henry whispered. "Even though…?" The boy's voice cracked on the last bit, and that was when Rumple knew that he wasn't the only one who felt Bae's death so keenly.

"Every bit of it," Rumplestiltskin whispered thickly, feeling tears trying to gather in his eyes. "He was worth every moment."

"I miss him," the boy admitted, and there were matching tears in his eyes, too. "I didn't get much time with him, and then he was gone. What did I do wrong? Why didn't I get the chance to know him?"

"Oh, Henry…" Rumplestiltskin barely got the words out around the lump in his throat, and then hesitated to reach out to his grandson. Every paternal instinct he still had told him to offer comfort to the boy, but he wasn't entirely sure it was welcome. After all, they'd spent very little time together outside of Henry working in the shop, and he wasn't exactly—

Somehow, he wound up with his arms full of a quietly crying twelve year old boy, and Rumplestiltskin just embraced Henry as gently as he could. "You didn't do anything wrong, Henry. Your father loved you more than anything…and if I could swap places with him, right now, so that he could be here for you, I would."

"It's not your fault he died," Henry whispered. "That was Zelena. Belle told me what happened after I got my memories back."

"That doesn't absolve me," Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard, and then forced himself to continue. "But that's not the important thing. The important thing is that I spent a year sharing my mind with Bae, and that means I know exactly what you meant to him. He would have done anything for you, Henry, and he would be so happy that you're all right."

"Is that why you protected me?" Henry asked, not letting go of him.

"In part," he admitted. "But I mostly did it because you're my grandson. Family is…important to me. More than anything. I know I don't always show it well, particularly with you, but you matter, Henry. And that's why I did what I did. Because you're my grandson."

"Thanks, Grandpa. I love you, too."

Hook showed up shortly after Henry insisted on helping Rumplestiltskin down the stairs for breakfast. Belle had picked up what looked like an entire feast from Granny's, and between her and Henry, they talked him into eating more than he would have otherwise. By the time the pirate knocked on the door, Rumplestiltskin was feeling both full and sleepy. He'd intended to go back to bed, but the moment the banging came on the door, Rumplestiltskin drew on his magic. It swept through him like fire, replenishing his energy reserves and letting him slide a glamour over himself. Belle threw him a hard look his way, but Rumplestiltskin gave her a half shrug. The town had seen enough of his weaknesses; he would show them no more. Whoever was at the door was going to see him as he preferred to be seen, not with the scars on display that Zelena had carved into his body and his soul.

Particularly not the pirate who had had him on his knees begging for Belle's life, who had refused to let him even save the woman he loved because he hated Rumplestiltskin that much. Had Belle not pointed out that leaving Hook alive would be a much crueler punishment than killing him, Rumplestiltskin would have drawn and quartered the bastard already—and would have enjoyed every moment of it. He would have done to Hook what Hook wanted to do to Belle, but…other forms of revenge were indeed more fitting.

I get to live with my mistakes. Let him do the same, Rumplestiltskin thought, opening the door and allowing a small smile to crease his face as he opened the door. He'd seen the familiar lanky form and leather jacket through the side window, and now Rumplestiltskin put on his best manipulative Dark One mien to face the man who had spent centuries trying to kill him.

Dying was the easy way out, after all. It was far more fun to smile at the pirate and say: "Captain. Do come in."

That made Hook blink and look warily at Belle and Henry, both of whom were staring at him with rather undisguised hostility. Of course, Belle had told Rumplestiltskin about Hook's aborted attempt at an apology the afternoon before, and had told him what she'd said to the pirate. And that she'd slapped him, which Rumplestiltskin would have kissed her for had his grandson not been watching. Henry, however, seemed to be in complete agreement with her, and Rumplestiltskin couldn't find it in himself to regret how that would complicate Emma's relationship with her current beau. She deserves better, Rumplestiltskin decided, watching Hook walk warily into his home. Bae loved her.

"I just need a moment of your time," Hook said uneasily, looking around like he was waiting for the world to fall on him.

If I have my way, it just might.

"Of course you do, dearie. Don't sit down," Rumplestiltskin said, closing the door. Belle and Henry stood to his left, with Hook across from them in the foyer. A long moment of silence crawled by, in which Hook's blue eyes desperately sought out Henry, but the boy just crossed his arms and continued to glare. No, he wasn't going to forgive Emma's boyfriend anytime soon, and Rumplestiltskin was rather pleased to see that. Did that make him a bad person? Probably.

"I'm here to apologize," the pirate started softly, clearing his throat noisily and shifting uneasily. Rumplestiltskin just watched him and waited, keeping his face expressionless and hoping Belle would take a cue from him. Hopefully, she won't kick him out just yet. I want to see this first.

Interestingly enough, he was interested in what Hook had to say. Not because he'd believe any apology that Hook uttered—there was too much bad blood between them, and on both sides—but because Rumplestiltskin knew that this little conversation might indicate the direction his relationship with the Charmings would take. Like it or not, that clan had decided that Hook was one of their own. Rumplestiltskin might think that was a foolish decision, but he knew that family well enough to know that they wouldn't 'give up' on Hook any more than they had Regina. That, of course, would mean that they'd forgive Hook for trying to kill Belle yet again, and that Rumplestiltskin's own experiences at his hands (past and present both) were unimportant. There were times that the Charmings' hypocrisy really irked him, but Rumplestiltskin had been around too long to dwell on that. In their eyes, Hook was the wronged party. Why Rumplestiltskin had killed Milah, or the fact that he still thought of her with a pang of regret, didn't matter to them. And Belle…well, Belle was tainted by loving him. They'd always think she was lesser because of that.

"I'm here to apologize," Hook repeated, turning to look Belle in the eye. "And to mean it."

"You're saying the words, but I still have no reason to believe you," Belle retorted bluntly, and again, Rumplestiltskin felt like kissing her. His wife was one of the most forgiving people he had ever met (a facet of her personality that had saved him multiple times), but she was also brave and would stand her ground when she felt it important. Like now.

Her response made Hook flinch, but to the pirate's credit, he took the blow without wavering. "You're right. Just like you were right when you said that I've done terrible things, too. I don't expect you to forgive me, Belle. I just want you to know that I am sorry. Because you deserved better. You've been caught in this vendetta of ours"—Rumplestiltskin raised an eyebrow, but was intrigued when Hook corrected himself immediately—"of mine, for a long time, and I never should have dragged you into it."

Well. That was something even Rumplestiltskin could agree with, at least. Belle gave Hook a slight nod in response, and Rumplestiltskin could hear his wife take a deep breath.

"I accept your apology," she replied calmly. "Though I know I'm not ready to forgive you. And I do mean what I said yesterday."

"I understand," the pirate answered, and then—much to Rumplestiltskin's surprise, Hook turned to face him. "And I owe you an apology as well."

"This should be interesting," he muttered before he could stop himself, and got a glare from his wife in response. Belle might not have liked Hook, and would probably never trust him again, but she obviously didn't want Rumplestiltskin messing things up, either. Fortunately, Hook pretended that he didn't hear that, and continued:

"I never should have broken the truce we made in Neverland. I…I won't say that I can ever forget what you did to Milah. Or for trying to put Emma in that hat. But I also shouldn't have threatened to ruin your marriage. Particularly not now that I know how losing regard of the woman you love feels."

"Indeed you do," Rumplestiltskin replied quietly, remembering the way Emma had glared at Hook. He didn't pity the man at all—Hook had made his bed and he could lie in it, just as Rumplestiltskin had—but he could understand. A little.

"There's something I need to know," Hook said in a rush, getting in before Rumplestiltskin could decide if he was going to even pay lip service to accepting that apology. Particularly since he didn't even mention the fact that he was going to make me kill Belle, he thought as the pirate continued quickly: "Did you curse me to do that? Did you put some kind of compulsion on the dagger to make me do things I never would have done? I keep turning it over in my mind, and nothing makes sense, unless you made it happen."

"How can you even ask that?" Belle demanded as Rumplestiltskin gaped, fury and heartbreak rolling through him in tandem, as he remembered Belle lying bleeding and dying while this bastard laughed. The only thing that tempered his sudden desire to kill the pirate quickly and without mercy was the fact that his grandson was standing right there…and because he knew what had driven Hook to do as he did. In part.

"I put that behind me!" Hook pleaded to Belle, looking desperate. "Being willing to blackmail him—and even to ruin your marriage—isn't the same as wanting you dead! I wasn't going to do that, so someone must have—"

"You think I would ever endanger Belle?" Rumplestiltskin cut him off, stepping forward as his voice dropped almost to a whisper in his rage. "Do you think that I was playing some sort of game when I begged you for her life? I hate to disappoint you, dearie, but when you held that dagger, I had no choice in obeying you. I couldn't fight you any more than I could Zelena while my son died. So, no, I didn't curse you. You did that yourself."

Those words seemed to break Hook; Rumplestiltskin watched him crumble, watched his wild hopes of being able to blame someone else for his actions crushed. Part of him wanted to laugh; the Dark One inside him was willing to wiggle, giggle, and dance with glee, because as painful as the journey here had been, the payoff was quite marvelous. But he was also so tired. Tired of being the villain of every piece. Tired of destroying everything he touched. Tired of wondering if his son would despise him for every choice he made.

"It's just like your hand," Henry filled the silence wisely. "You thought it was cursed, but that was just an excuse."

That seemed to be the final nail in the coffin; Hook deflated, blue eyes clouding over and his face falling. I know how to recognize a desperate soul. Those words echoed in Rumplestiltskin's ears, and they were never truer. There was one standing before him now. Belle had told him that Hook had come to apologize because Emma insisted on it, but the man did seem sincere in at least his apology towards Belle. The bad blood between the pirate and the Dark One would probably never wear thin, but what mattered to Rumplestiltskin was that Hook never went after Belle again. If he had to accept the pirate's apology to get there, he would. But there were other possibilities, too. Because Belle is right. Killing him will burn all the bridges I have with the Charmings, and I can't afford that. This town is too small, unless I want to play the chief villain until someone else gets the dagger and stops me.

"I've said what I needed to say," Hook said heavily. "Thank you for listening." The last bit was directed at Belle, but Rumplestiltskin could not blame him for that. Not as the pirate turned towards the door with a heavy step, his shoulder hunched and posture defeated. Rumplestiltskin let him reach out for the knob before speaking up:

"A moment, Captain," he said, his voice still quiet and dangerous.

Hook froze. Rumplestiltskin could see him thinking, could see him wondering if the truce was going to end here and now and the Dark One was going to take his revenge. The demon inside Rumplestiltskin chortled at the thought, raging victoriously and demanding blood, but he throttled thoughts like that back. His vengeance was going to be more subtle than that, and Hook was going to owe him.

"You aren't entirely mistaken. I didn't curse you, but the dagger does have an effect on whomever wields it," he said bluntly, and Hook wheeled around, blue eyes wide.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that my curse originates within that dagger," Rumplestiltskin clarified. "It exerts a pull on whomever holds the dagger, driving you to fulfill your darkest desires. The dagger can corrupt even the purest of hearts"—he didn't dare look at Belle—"and as for yours? You were easy."

"You…?"

"Not I, dearie," he replied honestly. "If I could control that dagger in another's hands, we'd not be in this situation at all. No, they were your desires, Captain. Otherwise, my curse never could have reached through the dagger and pushed you towards them. A part of you wanted to do exactly what you did…but you might never have given in to those latent desires had you not held the dagger. I'd even go so far as to say you probably would not have done so."

Hook wore the expression of a man who was afraid to hope. "Emma will never believe me if I tell her that," he whispered brokenly.

"Ah, but I am willing to bet that she'll believe me."

"Why would you tell her that?" the pirate demanded, his face stark white. "After what I did?"

"Don't mistake it for kindness," Rumplestiltskin replied, letting a twisted smile cross his face. Yes, he could appease his curse and have his revenge, all without killing this noxious pirate. And perhaps I can show Emma Swan a bit of kindness while I'm at it. Surely, she deserves that, even if this fool never will. There was also another silver lining, one he'd not counted but was nonetheless extremely seductive. "I'm not that sort of man. But I will tell her, and then you're going to owe me."

Hook blanched, looking torn between joy and despair. "Define owing you," he said shortly.

"Oh, I don't have anything particular in mind. But I'm sure it will come up eventually."

"I don't like the sound of that," the pirate growled.

"Do you prefer the idea of losing your lady love?" Rumplestiltskin countered easily, and he could see the way this desperate soul grasped at that straw, reaching out with both metaphorical hands to cling to any hope at all.

"No."

"Well, then. It appears you need my help," he smiled, twirling his hand slightly to emphasize his next point. "Don't worry so, Captain. I can promise you no sorcerer's hats, no fairies sucked into the maw of eternity. I probably won't even ask you to do anything you find morally repulsive. Let's just say that you'll owe me a favor. Or two, depending upon how important Miss Swan is to you."

"She's worth the world to me," Hook grated out.

"Well, then." Turning to open the door for his 'guest', Rumplestiltskin met those brown eyes easily. "There you have it."

He had him. Hook, line, and sinker.

"A word, Miss Swan?" the cultured and slightly accented voice said as Emma strode into the sheriff's station, making her whirl to face Gold.

Her heart leapt into her throat immediately, despite her best efforts to control it. Emma wasn't precisely afraid of Gold, but she was wary of him. She hadn't talked to him alone since he'd set her up to get sucked into the sorcerer's hat, either. Killian had been furious about that, but Emma had found her conversation with Gold that day oddly enlightening; he was a difficult man to understand, yet she thought she was beginning to. Learning what Zelena had done to him had just confirmed that. Gold—Rumplestiltskin, even—was an insecure and frightened man underneath all his power, one who had been damaged one too many times and wasn't sure he could get up again. Had he not been such a difficult man to get to know, Emma might have felt the need to protect him because of that inner fragility, and yet…

"Sure," she replied as casually as she could, hanging her coat on the rack and turning to face him. "What can I do for you?"

"Your dear captain came by my home to apologize. Again," he answered, with that small shrug that told Emma—or tried to tell Emma—that he didn't care. Gold continued lightly: "Belle didn't even slap him this time."

"He came twice?" Emma asked, confused. She'd intentionally stayed away and let Killian either dig his own grave or pull himself out of trouble. She knew he'd spoken to Archie because she'd seen them together, but beyond that, this was Killian's problem. Emma had to distance herself from it. Still, the last comment came as a bit of a surprise. "And Belle slapped him?"

Gold smiled thinly, but Emma thought she saw something gleaming in his eyes. "That she did. According to Henry, he deserved it."

"Oh." What could she say to that? Not much, that was what. So, Emma decided to go with a joke instead, giving herself time to get back on balance by saying dryly: "I take it you're not here to turn yourself in for killing him."

"Certainly not." Gold laughed softly. "What do you take me for, Sheriff? I always keep a truce once made."

Unlike Killian, apparently. Those words hung in the air between them, but Emma resolutely ignored the tsunami of feelings the thought awoke inside her.

"I'm not sure what you are," she answered. "Hell, I'm not sure you always know."

Was that a slight flinch in the unreadable expression? Telling was impossible. But Gold merely shrugged. "Today, I'm the man who is going to help you fix your love life."

"You're what?" That was rich! Emma stared at the slender man suspiciously as he smiled thinly, unable to stop herself from asking: "Why?"

"You might say it's an unfortunate habit after having done the same for your parents for so long." Another shrug, and now his expression was very closed off. "Or, you might say it's my way of making amends to the mother of my grandson for nearly sucking you into that hat."

An apology from Rumplestiltskin? The world might be ending. Either that, or he just didn't like owing people. Henry's been at his house since yesterday afternoon, too, and I wouldn't put this past my budding schemer, she thought. But Emma had no intentions of broaching that subject. Not in this lifetime.

"Is this your way of saying thank you for healing you?" she asked instead of inquiring about just how much her son took after his paternal grandfather.

"In part," he allowed. "Now, I happen to think that your current taste in men is rather…lacking, let's say, but that is your concern," said the father of her first love. "What matters is that it's your choice. And that you make that choice while having all of the relevant information."

"What information is that?" she asked warily, wondering if he was going to feed her some line about Killian. Or maybe he wasn't. Freedom of choice seemed to be a big thing for Gold, now, given what he'd been through. He'd even been meticulous about letting Emma choose if she was going to walk through those doors and be sucked into the hat, even if he hadn't given her all the details. "Call it what it is, dearie," he had said back when they'd gone to get him to face the demon. "If you hold that dagger, I am your slave." Yes, Emma decided. He valued choices these days, even those belonging to others.

"The dagger isn't just a means of controlling me," the Dark One replied evenly, his dark eyes growing cold. "It is the vehicle by which my curse is transferred. Accordingly, some of the curse—particularly here in Storybrooke—will always remain rooted in the dagger. And make no mistake; this is no sleeping curse, no minor bit of evil. It is the darkest and most toxic curse in creation. It can—and will—reach through the dagger to corrupt whomever holds it, driving them towards their darkest and most vile desires.

"Like pushing Killian towards revenge again," she realized out loud. "Making him want to—willing to—kill Belle."

"Indeed." Momentary anger tightened his expression, but Emma saw him force that aside. "Now, don't give him too much credit, dear. The desires were his own—a fact that I, for one, certainly will not forget. But the dagger undoubtedly pushed him further than he intended to go."

"Just like it does you?" Emma asked with a flash of insight.

The only answer was an enigmatic smile, tense and mysterious, but Emma instinctually knew that was true. She had seen Gold grow darker as of late—and that made another realization flash through her mind. "It's worse after you've been controlled, isn't it? You talk about a part of the curse driving people to be darker, but you have to contend with the whole damn thing."

"Indeed I do."

That admission was a little surprising. She'd never really thought of him as someone under a curse, because he looked so normal, but recent events did seem to prove how true that was. Yet that wasn't the point, was it? She'd learned something, maybe even something valuable, but not what she really needed to know. Emma's eyes narrowed. "Why are you telling me this? You never tell people about your curse."

"Of course not. But Zelena's actions wrested many of those secrets into the open, so there's far less reason to prevaricate," he replied, his gaze direct and sharp. "There's also a lesson in this for all of you hero types."

Damn. The man was smart. Emma caught on immediately.

"You're implying that anyone controlling you is at risk of becoming darker, of giving in to those impulses, just because they have the dagger."

"All magic comes at a price," Rumplestiltskin said bluntly. "Why you people think that controlling the Dark One exempts you from that, I'll never know."

The small hint of emotion behind his words made Emma believe Gold spoke the truth. He was not the kind of man who gave anything away for free, particularly details about himself. While Emma wouldn't have put it past Gold to offer false information about himself if he felt it would serve his purposes, she didn't believe he was doing that now. He seemed too uncomfortable to be lying, and besides, there was no way he wanted to help Killian out. Gold might have included Killian in his truce, but that didn't mean Emma thought they'd ever like one another. Though Killian did apparently apologize well enough to make some amends with Belle, she thought to herself. That counted for a lot, particularly since Emma knew Belle was no longer in a forgiving mood.

"I don't know," Emma replied quietly, thinking about how much she still didn't understand about her own magic. She'd heard Gold say that all magic came with a price at least a dozen times, but she still couldn't quite wrap her mind around that. Magic was like a foreign language, utterly alien. Sometimes she could just relax and feel things, but others it was like swimming through ice. "Magic just seems…easier, I guess, when it's someone else doing it."

That earned her a genuine smile, the first she'd ever gotten from Gold. "Indeed they do," he replied, and then his head twitched ever so slightly to the right, as if he was listening to something. "I do believe that your dear Captain is about to return. Do give him my regards."

Without a further word, Gold vanished in a swirl of red smoke, leaving Emma to stand in the station alone. But he'd been right; within a minute, Killian walked in, looking both buoyed and devastated. How one man could manage to wear both expressions at the same time was beyond Emma, but somehow he did. Something in her heart twitched suspiciously as she watched him, but Emma forced herself to take a deep breath. How much of her relationship with Killian Jones was built on her loneliness, on her desire to be with someone who wouldn't leave her? Graham had died. Neal had died. Walsh had never been real, and neither would have been the life she would have built with him. Killian was very real, and very there, and he'd stood by her when others would have run away.

But maybe she'd jumped into this relationship too fast, thinking it would be like every other short-lived love affair she'd ever had. Killian, however, obviously wanted more than that: he wanted commitment, real love, and acceptance. Emma…well, she wasn't sure what she wanted, but she knew now that she wasn't prepared to accept him back without strings attached. She didn't expect him to be some perfect storybook hero—her father pretty much defined that trope, anyway—but she did want him to be a good person. Or, barring that, try to be. And that meant no jumping headfirst into relationship with a man who dealt with his own dark past by trying to bury it.

"Hello, Swan," the pirate said softly, looking at her hesitantly.

"Hi," she said awkwardly, crossing her arms and leaning against the desk to give herself something to do. "How'd it go?"

"As well as can be expected, I think," Killian replied. "They listened, anyway. Though I must admit that I needed the cricket's—Archie's—help, first."

"He was willing to help?" Emma asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear how Killian said it.

"Aye. After I apologized. He deserved my apologies more than most, given how he'd been caught in the crossfire when I first came to Storybrooke. I'd all but forgotten about that."

She gave him a hard look. "I'd hope it's hard to forget torturing someone."

"I was a different man, then," Killian answered quickly, and Emma could see him swallowing hard. "I've tried so hard not to be that man. For you. But I…I forgot that I have to change for myself as well. I did a lot of thinking last night, and I realized that my brother would not be proud of what I've become. And neither am I."

Well. That was more soul-searching than Emma had expected when she'd demanded that he offer up real apologies, and it actually meant something, too. Particularly when combined with the knowledge that the dagger really did corrupt the person holding it. Perhaps we'll all come out of this mess better in the end, she dared to hope, and finally admitted to Killian: "Gold told me about how the dagger could push you."

"Already?" He looked surprised.

"Yeah. He just left."

"Magic." Killian spat the word like it was a curse, and a small, insecure part of Emma wondered briefly if he'd ever see her that way. But that thought wasn't fair to Killian. He'd always supported her magic, even when everyone else worried about her powers going out of control.

"He does do that," Emma replied as casually as she could, aching to take the easy way out and change the subject. But no. They both deserved better than that, so she squared her shoulders. "And um…speaking of, well, everything, I think you and I need to talk about where we go from here."

"Does that mean there still is a 'we' to talk about?" her (former?) boyfriend asked hopefully.

"Even something terrible happening doesn't erase my feelings," she admitted slowly. "But I think we're moving too fast. I don't want to stop seeing you, but I'd like to try being friends for a bit, first. Let you figure out who you want to be, and let me get to know that Killian Jones. Sound all right?"

"I can do that, love," Killian said immediately, and Emma could tell that he wanted to kiss her. Maybe someday she'd step forward again and welcome that kiss, but first they needed to slow down. Until then…Emma would deal with being lonely. She had practice.

Besides, had a wonderful family, parents who loved her unconditionally and a son who was better than any mother deserved, along with a little brother who looked at her like she knew all the answers. Her world wasn't going to end just because a romance went on hold. Besides, perhaps in the end, she and Killian would come out stronger for the battles they'd fought. If Emma really was going to get into a serious relationship with this man, this pirate, she was going to do things right. And that meant getting to know all of him first. She would go into this with her eyes wide open or not at all.

Henry had left shortly after Rumple headed into town to talk to Emma, leaving Belle home alone to fret. It wasn't that she thought anything bad was going to happen to Rumplestiltskin, not when he was in full control of his powers, but she knew he was hiding his weaknesses again. Even though the Charmings and the others had reacted with compassion rather than scorn, Rumple still felt the need to hide his wounds behind magic. Once, Belle would have been annoyed by that, but now she was starting to understand just how fragile her husband was. That, of course, simply meant she was worried rather than irritated, and spent her time pacing through the kitchen, into the parlor, and then back around the living room while she tried to think up ways to help him.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?"

Startled, Belle dropped the dagger. She'd brought it down from their bedroom and been clinging to it for comfort ever since, wondering if Rumplestiltskin would know she had it in her hands or not. That small possibility of a connection helped her keep from panicking; Belle wasn't usually the worrying sort, but it had only been three days since she'd gotten Rumplestiltskin back. In that short time, she'd almost died, he'd almost given his life to protect Henry, and they'd come closer together than ever before. But it had only been three little days, and she was still so afraid that she'd wake up from this dream and find herself alone again.

"Rumple," she gasped in surprise, bending quickly to pick up the dagger. "We left this on the nightstand after we got you in bed. You need to put it away."

Too late, Belle saw the flash of fear in his eyes as she offered him the dagger, though she did also see the fear wash away in a wave of gratitude. Rumplestiltskin accepted the dagger quickly, and then willingly walked into her embrace. She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tightly and allowing her touch to make up for her foolishness. Rumplestiltskin clung to her, obviously careful to keep the dagger away from her back, and they stood in silence for several long moments.

"I love you," he whispered, and Belle thought she felt the slightest of tremors beneath the glamor he wore.

"I love you, too," Belle replied fiercely, knowing they both needed to hear those words. The wound were still too fresh; some might have scabbed over, but the damage remained under the surface. They had hurt one another so deeply, so completely, and although they'd somehow come out the other side intact, that did not mean the hurts were gone. Having an enemy to face together had helped, but they would both have to be willing to fight to keep from falling apart once more. Just thinking of that possibility made her swallow. "Did everything go all right?"

"Emma knows," Rumplestiltskin confirmed with a nod, stepping back to offer Belle a hand to hold. "What she does from here is up to her."

"I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive him, even knowing what I know," Belle admitted quietly.

Fingers squeezed hers gently. "I know I won't," her husband replied, his eyes slightly distant. "But then, I am not such a good person as you."

"You have a good heart, Rumple. Under your curse," she told him as they walked out the back door together, the dagger still gripped tightly in his hand. "Otherwise, you would never have faced the demon to save Henry."

Grimacing, he opened the door to the cellar and then twitched his fingers to turn the light on. "I'm a selfish man, Belle. Sometimes…I need reminding not to be."

"You decided to tell Emma on your own," she reminded him.

"Not for altruistic reasons." She opened her mouth to object as they reached the bottom of the stairs, but Rumplestiltskin cut her off with a shake of his head. "We agreed to be honest, and that means I shouldn't pretend to be something I'm not. I'm not a good man…and I'm not a strong one, either. Not without you."

Belle's chance to reply was forestalled by magic; Rumplestiltskin lifted the hand that held the dagger and a section of the cellar floor lifted. Inside was a box, which Belle bent to retrieve, releasing her husband's hand to do so. As she held the polished wooden box out, Rumplestiltskin placed the dagger inside with his right hand and accepted the box with his left, maintaining control of the dagger—and his freedom. But Belle kept contact with the box, via the lightest touch of her fingertips; that was required for the magic to work, for Belle to be able to retrieve the dagger later, if needed. Meanwhile, Rumplestiltskin sealed the box, his hands glowing gold and bright. Now, no one could open that box save the two of them, and Belle could only do so of her own free will. No one could force her; the spells would detect that and keep the box closed.

More importantly, Belle could not open the box with malice in her heart. That had been her own addition to the spell, one she'd insisted upon the first time they'd hidden the dagger together. Being able to get to the dagger in an emergency was a good idea, but Belle did not want her husband to ever fear she would enslave him. She was touched by the display of trust in letting her have access to the weapon that owned his soul, but she didn't ever want him to be afraid of trusting her. She had done enough damage on that front, and she would never put him through that again.

Slowly, Rumplestiltskin bent and put the box back into the hole in the floor. Once he straightened, he gestured and the floor knitted itself back together, looking perfectly unmarred. There was a spell there, also, and only Belle knew the right place to touch so that the floor would slide away. But there were literally dozens of layers of other protections to keep others out, to keep Rumplestiltskin free. Together, they turned for the stairs again, and Belle could see the tension dissipate slightly once her husband saw daylight once more. Rumplestiltskin still did his magic in the cellar, mostly out of sheer stubbornness, but she knew that the time he'd spent locked in a cage by Zelena still bothered him. He'd never told her as much, but then, he didn't have to.

"You haven't asked why I pulled up a glamor," he said softly as they walked back into the house.

"I was hoping you'd tell me yourself," Belle answered, her voice equally quiet. She had been wondering, though. "I don't really understand it. Most everyone already saw the worst of it, and none of them are going to think less of you because of it."

"Aren't they?" Rumplestiltskin countered as they walked into the kitchen, and Belle stopped to grab his hands in her own.

"Of course not."

"There you go, thinking the best of everyone again," he replied, and if his voice went a little impish and high-pitched, at least his tone was fond. Still, Belle had to frown a little.

"There you go, thinking the worst of everyone," she retorted.

"It's not pessimism when it's common sense," Rumplestiltskin answered, and if there hadn't been such a catch in his voice, Belle would have scoffed. However, she'd learned quite a lot about her husband's terrible self-esteem over the last few days (and it was lower than she'd ever imagined, which said quite a bit), so she waited for him to form his thoughts into words, squeezing his hands gently. Finally, Rumplestiltskin continued: "People prey on weaknesses, Belle. Even the 'good' people take advantage of those they deem weaker than themselves. You've never been truly weak. It's not something you'd ever have noticed firsthand."

"I'm not always as strong as you think I am," Belle reminded him around the lump in her throat, thinking of her own mistakes, her own failures. I lost my way, she had said, and she'd been right. But she'd said it for all the wrong reasons, punished herself for loving someone instead of finding a way to make things right. They'd both been guilty, but Belle hadn't lived up to her own ideal that day, either, even though she'd been trying so hard to be a hero and had forgotten how to be a wife.

"I'm not talking about momentary weakness, sweetheart. I'm talking about being someone who can't fight back, someone who has no options and no choices. That's never been you." His smile was sad. "You always find a way to fight back, even when it breaks your heart."

"You're speaking from experience," she realized quietly, watching the centuries of pain welling up in his eyes.

"Yeah." Her husband grimaced, and then nodded down at his right leg. "This—my old limp—was a weakness, not just a brand of my cowardice. No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, it meant I would always be weak."

"Rumple, it wasn't—"

"Not here, no. But here I had power," he cut her off. "Before? Back when I was the poor spinner, the town coward? Then it was an invitation, something for those with power to exploit. I'm not even talking about the physical disability, or the way thieves knew they could rob me because I couldn't chase them, or bullies knew they could beat me when I couldn't fight back. The invitation came because they knew I would do anything to protect Bae. They knew that I'd hurt myself to come home to him, and that all they had to do was threaten him, and I would cave. Because I couldn't fight them."

Belle still knew very little about his pre-Dark One days, and when he spoke of them, he never told her of the bleak hopelessness of that time in his life, not the way he was right now. She could only listen and stare, heartbroken for him and realizing what Rumplestiltskin truly was. He was the Dark One, yes. Cursed with a demon inside, doomed to fight a constant and losing battle for control of his own soul. Belle had always known he was different because Rumplestiltskin was a Dark One who could love, yet his curse was only the outer layer of his problems. He loved desperately and completely, but always with the belief that he would never be good enough. That insecurity had not come from his curse, she finally understood. That was the poor and frightened spinner shining through.

And she loved him even more for it.

"One of the first things I promised myself when I became the Dark One was that I would never be weak again," he said quietly, emotion making his voice shake. "The scars they saw from Zelena—they're only scars. A physical reminder of what happened. But what I don't want them seeing is the ones that run deeper. I don't want them wondering how weak I am inside."

Hugging him again, Belle said softly: "That was terribly hard for you to say, wasn't it?"

"You wanted me to be honest," Rumplestiltskin whispered in the tone of a voice of a man who wondered when she was going to leave.

"I'm grateful for it," she replied, drawing back a little to look him in the eyes. "I'm not leaving you, Rumple. Never again. I love you. All of you. Even the darkest parts—and especially the man you are under the curse, the one who hurts so much and tries so hard to hide it."

There were tears in her husband's eyes as he leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. "I love you, too," Rumplestiltskin breathed.

"I promised forever, remember?" Belle said as lightly as she could, ignoring the way her own voice threatened to catch.

"It's forever, dearie," he'd warned her, so many years ago. Neither of them had meant it this way. Neither had ever so much as imagined the love, the heartbreak, the loss, and the home they would find with one another. But here they were. Forever.

"So you did," her husband replied, and kissed her.

Closing her eyes, Belle leaned into his embrace. This was home. This was what she'd fought for, what he'd dreamed of, and this was what they had together. Their relationship wasn't perfect, and they would probably always have to fight to stay together. Beauty was not supposed to love the Beast, and Rumplestiltskin was a difficult man to love. But their love was worth fighting for, and even in the worst moments to come, she would remember this kiss, would remember his heartbreaking honesty. She loved Rumplestiltskin. Belle would never give up on him again.

FINIS.

The Real Author's Note: Thank you so much to everyone who voted on Hook's fate! As you can see, he and Emma have ended on a hopeful note, though they still have much work to do. Also, here's a huge thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through this story, which I'd originally intended to be a three part-er and has obviously ended up much larger than that. It's been a blast, and I'm glad to have finished before 4B starts.

Thank you again to all of you lovely readers, and please do drop me a line to let me know what you think!