Toph was doing inventory when the door to the Rabbit Hole opened.

"We're closed!" he called without looking up from his binder.

"Oh, oops! We're very sorry. When could we return?"

The binder fell out of his hands.

Toph knew that voice. It had an accent which, as someone had once told him, you wouldn't soon forget. And he hadn't. How could he? It was her. The woman. Belle? Lacey? Toph didn't know. But he knew what she could do to the most powerful man in worlds unnumbered.

As Belle, as nothing more than memory, she had leveled him, stripping his mask and leaving a broken man to weep over his scotch, the whispered words "Goodbye, Belle" at his lips.

As not Belle—as Lacey in the blue halter top, pool cue sliding through small hands—she had shattered him, cut his landlines and left him hurtling through space.

And as Lacey, she had brought out his darkness, turned him reckless and dangerous. Toph could well remember the desperation, the agony and rage that fueled each strike of the man's golden-tipped cane against the jukebox. He could well remember the man's defeated hunch. Her laughter.

Toph could well remember every time the beast had cried. And all because of this woman.

The last time—with the jukebox—had been nearly two months ago. And now Mr. Gold had returned, wearing his customary tailored suit, black gloves and black coat, with the gleam of gold flashing against the darkness...and with the woman at his side.

"Mr. Gold!" Toph said, hastily brushing his hands off and rounding the counter. "And, um…" he paused, looking to his companion and wondering who she would be today. There was something in her modest taupe skirt, chocolate sweater, tasteful makeup, and—above all else—the kindness in her face that told Toph he was not speaking with the brazen Lacey. Something in the light of her blue eyes told him he was meeting Belle for the first time, the woman who could bring the infamous Dark One to tears, and Toph felt a strange shiver in his blood.

"Belle French," she said, stepping forward to shake his hand and giving him the warmest smile he'd ever seen under the roof of the Rabbit Hole. "I believe we've met before under—" she paused "—different circumstances."

Toph caught Mr. Gold's gaze slide to the broken jukebox in the corner. Without the spare money to fix or replace an antique like that, Toph had let it gather dust. In the meantime, he had been using his stereo from home hooked up to Dr. Whale's mp3 player. The doctor had surprisingly good taste in music and had lent it to him after drunkenly gripping about Toph's poor collection for an hour. That had led to an even more drunkenly argument between Dr. Whale and Leroy over the absence of Celine Dion in the mix. The two had both ended up behind bars for an evening over that one.

But even though Toph had found a working solution that pleased everyone but Leroy, he missed the scratchy honesty of the jukebox. He missed the timelessness of its sound, nostalgia in metal form. He'd spent many long, wistful hours searching online for a quality jukebox to replace the broken machine, but not once had it ever occurred to him to bring Mr. Gold up on charges of property damage and he wasn't about to bring it up now.

"Last time I was here, I was…"

"Different?" Toph supplied when Belle hesitated, and she giggled, running a hand through her brown hair.

"That's one way of putting it," she said. "I came to apologize for my behavior that night and—" she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tidy roll of bills "—pay you for the drinks we had that night. After, well, after what happened, I left without paying, and I feel just awful about it. Especially because this one—" she softly bumped herself against Mr. Gold in a ridiculously cute and entirely non-Dark-One way "—has such expensive taste. I do hope you understand."

No, Toph did not understand. He didn't think he ever would. Yes, he knew that it had been her cursed personality. He knew that Belle was the "real" version and Lacey the cursed. He knew how all that worked, and he'd even caught snatches of gossip about how she'd been his maid and they'd fallen in love in that other world now so far distant. He knew all that. But he didn't understand. It was like looking at the last page of a lengthy book, seeing the happy ending but missing all the chapters before that.

"Thank you," Toph said, and Belle beamed when he accepted the money. He slipped it into his apron, calculating that he was now several hundred dollars closer to a new jukebox.

"It was the least I could do," she said, blue eyes bright and Aussie accent smooth to his ears. Mr. Gold had been right—it was indeed an accent you wouldn't soon forget. But Toph thought that it was the pure sincerity about her that would leave him last.

There was a sudden, awkward silence between the three of them until Belle gently nudged Mr. Gold and Toph caught a whispered "Rumple."

Mr. Gold cleared his throat. "I, too, apologize," he said, as though rehearsed. His hands were fixed in front of him on the golden handle of his black cane, the picture of defiance in opposition to the apology coming from his mouth.

When he said nothing more, there was a second nudge. He clenched his jaw.

"And my man, Dove, will pick up the jukebox in an hour. I'll be fixing it in my shop. By hand."

Not with magic.

That was the unspoken message. Judging by the wistfulness in Mr. Gold's voice, Toph guessed that, for whatever reason, that had been Belle's decision, not his. Regardless, Toph was momentarily struck dumb. He'd have his nostalgia and scratchy honesty back. Leroy would have Celine back, and Dr. Whale his mp3 player.

Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" would sing again.

"I really appreciate that, Mr. Gold," Toph said.

And then, with warmest smiles and pleasantries from Belle and the curtest of nods from Mr. Gold, the two left the Rabbit Hole.

For a moment, Toph watched them from the front window, her arm wrapped tightly around his, their whispered words lost to distance. When Belle tripped over a raised section in the cement, slipping out of her right shoe, Mr. Gold knelt down (Toph caught the flicker of pain in the man's eyes as he did so) and, with the utmost care, helped Belle back into it. His hands lingered at her ankle, and Toph forced himself to look away when he caught the two exchange small smiles.

And here was yet another face of Storybrooke's most feared that Toph had had the privilege to witness: the face of a man in love. A gentle man, not a Dark One. Belle's "Rumple," not the world's notorious Rumpelstiltskin.

It was a private image that would replay in Toph's mind for the next three weeks until they returned.

It was a Thursday when Toph let himself into the back entrance of the Rabbit Hole with two hours to go before the pub opened. He deposited his phone, wallet, and keys at his desk, and as he made his way up to the front, he caught the sound of voices. Frowning, he peered around the corner and froze, just out of sight from the couple standing in front of a newly mended jukebox.

"Good as new," Mr. Gold was saying, a splash of pride in his voice as he brushed a hand over the polished surface of the machine.

"And without a lick of magic," Belle said, arms crossed and nodding with satisfaction. There was a smile playing over her face like light over water.

"Aye, without a lick."

"Think we should test it?" she asked, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a quarter.

Mr. Gold smirked as he took the quarter from her and slipped it in the slot. The jukebox whirred to life.

"Maybe a good romantic serenade to break her in? Some Sinatra? Or that one lady Leroy's always choosing? Or—" Mr. Gold suddenly paused, his hand frozen in front of the display as one of the selections caught his eye. All good humor abruptly vanished, and Toph caught Belle's frown when she sensed Mr. Gold's darkening mood.

"Rum?" Belle peered over his shoulder to see where Mr. Gold's finger had paused.

Toph couldn't see from where he was, but he had an idea of which song Mr. Gold had stopped at. It could only be the song, the one that had started it all, the one that brought the human out of the beast.

"I…I think I want to listen to it with you, Belle, but I…I can't, I just—"

Mr. Gold broke off.

Without a word, Belle picked up his limp fingers and, with them, punched in the number.

"Maybe together," she whispered as the record fell into place and lonely guitar notes filled the room.

Toph had been right.

I've heard there was a secret chord—

Belle slipped her hand under Mr. Gold's arms, gently nudging him away from the jukebox.

—that David played, and it pleased the Lord—

Mr. Gold's hair had fallen over his face, hiding his eyes, as Belle stepped into his arms and started rocking the two of them back and forth in a slow, unmeasured dance. Toph watched, knowing he should leave but completely unable, as he saw Mr. Gold cling to the woman in his arms like one might an angel, hoping her wings might bear the both of them aloft out of hell and into endless, spotless light…

—but you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift—the baffled king composing Hallelujah.

"Why this song?" Belle asked during the first string of Hallelujah's, pulling back just enough to see his face.

Your faith was strong but you needed proof—

"It was playing the first time I came to the Rabbit Hole. And—" he weighed his next words carefully "—it felt like I felt."

—I used to live alone before I knew you—

Belle's hands tightened. "Lonely?"

Love is not a victory march: it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah!

"More like…broken," he whispered.

It's not a cry you can hear at night; it's not somebody who has seen the light; it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah!

"Without you, I was broken." His voice was even lower, rougher. "Oh Belle," he moaned, face buried in her neck. "That night, when the song came on and I smashed the jukebox, I—" he swallowed "—I thought I had lost you again and I couldn't…I just couldn't…"

"Shhh," Belle whispered, brushing her fingers through his hair. "I'm here now. I'm here."

"I was so lost without you."

"Rum, look at me." She waited until he brought his face up then she gave him a smile, part sad, part forgiving, part patiently waiting. "I'm here now," she repeated. There were tears in both of their eyes. "And as long as you want me, I'm not leaving."

Mr. Gold's body shuddered, and he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "I will never, never let you go again Belle. I couldn't."

Belle dipped her head forward and caught Mr. Gold's lips in a slow, sweet kiss. When they broke apart, she whispered, "Then it's forever."

And as Beauty cried with the Beast this time, their tears mixing in long streaks down their cheeks, Toph silently turned away, the final mournful words calling out behind him.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

[btw – I DON'T OWN OUAT OR ITS CHARACTERS. btw#2 – Thanks to everyone for their support and patience as I've taken my leisurely time on this story. One day I might return to Toph, and if someone sends a prompt that stirs the Muse accordingly, I might take it. But, as is, I believe my one-shot-turned-three-part-er has finally come to an end. If only I could say the same for Master Spinner… Thanks again to all!]