Chapter Text
After Belle leaves the docks, she carries the enchantment back to Rumpel's shop, clutching the delicate scroll in her hand as she walks through the center of town, careful not to bend it or crush it.
Things are calm once more, no terrified townspeople running wildly through the streets, no vines snaking their way through the windows and doorways of all the buildings.
The town looks totally normal, and Belle forces herself not to think about all the ways it’s not normal – all the ways it might never be normal again – because she needs to get to the shop so she can perform the magic Rumpel has entrusted to her, to keep Storybrooke safe now that all of its protectors have gone.
The cloaking spell seems simple enough, and she’s able to find the necessary ingredients in the cabinet behind Rumpel’s workbench without too much trouble, lining up the odd assortment of tiny potion-filled glass bottles all in a row.
She’s never done magic before, but it goes smoothly as far as she can tell, just a quick mixture of the potion followed by a short chant, and then a bright ripple of purple light sparks and fades, and that’s it. It’s kind of anticlimactic, to tell you the truth.
But once it’s done, Belle feels a little better, a little more secure, knowing that no one else can get into town, that they’ve got some measure of protection against whoever Greg and Tamara might be working with, at least for the time being.
And yet, for the first time since the original curse was broken, she knows she's not safe, not really. Knows that if something were to happen to her, there'd be no one to protect her. That for the first time, in this world or any other, she's really, truly on her own. It's an odd feeling, sort of freeing and terrifying all at once.
It’s strange being in Rumpel’s shop without him there, and Belle really notices for the first time how dark it is there, dingy and dusty and cluttered, and it makes her suddenly, terribly sad to think of him here everyday for twenty-eight years, waiting all alone, nothing but rage and a small glimmer hope to keep him going.
Her chipped cup is still sitting on the table, and Belle traces her finger along the polished gold rim, stopping when her fingertip hits the jagged edge of the porcelain, worrying at it until her skin is scraped raw.
It’s dark by the time she finally leaves, slipping the teacup into the pocket of her coat and locking the shop up behind her.
*
Her apartment over the library is too quiet, the silence horrible and oppressive. She used to like it, back before she lost her memory. She spent all of her days with Rumpel anyway, so it was nice to go home to her own place, somewhere she could just be by herself for a little while each night.
But now, it just seems kind of lonely and sad, and she only stays long enough to pack a couple of bags, clothes and her toothbrush and a few of her favorite books. She keeps the chipped cup in her pocket, tucked up close next to her hip.
Before she leaves, she finds one of Rumpel’s jackets hung on the coat rack next to the door. It’s a black wool overcoat, the fabric thick and luxurious, and she runs her fingers over the sleeve before pulling it down and draping it over her shoulders.
It smells like him, like magic and straw, and a sob catches in her throat, tears pricking behind her eyes.
They’ll see each other again, she reminds herself, wiping her eyes before walking out of the apartment, making sure the door is locked tight behind her.
*
Rumpelstiltskin’s house seems bigger without him there, quiet and empty, but somehow less lonely than her own tiny apartment.
She hangs his jacket up on one of the hooks next to the front door, and that makes her feel better, somehow, like it’ll be there for him when he needs it again.
The flowers in the foyer are still fairly fresh, and the house smells faintly of roses.
In the kitchen, there are a couple of dirty dishes stacked neatly in the sink, and Belle goes about washing them, keeping herself busy, trying not to think too much about anything that’s happened over the past couple of weeks, trying to pretend like things are normal.
The cup is still in her pocket, its weight slight but comforting against her side, and she wonders if this is what it felt like for him, this desperate need to keep something that reminds her that what they had was real, that it really happened.
There’s a decanter of scotch on the bar in the living room, and she pours a healthy dollop into her cup, drinking the shot in one swallow. It burns as it slides down her throat, but the taste is strangely comforting – smoky and bitter and warm – and she pours herself another shot, bringing the cup over to the couch with her, sipping it slowly as she stares around the big, empty room.
By the time she’s finished with her second drink, it's past midnight and she’s feeling better, relaxed and a little sleepy, everything around her seeming a little hazy and unreal, like maybe this is all a dream.
She slides the cup back in her pocket and grabs her bags, lugging them up the stairs with her, going slow since she’s a little unsteady on her feet.
Once she’s upstairs, she heads right for the bedroom, feeling suddenly exhausted. She walks around to her side of the bed, setting the cup next to the lamp on the nightstand, and then tosses her bags in the corner by the window.
She brought pajamas of course, but she doesn’t bother with them, instead going to the closet and searching through the dozens of dress shirts hanging neatly inside.
It takes her a little while to find the one she’s looking for – a rich, dark blue, with a delicate black pattern overlaid on it – and she strips out of her ridiculous black minidress, pulling the shirt over her shoulders, relishing in the way the smooth fabric slides against her skin.
It reaches almost down to her knees and the cuffs go past her fingers, but she just rolls up the sleeves before she slides between the covers, pulling the sheets up to her chin and breathing in the light, familiar scents that surround her, suddenly missing Rumpel so much she thinks her heart might break.
*
The next day dawns bright and warm, and Belle wakes up with a plan. She refuses to give up on him, not after everything they've been through, not after they've just found each other again. So no matter what Rumpelstiltskin might think, he’s not lost forever.
The first order of business, Belle knows, is the beans.
She finds Leroy and Anton at Granny’s, the two of them sitting at the counter and sipping cups of coffee, both of them looking a little dazed and bleary-eyed.
She takes a deep breath and marches up to them. “Okay,” she says, sliding onto the stool next to Leroy. “What do we have?”
“What?” Leroy says, looking at her like she’s crazy.
“Bean-wise, I mean,” Belle says. “What do we have?”
“We’ve got a burned field, sister,” Leroy grumbles, leaning back as Ruby comes over to freshen up his coffee. “And no more beans.”
Belle glances over at Anton, hoping for better news. But he looks resigned as he pushes his own cup towards Ruby.
“Yeah, sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “We’ve got nothing. The beans are gone and all the plants are burned. If we had a plant, I’d at least have something to work with, but...” he shrugs helplessly.
“Oh,” Belle says, worrying at her lower lip. She was pretty much counting on this. She knows how hard Rumpel had to work to open a portal without the beans, and there’s no way she’s going to cast a curse or wait another thirty years just to see him again.
“So where did Greg and Tamara get their beans?” Ruby asks, setting the coffee pot on the counter and looking between the Dwarves.
Belle smiles at Ruby gratefully as Leroy and Anton look at each other, eyebrows raised.
“Huh,” Anton finally says, brow furrowed as he takes a sip of his coffee. “Maybe they took them before they burned the plants?”
“Regina burned the plants,” Leroy says with a sneer. “Not those two morons.”
“So she could have kept one of them, right?” Belle asks, feeling suddenly excited, like maybe her plan really might work. “So she could grow her own beans?”
“That does sound like Regina,” Leroy agrees with a dark look.
“Well,” Belle says, slapping the counter decisively. “Let’s go find out.”
*
Luckily, Regina’s office is unlocked, the alarm disabled, and it doesn’t take them long to see the small beanstalk sitting in a glass case near the mayor’s desk.
It’s limp and barren, but still green, and Anton grins when he sees it, his whole face lighting up.
“I can work with this,” he says, reaching out and picking up the plant, being incredibly gentle as he cradles the beanstalk to his chest. “It’ll take a little while, but I’ll get you some beans.”
“Good.” Belle smiles, relief and hope flooding through her body. She’s going to do it – she’s going to find Rumpel, and she’s going to bring him back. “Then let’s get to work.”
*
It turns out that there’s a lot to do in town, and not just in terms of opening the portal. Apparently when the mayor, the entire police department, and the most powerful man in town up and vanish, people get a little nervous, not sure what the rules are anymore.
Somehow, Belle gets put in charge, everyone coming to her when they need help. At first she tries to protest, but apparently as the Dark One's girlfriend and the one who enacted the cloaking spell, half of Storybrooke sees her as some kind of default authority figure.
It’s a little more responsibility than she’s used to, but after a little while, she realizes she has a knack for it, delegating the jobs that need done around town and mediating any disputes that pop up between the townspeople.
She’s also intent on opening the library – she was so close to being ready before everything with Hook went down – so she spends most of her days in there, organizing the stacks and getting updates from the Dwarves about the beans and researching everything she can about portals and realm jumping, as she acts as a kind of temporary mayor, trying to get Storybrooke up and running and back to normal again.
*
It doesn’t take Belle very long to realize that, even with the beans, she’s going to need to find someone who has more knowledge of magic than just the ability to read a spell off a piece of parchment if she’s going to see Rumpel again.
Which is how she finds herself at the convent, begging the Mother Superior help her track the Jolly Roger.
“There is no way to know where they could have landed,” the Blue Fairy tells her once Belle has filled her in on exactly what happened and what she needs. “You can’t track across realms.”
Belle frowns, remembering what Rumpel said at the docks, how he told Emma and the others that he’d be able to lead them to Henry. “But that’s not true, right?”
The Blue Fairy blinks. “I’m sorry, my dear, but it is,” she says with a saccharine smile. “Fairies don’t lie.”
“But everyone also thought it was true that no one’s memories could be restored after they crossed the line," Belle reminds her. "But then you made a potion.”
“Yes,” she says, “but that –”
“And Rumpel said he could track Henry through the portal,” Belle says, interrupting her before she gets a chance to say anything else. “So there must be a way.”
The Fairy’s expression turns abruptly hard. “I’ll see what I can do,” she says in that same overly sweet voice, but Belle can sense something beneath her tone, something cold and dangerous. “But I fear the Dark One may be lost forever.”
“Right,” Belle says, wondering exactly how much Mother Superior might be hiding. “Well, if you find anything, please let me know.”
“Of course, my dear,” she says, still with that unsettling smile. "You'll be the first person I call."
As Belle walks away, she feels the Blue Fairy watching her, her gaze hard at Belle’s back.