#when it showed Cruella with fire in her eyes it scared little me so bad I ran crying from the theater

[kelyon]

Golden Cuffs Chapter 27: The Queens

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

Belle meets Rumple’s most dangerous guests

Read on AO3

Belle saw the two latecomers from her place by the cabinet. The women stayed in the doors to the dining room as though they were posing for a portrait. The arch of the doorway framed them as they stood side by side, hands joined at the level of their heads in a show of unity. 

They were queens, Belle knew it instinctively. If, somehow, they were not queens of earthly kingdoms, then at least these two women were equal to any royalty in terms of power and wealth and beauty. From across the room, Belle could feel the confidence wafting off of them, a self-possession that could only have come from lifetimes of being obeyed without question. 

Belle could only imagine what they did to people who did not obey without question.

The women were beautiful, for all that they were fearsome as well. Both of them were robed in black gowns that sparkled with dark jewels. The blonde woman was tall and sleek, her clothes accented with amethysts, purple ribbons adorning the horns of her headdress. 

The other woman had black hair, done up into an elaborate style and decorated with garnets and rubies as red as blood. Her gown was wide and stately, the black velvet studded with onyx and trimmed with red silk. The silver and diamond necklace at her throat was almost large enough to distract from the cleavage pushing up from her bodice.

Individually, each woman was the envy of any goddess. But together, with their powers united, they gave the impression of being completely unstoppable. 

None of the other guests moved. Belle saw Jafar staring at the queens, not moving even as his hand was halfway to his mouth with an olive in his fingers. The only sound in the dining room was the playing of the enchanted instruments. 

They had certainly made an entrance. 

Finally, Rumpesltskin hopped off the table where he had been sitting to converse with Jefferson’s wife. He sauntered over to them, arms wide in greeting.      

“Late again, Regina? Haven’t you heard that punctuality is the virtue of princes?”

The dark-haired woman broke her pose to laugh. It was a rich, throaty sound that carried across the room. “Good thing I’m not a prince then.”

“I think so,” the blonde woman smirked to Regina as though they were sharing a secret joke. 

Rumple turned to the blonde woman. “So, Maleficent, it seems you truly are the Mistress of All Evil, hmm?”

The blonde woman giggled and kissed Regina’s knuckles, their fingers still entwined. Unlike Regina’s disdainful mockery, Maleficent’s laugh seemed to be borne of genuine delight. “There is nothing else I’d rather be.”

One by one, the other guests turned their attention away from the queens. Leona Ogg took a platter of breaded oysters from the table and brought them over to Jefferson and Cruella. Jafar finally managed to eat his olive and wiped his mouth with a napkin before slinking towards  the queens. Ursula rolled her eyes at him and went to pull Cruella away from Jefferson. Jafar’s parrot dunked its head into a neglected drink. All over the room, conversations began again.

As the noise increased, Belle didn’t hear Rumpelstiltskin give her an order. But the cuffs pulled at her wrists anyway, making her open the magical cupboard and pull out the silver tray for drinks.

Hurrying to keep up with the cuffs, Belle nearly tipped over in her shoes before she reached Rumple, Regina and Maleficent. She managed to keep hold of the tray and didn’t spill a drop. The cuffs controlled her hands, they wouldn’t let her embarrass herself unless Rumple wanted her to. But it still wasn’t easy to keep her composure when she was teetering like a deer on ice. 

Regina looked at her struggle with one eyebrow raised. “Clumsy thing, isn’t she?”

I’m not clumsy, it’s just these shoes, Belle wanted to say. But the ruby and gold collar Rumple had given her made the words come out as nothing more than, “Excuse me.”

She had never thought it possible to hate words until she had been forced to say the same ones over and over while meaning something completely different.

Belle offered the tray to the queens. Up close, they were even more magnificent. Both their faces were painted expertly with cosmetics. The red in Regina’s cheeks was subtle, especially compared to her kohl-rimmed eyes and crimson painted lips. Maleficent had her eyes shadowed in lavender, which brought out their supernatural green. Though captivated, Belle lowered her gaze. It was rude to stare.

 Regina took a silver goblet full of dark red wine. Maleficent drank a black liquid from a purple flower, a lilly. As far as Belle could tell, it was a living flower and not just a cleverly-made glass. What was that drink? What manner of creature was Maleficent?   

“That will be all, dearie,” Rumple said briskly when she was done. “You may run along.”

Belle blinked. Dearie? He hadn’t called her that in months. What did it mean that he was using that term now? She darted a glance at him. His face revealed nothing, which was revealing enough.

“Don’t make her go, Rumple!” Maleficent pouted. Belle’s stomach dropped to hear this woman use her nickname for him.  “Your thing is so pretty! I want to see more of her.”

 “Much more,” Regina grinned over her goblet. 

Jafar had been lurking near them, and now he took this opportunity to break into the conversation. “May I add my voice to that request? The girl is absolutely--”

“Stand down, snake.” Maleficent cut him off. “The dragons are talking.” Her green eyes brightened as she commanded him, flaring up like a fire.

Jafar straightened up and opened his mouth, but then seemed to reconsider. He gave the queens a shallow bow and walked away from them all. 

That was the second time that one of Rumple’s friends had gotten in between Belle and Jafar, but this time it was no comfort. At the beginning of the party, Jefferson had placed himself as an obstacle to Jafar’s lechery, leaving Belle to go about her business. This time, it seemed as though Maleficent and Regina were scaring him away so they could keep Belle to themselves. They were nothing more than wolves snapping at a dog to keep it away from their prey.

Belle was suddenly aware of her bare stomach, of the gold-colored wax that covered only the smallest part of her breasts, of the threads that hung in arcs from her nipples and swung tantalizingly when she walked. She held the empty tray in flat front of her, as through it would be able to hide her body.

But Rumple was here, Belle reminded herself. As subtly as she could, she moved herself closer to him. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her at the party. He had promised it. And he told her he would end it all in a moment, if she needed to. All she had to do was kiss his boots.

She took a breath. She would be alright. Rumple was here, and everything was fine. 

Regina took another swallow from her goblet. “So what’s your name, pretty one? Margie?” she smirked. “Verna?”

“Are you always so curious about the help, Regina?” Rumple’s voice was clipped. “Surely a queen has more interesting matters to dwell on.”

 Maleficent answered. “Rumple, there is nothing more interesting than coming to this place and seeing a girl dressed like that. Can you blame us for asking questions?”

“And it’s obvious what kind of help she is to you,” Regina sneered. “The only mystery is what the little toy’s name is.”

Rumple didn’t move as the two women talked. Even his hands didn’t perform their usual gestures, but held still in front of him. Belle saw it as the posture of a man bound at the wrists, forced to walk to an unpleasant destination. 

“Her name is Belle,” he said after a moment. His voice was soft, but not gentle. He sounded hoarse and raspy to Belle’s ears, as though he were in pain. 

“Belle,” Regina said the word slowly, savoring it on her tongue. “How appropriate.”

“She is beautiful,” Maleficent agreed.

“Thank you,” Belle said firmly. For the first time that night, her voice was strong and steady. She scowled at these women, looking them in the eyes and no longer cowering behind her tray.

 Whatever fear she had felt in the presence of these evil queens wasn’t there anymore. It had been replaced by a sharp resentment that would turn to rage with just a little more provocation. They were hurting Rumple, and that was enough to make Belle hate them forever.

Regina laughed and twisted her hand to press the backs of her knuckles against Belle’s cheek. “Oh, and she has a little spirit, too. How fun! It’s always so invigorating to have a victim fight back, don’t you think?”  

Rumple didn’t answer the queen but addressed Belle without looking at her. “Jefferson is waving an empty cup around, dearie. Go and give him another drink.”

“Right away,” she said through clenched teeth. As the cuffs pulled her to the cabinet, Belle glared at them over her shoulder. How could Rumple send her away? How could she leave him alone with those evil women? 

As she approached Jefferson, she saw that he had, in fact, poured the contents of his teacup into a nearby vase. Leona had taken the easier way to quickly empty her drink, and was wiping drops of liquor off her chin as Belle approached. 

“Are you alright?” Jefferson asked her. “Regina and her friend were getting awfully personal over there.”

“Who do they think they are?” Leona asked, her head bobbing with tipsy indignation. “Highfalutin nobs!” 

“I’ve met Queen Regina before.” Jefferson said. His flat tone told Belle all she needed to know about how pleasant an encounter that had been. “She’s pretty good at that magic thing. And, if rumors are correct, that getting-away-with-murder thing.”

Leona scoffed. “Royalty, magic, or whatever, she’d look better with a black eye!” 

“Oh, that’s a bad idea.” Hurriedly, Jefferson directed his wife over to the cabinet. “Let’s see if Belle can get this thing to switch you over to beer instead of scumble, is that alright?”

Leona took a moment to consider his offer. With her eyes closed, she nodded. “Yeah, yes. Better slow down before I start acting too much like my mother.”

“Your mother is a fearless woman, but even she would know not to make herself a target to people like that. Beer will help you keep a level head, my love. Belle, can you help us out?”

Belle didn’t know how to tell them that the magic cabinet was entirely beyond her control. All she ever did was put in an empty tray and pull out a full one. It produced whatever was needed.

But she would rather spend the rest of the evening exploring the workings of a magical box with Jefferson and Leona than spend one more second in the presence of people like Jafar and the queens. So when Belle pulled out a tray with another teacup and a tankard of frothy beer it was, honestly, a bit of a disappointment. 

“Yeah, that’s the stuff,” Jefferson said as he took the tankard and handed it to his wife. “Thanks to Belle, you might be able to avoid a hangover tomorrow morning.”

Leona grinned and took a swig. “But don’t think this will stop me from having a good time tonight, my man.”

“Leo, my love, I know a party without everyone getting drunk enough to sing The Hedgehog Song is no party at all. I would never deny you that.” He kissed her on her round cheek and Leona flushed pink as she giggled.

Belle felt a dull ache in her chest. It was so hard to see this couple together, to see them love each other and care for each other, even in front of other people. Jefferson and Leona’s marriage was a sharp reminder of what Belle would never have.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly as she moved to leave them.

“Hey, make sure everyone has a full drink, would you?” Jefferson said. “I want to make a toast.”

“Right away,” Belle nodded. 

This time, the tray held a glass for every one of Rumple’s guests. Belle looked around the dining room and devised a strategy.  

She went to Jafar first. It was always best to do unpleasant tasks as soon as possible, and this way she would have a legitimate excuse to run away if she needed to.

“Ah!” he said at her approach. He was standing in front of the fireplace, accompanied by no one but his parrot. “The precious pearl returns!”

Belle forced herself to smile and held out the tray. Perhaps he would simply take his small cup of steaming dark liquid and let her go. But instead, he kept talking.

“Do you know about your pearl, my dear?�� He leaned over her, his beady eyes peering into the gap between the golden belt and her skin. “Have you ever touched that most precious, most lovely part of yourself? That sweet, round bud that produces such exquisite pleasure?”

He reached out to her, and his hand seemed to be its own animal--some long, limp, multi-armed abomination. She stepped away from it, but he kept talking. “Have you ever had a man touch you there? A real man, mind you, not the creature that has enslaved you.”

Still smiling, Belle felt bile rise up into her throat. Carefully, she balanced the tray on one hand and took Jafar’s cup with the other. She set the cup on the mantle, took the tray in both hands, and backed away slowly. 

“Excuse me,” she said. She kept the smile on her face even as she wanted to claw off her own skin.

Delivering drinks to Ursula and Cruella was a delight in comparison. Cruella gave her a dazzling smile when she saw her approach.

“There’s my gin! My nectar of the gods!” She took her long-stemmed glass and sipped slowly of the clear liquid. Sighing, she let her fur coat slink back off her shoulders as she stretched her head back and closed her eyes. “Pure ambrosia!”

Belle was so caught up in watching Cruella’s ecstatic enjoyment of her beverage that she almost didn’t notice the tentacle that slithered up to take a seashell-covered goblet off the tray. Ursula caught her gaze and winked at her. 

“When my beloved enjoys something, she enjoys it with her whole being.”

Cruella opened her eyes and gazed longingly at the other woman. “That’s how it is when I enjoy you, my darling.”

“I know.” Ursula wrapped her tentacles around Cruella’s skinny body and brought her in for a kiss. Even with her mouth occupied, Cruella squealed with delight.

“Excuse me,” Belle said, turning her back on yet another loving couple.

She couldn’t help but wonder how well the occupants of this room represented the population at large. Was the whole world like this? Was every kingdom in every land filled with either people who loved each other and were happy together, or else were so twisted by the lack of love that they sought power and cruelty instead? 

Belle knew that wasn’t true. She knew the vastness of human experience, knew that there were other destinies besides wanting a Jefferson and fearing a Jafar. There were marriages that had no love, and loves that had no marriage. It was fine not to have anyone love her. She would never have loved Gaston, but she could have found happiness in life as his wife. What rule made it that romantic love was the only goal worth striving for? It was silly, she told herself. She didn’t need it.

All she needed was Rumple. 

He was still entertaining the queens. It seemed they were talking politics, or possibly murder. Belle knew how closely related those two things could be.

As Belle approached, Maleficent was speaking: “It would be the easiest thing in the world to transfer my sleeping curse onto another object.”

“So you can finally return that spindle you borrowed from me ninety-eight years ago?” Rumple quipped. He seemed in better spirits than he had been before. Or perhaps now it was just easier for him to lie. 

Playfully, Maleficent tapped him on the shoulder. “Ninety-seven years, Rumple! I should know, I visit my princess every year on her birthday. But isn’t it just perfect that Regina and I will vanquish our enemies with the exact same spell?”

“And you still have the curse I gave you for safekeeping?” He neatly avoided answering her question.

“The one only a desperate fool would ever dare use? Yes, it’s safe and sound.”

“Good,” Rumple said, his eyes flickering to Regina.

Belle stepped forward. “Excuse me?” 

The queens took the same drinks she’d given them before. For Rumple, the cabinet had changed the goblet of gold-colored wine for a smaller cup of dark liquor. 

With the tray empty, Belle stood by Rumple’s side and waited for more orders. It would be better to be away from the queens, but it would be worse to be away from him.

Regina opened her red-painted mouth, but before she could speak a loud clanging noise filled the hall.

Jefferson stood on the table, in the midst of all the food, and banged two empty pewter platters together to get everyone’s attention. They all turned to look at him.

“Hello, everyone!” he said, his voice lively and animated. “I won’t take too much of your time, I just want to propose a toast!”

“I accept your proposal!” Leona called out from the crowd, laughing at her own joke. 

“You already did, Leo,” Jefferson chuckled and then returned to business. He raised his teacup and saucer in one hand. “Firstly, and most rhymingly, a toast to our host!” He gestured to Rumple and grandly doffed his hat. “Dark One, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you for this invitation to your home and this opportunity for all of us to be together--both the devilish,” he stretched out his hand to indicate his audience, “and the devilishly handsome.” Jefferson put his hat over his heart and bowed his head in theatrical modesty.

Belle wasn’t surprised to hear one whistle from the crowd at the mention of Jefferson’s good looks. But she was surprised by the second one. Looking around, Belle saw Cruella deVil take two fingers out of her mouth and smile. 

The company clapped and drank enthusiastically. Jefferson remained on the table.

“And before I do us all a favor and stop talking--”

“Too late!”

“Thank you, Leo. As long as I have your attention, I would be severely remiss if I did not toast my wife.” He held up his cup, replacing showmanship for sincerity. “Leona Ogg, you’ve made me the happiest man alive. In every world and every realm, I am yours until death.”

Jefferson hopped off the table and his wife ran up to kiss him. As they kissed, he wrapped his arms around her and dipped her down while everyone clapped.

“To young love!” Cruella cried out, and then took another drink.

“To enduring fidelity!” Ursula offered.

“To the increase of our power!” Jafar lifted his cup.

“To happiness for all of us!” Maleficent joined in.

“May we all get what we deserve!” Regina said.

Next to her, Belle heard Rumpelstiltskin mutter: “Finally, something I can drink to.” He took a swig of his amber-colored drink, bitterness writ plainly across his face.

Belle tried to reach out to him, but he brushed past her to go sit in his armchair by the fireplace.

Through all of this, Jefferson and Leona were still kissing. When they finally released each other, Leona laughed and stumbled backwards. Jefferson looked no less intoxicated.

“Ooo-wee!” Leona exclaimed. “That just makes me want to start singin’! Anybody else?” She looked over to Cruella and Ursual. “C’mon, we already taught you the words! We can even start simple, with ‘A Wizard’s Staff Has a Knob on the End.’ That’s a fun one!”

After a moment of reluctance and subsequent cajoling, half the party conveined around the enchanted instruments to sing a rousing chorus about the famed length, hardness, and knob-on-the-endness of the proverbial wizard’s staff.

For a moment, Belle watched them all. It didn’t look like anyone would need another drink for a little while. Slowly, she began to step backwards, hoping no one would notice her leaving them all to go to Rumple. He wasn’t enjoying the party any more than she was, and perhaps they could give each other some small comfort to tide them over until it was time for everyone else to leave.

“Where are you going?” A woman’s voice purred behind her. 

Despite her best intentions of bravery, Belle jumped at Regina’s words. Her heart pounded as she turned around and answered, “Excuse me.” 

“No, I do not excuse you,” Regina said imperiously. “Stay here and let’s chat.”

Maleficent slinked up behind Belle. The two women edged her closer to the wall, blocking off any easy escape route. Rumple was turned away from her. Everyone else--even Jafar, even the parrot--was over by the instruments, distracted by their own singing. 

Belle swallowed. She understood, now, why Rumple had put her in this collar. Any chat they would pressure her into would be extremely limited. Mustering all her courage, Belle gave the queens an artificial smile. “Right away.”

“Is your name really Belle?” Regina started. “Rumple doesn’t usually lie outright, but you might be a special exception.”

“Excuse me,” Belle shrugged, raising her arms in a show of helplessness. 

She could have nodded. With someone else, might have. But there was a satisfaction in having no choice but to obfuscate and frustrate these women. 

Regina’s expression soured. “What kind of answer is that?”

Belle shrugged again. “Thank you?”

“Let me try,” Maleficent bent down to look Belle in the eye. Her voice was bright and cloyingly sweet. “Is something wrong with you, dear? Are you stupid? Is that why you can’t talk?”

Belle made her smile just as sweet as Maleficent’s, her tone just as patronizing. “Right away, thank you.”

“No, this is magic,” Regina said darkly. She continued her interrogation. “Is it a spell that binds you?” She squinted at Belle’s face. “Does Rumple have you enchanted to only say certain words?”

Belle looked the queen steadily in the eye, her voice flat and uninterested. She was done playing this game. “Thank you, excuse me.”

Pushing herself off the wall, Belle moved to go back to the cabinet, but Regina grabbed her arm. Her sharp fingernails, painted in black lacquer, almost looked like Rumple’s as they dug into Belle’s arm.

“Who do you think you are?” Regina hissed. “You think you can say no to us about anything?”  

Belle stared into the queen’s dark eyes. When she spoke, she made sure to enunciate every syllable. “Ex. Cuse. Me.” 

She tried to pull away, but Regina’s grip was strong.

“Is it the collar?” She didn’t wait for Belle to answer. “Is that the source of his power over you?” Regina pulled Belle closer and examined her neck. Belle felt her hot breath against her skin. “It’s the ruby,” she announced. “I can feel the magic coming off it.” Her expression turned even darker. “What happens if we remove it, hmm?” She grinned and raised her hand to Belle’s neck. “Let’s find out.”

Regina fiddled with the clasp as Maleficent stood by, watching out for anything that would interrupt them. Immobilized by panic, Belle was more surprised than anyone when her hand rose to slap Regina away. 

It wasn’t a hard slap. The impact made so little noise that the singers didn’t even pause. Belle wasn’t even sure what part of Regina her hand had it. All she knew was that it worked. In her surprise, Regina let go of Belle’s arm and Belle was able to stagger back away from them. 

Both women wore the same expression of shock and incredulity that Belle knew was on her face. She had been trying to be brave, but that was just reckless. How had she done it? How had she dared assault someone who was both royalty and a guest? Even Belle didn’t understand it until she looked at her still-open hand and saw her cuff shining gold in the candlelight.

Of course. Rumple had ordered her not to let anyone take off the collar but him. It had been so long ago, she had forgotten. But the cuffs hadn’t. Her vow to obey Rumpelstiltskin had protected her. 

When Belle looked at Regina, the queen’s face was contorted in rage. But then, so suddenly it was like a magic trick, she laughed. 

“A fighter,” she smirked. “I knew it. And it’s clear now how Rumple controls you. That’s useful information.” She patted her cheek. “Thank you, Belle.”

Belle’s stomach dropped. She had failed. She couldn’t say what test she had just taken, but it was obvious that she had done something wrong. As the queens sauntered past her, Belle looked around for Rumpelstiltskin.

He wasn’t in his chair anymore. But when Belle looked over to the crowd of singers, there he was. He was on the fringes of the circle. It seemed Leona was trying to draw him in closer.

“Come join us,” she invited. “Come and sing, it’s fun.”

He shook his head, raising a deferring hand. “The Dark One doesn’t sing, my dear. Not even for someone as lovely as you.”

Leona screwed her mouth in an expression of determined thought. “Maybe not tonight, then,” she conceded. “But I will get you to sing for me. Even if it’s at my funeral.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s face was almost somber as he answered. “No, Leona Ogg. I will sing to you before your funeral.”

Oblivious to his tone, Leona smiled at his words. “I’ll take it!”

Cruella clapped her hands together loudly. “Enough talking! It’s time for my song! Now, everybody! Cruella de Vil, Cruella de Vil, if she doesn’t scare you no evil thing will!”      

With a subtle roll of the eyes, Rumple moved away from the crowd. Belle saw him wander over to the table. He strolled the length of it, waving his hand over any empty platter to fill it with food again. Belle went to him.

“Yes, dearie?” he spoke to her, but didn’t look at her. He put his hands behind his back, formal and stilted. He was still calling her dearie. Belle understood why, but it hurt to hear it. 

“Excuse me,” she muttered, hanging her head a little. How could she tell him about what had happened? She nodded over to where Regina and Maleficent stood with the rest of the party, trying to give him a hint of the trouble she’d gotten into.

“Do you have anything to say that is actually worth my time, dearie?”

Belle swallowed, and dug her nails into her palms. She couldn’t do this. She could bear insults and offenses from everyone else in the room, but not from him. The point of this party was to show that she was his. Why was he now acting like he didn’t want her around him?

“Excuse me,” she backed away from him, blinking back tears.

She stood still as he moved past her. Then Rumple stopped in front of an empty platter. 

“I know what happened,” he said in a low voice. Too low for anyone else to hear. “With the queens. But you were perfect, Belle. You did everything I wanted you to.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. Her shoulders relaxed. She felt some of the tension leave her body.

“You can still end this whenever you want to. But until you do, we must play our parts.”

The empty tray sufficiently restocked with tiny bowls of live baby eels, Rumple moved on.

Belle did the same, going over to the cabinet. It looked like singing had made everyone thirsty.  

The evening wore on without further incident, and Belle was glad when people started saying good-bye. She didn’t dare stand beside Rumple as the guests filed out, but stayed a little behind and to the side, so she could see and hear everything. 

Jafar was the first to leave. “It is a long journey back to my kingdom, but I do hope you will allow me to return the favor of your gracious hospitality.”

Rumple’s smile was thin-lipped. “I don’t know if the sultan would welcome me into his palace.”

At the reminder of his position, of the fact that he was only a grand vizier and not a ruler himself, Jafar’s face fell. “But the sultan will not live forever.”

Rumple patted the other man on the back as he walked him out. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Jafar. Even the mighty cobra can be taken down by a street rat.”

The parrot shook out its feathers. “Aw-awk! Riff-raff!”

Before Jafar could answer, Cruella de Vil practically pushed him out the door. “Darling!” She spoke to Rumple at a frantic pace, gesturing wildly with the hand that held her long pipe. “I’ve had the most marvellous time! This party will be the only thing I talk about for weeks! You even served aspic! I am absolutely floored! I enjoyed every single moment of tonight!” 

Rumple’s expression was slightly more amused than it had been with Jafar. “I’m glad you had a good time,” he said in a deadpan voice.

“But you take care of yourself! And your pretty pet! Remember,” Cruella’s voice lowered, “the leash has two ends.”

Ursula was right behind her lover, a tentacle wrapped loosely around her arm. “Hold on to what you have,” she told Rumple. “Once you get a good woman, never let her stray too far.”

“Ursula, it’s been a pleasure, as always,” he said. 

“Ta-ta, darling!” Cruella called as they went back to their white metal monster. 

Belle heard Ursula asking if Cruella was fit to drive, but didn’t hear the other woman’s answer.  

 Jefferson and Leona were the next to leave. Swaying and leaning on her husband’s arm, Leona was still humming her hedgehog song as they approached.

“We have to do this again,” Jefferson’s eyes were bright as he spoke to Rumple. 

“P’raps with not so many people next time,” Leona said saucily. “Just the four of us, maybe?” She caught Belle’s eye and winked at her.

Rumple smiled indulgently. “Perhaps you two could come for dinner some evening.”

“And breakfast,” Leona nodded in agreement. 

Jefferson laughed and kissed his wife’s tousled hair. He stepped away from her for just a moment to offer his arms to Rumple. The two men embraced, just as they had when Jefferson arrived. “We will take your company in whatever form you wish to give it, Dark One.”

Rumple licked his lips, but didn’t look Jefferson in the eye when they separated. “Thank you, my boy. We, ah, we may yet call on you--and your lovely wife.”

Jefferson nodded and took off his hat. “We look forward to hearing from you--from you and Belle.” He made a point to smile at her before he set his hat to spinning. “It was great meeting you! Hopefully, next time you’ll be more talkative!”

Belle waved to them with a genuine smile. For all it hurt her to see them love each other, meeting Jefferson and Leona had been the best part of the whole night.

Magic swirled around the hat as it spun, taking the hat into itself and creating a hole like a whirlpool in a stream. Holding hands, Jefferson and Leona jumped into the copper-colored storm and vanished from sight. The magic faded and there was no trace of the hat or the couple.

Rumple let out a deep breath. “And the only ones left are the ones who were late to begin with.” He shook his head and went back into the dining room.

“Excuse me?” Belle reached out to him, even though he was already up the stairs and she was on the ground below him. It was the first time they had been alone since the party had begun. She didn’t want him to go back to those witches, not until she had spent a moment with just him.

He stopped, turned, and looked at her. His eyes looked dark and weary. He hadn’t liked this party any more than she had. “I’ll get rid of them,” he told her. “And then it’s time for bed.”

Belle nodded and tapped at the collar. “Right away?”

His face softened. “Of course, my sweet. I want to hear your real words again.”  

“Thank you.”

He went on ahead and Belle made sure to stay a few paces behind him. If the queens weren’t to know the truth, it was best that she not give it away by standing as close to Rumple as she usually did. 

Regina and Maleficent had made themselves quite comfortable in the dining room. Regina meandered around, examining Rumple’s collections of artefacts. Maleficent lounged in one chair and had her feet propped up on another, munching lazily on a bowl of purple flowers.

“Well, ladies, all bad things must come to an end. Shall I show you the door?”

“Oh, we’re not done yet, Rumple,” Regina said. “We have business to discuss with you.”

“Then I suggest you contact me during business hours. This was a social event and not the time to--”

“We wanted to make a deal!” Maleficent pouted. “But I suppose if it’s better that we come back some other time, we could all enjoy a nice long visit.”

Belle heard the threat in those words, the implicit promise to come to the castle on their own, without an invitation or announcement. Certainly, once they arrived they would make excuses to stay the whole day and possibly overnight. 

It angered Belle to realize how powerful a threat it was, how it could destroy any day in her routine with Rumpelstiltskin. What if they came while he was spinning? What if they came when he was out? What if they came when Rumple and Belle were together? Or if they were in the middle of a game, while Belle was naked and vulnerable and her mind was clouded over?     

No, Belle knew. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. As loathsome as their presence had been for a few hours, the thought of having them surprise her in her own home and stay for a full day was even worse. 

Rumple seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Very well,” he said briskly. “But we must discuss it outside. My maid needs to start cleaning up. And then it will be farewell.”

Regina just snorted and strolled out the door with Maleficent behind her. “If that girl is a maid, then so am I.”

The two women giggled and Rumple closed the doors. For the first time that night, Belle was in a room with no one else and no demands being made of her. She threw her head back and groaned. There were no words to her groaning, so her thoughts didn’t come out as a forced courtesies. Even without words, her voice could give volume to her emotions. She could fill the room with the sound of her fatigue and her weariness and her deep, unrelenting desire to never speak to anyone beside Rumpelstiltskin again. 

Perhaps, on some day far in the future, Belle would look back on this party with fondness. It was, after all, the night she had met Leona and Jefferson. And Rumple had said that she had done well, that he was proud of her. That was the most important part. Belle looked forward to having the unsavory aspects of the party fade from her memory and leave behind nothing but pleasantness. 

But for now, all Belle had was exhaustion and pain. She had learned to walk in her shoes, but had not learned how to keep her feet from hurting. Her arms ached from carrying the tray. Her face hurt from smiling so many false smiles. Her upper back itched from all the scabbing wounds that decorated her up to the shoulders. Belle didn’t know the reason for the throbbing ache in her lower back, but it was there just the same. 

The table was littered with half-eaten food and neglected cups. Using the last of her strength, Belle cleared away a space just large enough for her to lie on. She hoisted herself up and lay on her back, her feet dangling in the air. 

Even having that was a relief. To keep her full weight off of her tired feet made her feel so much better. She pressed her back into the hard wood of the table and rubbed her face until she felt like a human being and not some kind of automaton.  

Slowly, Belle moved her hands down from her face to her neck. The wretched collar was still fastened tightly around her throat. She was no more capable of removing it than Regina had been. The cuffs pushed her hands away from her collar and down to her chest. They brushed against the golden threads that hung from both her nipples and a shot of desire hit Belle like a bolt of lightning. 

Oh.

She hadn’t expected this, but it made perfect sense. She had spent the whole evening being stimulated and teased by the wax on her nipples. She had spent the whole evening on edge, going from guest to guest and trying to evade lewd comments and unwelcome touches. That was a state of arousal, even if it was an unpleasant one. In her time as Rumpelstiltskin’s thing, her body had learned to pair pain with pleasure, and she had been in pain all evening.

Belle’s hands slid down her stomach, to the gap between her golden belt and her soaking flesh.

Of course she was wet. She had spent the whole evening in Rumpelstiltskin’s presence but unable to be with him. She had spent the whole evening wanting him, and now her body was ready to have him.

She touched herself, her fingers exploring her body as she waited for Rumple to come back. He would come back soon, she knew. He would dispatch those hateful women and rush to be by Belle’s side. He would open the doors and see her like this, laid out for him like a feast.

With her other hand, Belle pushed aside her long skirt, her pale legs a stark contrast to the red fabric. She spread her legs on the table edge, making herself wide and welcoming. Would he even speak to her before he entered her? Before he thrust himself into her with a force so powerful it would make her scream? She could imagine the weight of him on top of her, the solid hardness of his cock. She could almost hear the rhythmic tinkle of the glasses and plates clinking against each other as he pounded her into the table over and over again. 

Belle tried to draw out her pleasure by thinking of a different scenario. Perhaps he would be too weary to fuck her the usual way. Perhaps he would push her hand away from her cunt and bend over to pleasure her with his mouth. Perhaps it would take him a while to be ready. Perhaps it would arouse him to make her come two or three times. Perhaps after that he would pull her off the table and set her on her knees to suck his cock.

Jerking, Belle could feel her orgasm bubbling to the surface, her body a pot ready to boil over. She rubbed herself faster, focusing on her pleasure spot, using her other hand to lightly pluck at the threads between her breasts. Perhaps she could get him to take her in a bed, to fuck her on a matress and pillows, both of them naked and sweating as their bodies joined. 

Belle’s pulse quickened. She was going to come and it was going to be a good one. Rumple would praise her as he fucked her cunt. He would tell her how perfect she was, how beautiful, how brave, how clever. He would bury his hands in her hair and pull her close to him and kiss her as he--

“What are you doing?” a woman’s voice scolded her.

Her hand jumped from her cunt and Belle sat up abruptly. Regina was still here. She had come back into the dining room, with Maleficent. Rumple trailed behind them, walking like a man condemned.  

“Excuse me?” Belle tried to cover herself, but Maleficent just laughed. 

“Oh, don’t stop on our accounts! You were putting on such a good show!”

Belle felt her whole body flush red at the thought of these witches seeing any part of her. “Excuse me?” she said again. “Right away!”

Regina rolled her eyes and spoke to Rumple. “Tell me you won’t make her wear that to my palace.”

“And let you have a magic item as well as my servant?” Rumple’s voice was bright, artificially bright. He tutted. “I never do two-for-the-price-of one!” 

Belle looked at him. Her voice was small as she asked, “Excuse me?”

“Look at her!” Regina laughed. “She’s so confused!”

Belle kept her eyes on Rumple, she saw his jaw tighten. He hated this. Why was he letting this happen if he hated it?

With one finger on Belle’s chin, Maleficent forced her to look away from Rumple and focus on the women in front of her. Maleficent was cheerful as she explained what was going on, speaking to Belle as though she were a simpleton. “We want you. So we’re going to take you. For three days.” She wiggled three fingers in front of Belle for emphasis. Her voice lowered as she went back to Regina. “One day for each hole.”

“Excuse me!” It was as much of a cry for help as Belle was able to make. She pushed herself off the table and ran to Rumple. He would stop them. He had to stop them from taking her!

But when she collapsed at his feet and kissed his boots, he only stepped away from her. 

“Stand up,” he ordered. “Stop making a scene.”

The cuffs pulled her up but could not stop the tears running down her face. This wasn’t right. He had said if she kissed his boots it would all be over.

“The party’s done, dearie.” He answered the question she couldn’t ask. “I made a deal with the queens, and I never break a deal.” He gave her a look that Belle was too distraught to interpret. 

“You’re sure we can’t persuade you to extend her stay?” Regina gave Rumple a smile that she probably thought was charming. “Seven days is so much more satisfying than three.”

 “You expect me to go seven days without my toy?” He shook his head. “And you didn’t even offer to send a replacement.”

“I would, if I had anyone in my service who deserves you.”

“I could say the same thing about you, Regina. I mean, the opportunity to pleasure a queen is such a unique honor.”

“Almost as much as getting into bed with the Dark One,” Regina smirked. “I’m sure your Belle knows the sorts of things people like us find amusing.”

Belle hugged her arms over her chest and looked down at the ground like a child. She tried to convince herself this was a nightmare she could wake up from. 

“And you are going to return her?” Rumple said. “I would hate to have to come all the way to your kingdom and fetch her after three days. It would be so… inconvenient.” He punctuated the warning with an impish giggle.

“Yes, of course,” Maleficent said. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Rumple? We keep our promises to each other.”

“But we must be going,” Regina said. “Are you going to prepare her for travel or shall I?”

Rumple didn’t say anything, merely waved his hands. In an instant, Belle was bundled up in more clothes than she had ever worn at one time, even on the coldest days at home. She was encased in wool and fur--from a sheepskin hat to a pair of sturdy boots. She didn’t feel the collar anymore.

“Please,” Belle whimpered. Her first words in ages and she was begging him. “Please don’t make me go with them, Rum--”

“Don’t say my name!” He turned on her, fearsome and terrible. “The name of the Dark One has power and is not to be called on for fripperies! I am your master, and you will do as I say, dearie!” 

He panted, after shouting at her. Silent tears ran down Belle’s cheeks and landed on a woolen scarf.

When he spoke again, his voice was calmer. “Obey me in this: Go with the queens, give them everything they want to take from you, and come back after three days.”

Through layers of protective garments, Belle felt the cuffs grow warm at his order. She breathed. Her breath trembled, but she could breathe. 

He was looking at her. It seemed his eyes were trying to undo his cruel words. Belle tried her best to hold his gaze, to look at him and trust him, even when everything felt like it was going wrong.

“Well, come along,” Regina said, grabbing Belle by the arm. 

 They went out into the courtyard, where Maleficent had continued on ahead. As Belle and Regina went down the stairs to the avenue, a poisonous green glow surrounded the other woman. By the magical light, Belle could see Maleficent’s body change. She grew taller than the outside wall. The long sleeves of her gown seemed to take on the shape of wings. Her headdress became true horns. Her neck grew long and thick, but her smile remained and soon the green glow poured from her mouth in the unmistakable flame of dragonfire.

[ryik-the-writer]

Chapter 21 - The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 3

[A03]

Chapter 1: Pan meets a Wendy Chapter 2: Scars (Felix’s Story) Chapter 3: Day One Chapter 4: Revenge and Fireflies Chapter 5: Brighter than Stars Chapter 6: filler: The Tigress Chapter 7: Operation Spotless! Chapter 8: Operation Spotless: Reporters Down Chapter 9: A Dance with the Devil Chapter 10: filler: Felix and the Pancake Chapter 11: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 1 Chapter 12: The Girl with Blue Eyes pt. 2 Chapter 13: The Girl With Blue Eyes: Underground Chapter 14. Recovery Chapter 14.2 Recovery some more Chapter 15: Trapped Chapter 16: Filth Chapter 17: Fairydust pt. 1 Chapter 18: Fairydust pt. 2 Chapter 19: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 1 Chapter 20: The Mystery of the Dead Nun pt. 2

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I began writing Papers and Sleuthers just after OUAT 3B aired.

I was already frustrated after the show severely underused the Peter Pan characters and ultimately threw them away. I knew I wanted to write something, but I couldn’t grasp just what.

Then one day, I was dozing in the back seat of my aunt’s car and saw a missing poster for a dalmatian, and my humble little fic was born.

By season 4, I was starting college and was hit with a terrifying apprehension for the future to the point where I considered abandoning writing altogether.

While I did put a pin in several stories, I never could turn away from P&S. I don’t really know why; maybe because I was starving for more fics with these characters; maybe I was hiding from my problems in the ones of these characters.

I conceived Revenge and Fireflies while I was studying for a French exam; popped out the end of Operation: Spotless during my first Christmas break; cried through Wendy’s fight with Edward and her father in Reporters Down, and after a year and a half long hiatus, I finally got to write Pan’s more human side when he reconnected with Belle in The Girl with Blue Eyes

Now, my 23, freshly graduated from college, and once again I’m that scared writer-wanna-be who must beg their selves to function.

P&S has been with me through a portion of my life when I was ecstatic with the idea of the future and loathed it at the same time.

I can’t end it—I just can’t. It’s in my bones. A shitty fic conceived from a shitty show. But I want to keep it going for as long as possible. As long as I keep going. Even if it takes years.

Anyway, here’s Papers and Sleuthers.

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Yesterday

Wendy was furious with him, and Pan was enjoying the shit out of it.

Toying with Wendy’s sanity was becoming a much-enjoyed habit for Pan, he concluded. He kept her disgusted with him enough that she kept her distance—kept her self safe from the filth of him—but just close enough that he could revel in her misery.

He had to think of his self, didn’t he?

But his reveling was cut short by the ringing of his cell phone.

Duty calls. Probably Glass calling to bitch about putting an unapproved story in the morning paper.

Just another day in Storybrooke.

But when he saw the name on the screen, he felt a twinge of panic.

Just a twinge—Peter Pan was always collected—except when he wasn’t.

Wendy began yelling at him again as he answered, and between her yelling and the person on the phone, he couldn’t make out a word anyone was saying.

Thus he threw off his bedcovers to send Wendy into a temporary state of shock, smothering a bark of laughter at her pink face. From the corner of his eye he could see August—who for some damn reason had helped himself to his coffee AND favorite mug.

“Alright, repeat that.” Pan asserted with a slight smirk.

“Pan this is bad this is so bad oh my god this is so bad!”

“Astrid, slow down.” Pan demanded over the phone.

“Pan, Mother Superior…she’s…she’s dead!”

Pan felt the coldness in his blood slowly freeze into hard crystals.

“What? When?”

“This morning!” Astrid sobbed. “Pan…I…I’m so scared!”

Pan managed not to turn to Wendy, though he desperately wanted to.

He needed to see her eyes.

This whole thing could be pure coincidence. The holy terror could have finally met her end and died in her sleep…but there were no such things as coincidences, not in Storybrooke and not mere hours after Pan had run her in the dirt using Wendy’s name.

“Damn…”

“Pan!”

“Yeah, sorry for swearing, whatever. I’ll be there soon.” He hung up before he could get her response.

Had he stayed on the line just a second longer, he could have caught the tail-end of her worry, and subsequently, her confession.

“It was an accident Pan! I was only trying to get her to admit what she did! I just want my freedom! I didn’t mean for anything to happen to her! Pan? Pan…”

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 It wasn’t until the icy wind of the cold November night hit Wendy in the face that the exact caliber of what they were about to do sank in:

They were going after Mother Superior’s probable killer. A girl—according to Pan—was as much of a victim in all this as Wendy was, as any of the nuns from the convent were.

Victim or not, Pan was willing to scapegoat Astrid…for her.

Wendy’s stomach twisted in guilt. No, no matter if she was guilty or not, she couldn’t allow that poor girl to go to jail, not without all the facts.

Her mind started racing for someway to just…slow everything down. What would they do if they found her? Would they call the police? Or would Pan set the entire town on fire just to help her get away?

She peaked up from Pan’s shoulder and could just catch the corner of his eye. What was he going to do? And what was she going to do to stop him?

They were around the corner from the convent when Pan came to a screaming halt, cursing ‘shit!’ as Wendy’s nails dug into his abs to prevent from getting thrown into the asphalt.

“The hell. Pan!” she hissed. He shushed her instantly, pulling her from the moped and ducking behind a bush. Wendy pushed the hair from her face and saw the pulsing of police lights just at the entrance of the convent.

“Fuck!” Pan hissed. “Double fucking hell!”

“Do they have her?” Wendy whispered.

“No, doesn’t look like it.” Pan responded. “Graham must have figured it out! That dirty bloodhound!”

Wendy shook her head, trying to calculate their next move—should they need one at all.

If Astrid were caught and confessed, Wendy’s name would be cleared.

But there was something else going on, something Pan was once again not letting her in on.

Whoever this ‘Astrid’ was, she meant enough to Pan that he was running after her, and Wendy sensed it was not for the sole purpose of clearing Wendy’s name.

He said he helped her before, and however he did so may have caused their predicament with the dead head nun.

The police must have thought so as well if they were at the convent.

They watched as Deputy Nolan exited the front door, saying something to Graham that caused him to send a command into his walkie-talkie.

Pan nudged her arm. “We have to go.”

“Where?” she whispered as she helped him roll his moped a quiet distance away.

“If Astrid’s not at the convent, there’s one other place she might be, but we need to get there before Graham and his pack do.”

Wendy nodded and jumped on the back of the moped as Pan hurriedly started it up, holding on for dear life as he drove them into uncertainty.

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 She hadn’t seen the docks yet, Wendy realized as Pan eased into the eerily quiet area.

It was strange, after a month and a half of pure trauma, she thought she saw all Storybrooke had to offer. Yet there was this massive and important part of the town she’d just looked over.

A part that apparently was harboring a possible killer.

Just on the edge of a very rickety boardwalk was a small boat with a barely visible light flickering inside, the only light on the entire dock.

“Why are we here?” Wendy whispered, lowering the flashlight on her cellphone to its lowest setting.

“In that boat is a man named Leroy Miner,” Pan explained. “He’s been Astrid’s secret lover for about four years now.”

Wendy blinked at the reveal and awaited its significance to their plight.

“She planned to elope with him several years ago, but Mother Superior stopped them, and incited a dash of blackmail with Leroy to add to the pot.”

Wendy nodded, releasing a knowing breath. It was a motive for murder, but why would Astrid wait so long to go through with it? She hardly seemed like a cold-blooded killer. Did it simply take her several years of being pushed to her limit, of not being with the man she loved, to finally set her off?

Or maybe she hadn’t been the one to be set off at all?

“Do you think this Leroy man had something to do with Mother Superior’s murder?” Wendy inquired. She could just see the outline of Pan’s face in the dark.

“I plan to find out,” Pan growled, rushing up to the boat. Wendy scurried after him.

“It could be dangerous! What if this Leroy man has a gun?”

Pan scoffed. “When have either one of us ever been intimidated by a gun?”

A brief flash of Cruella’s black and white hair struck Wendy’s mind and she went very quiet.

Unperturbed, Pan stepped onto the boat’s step, ready to bang on the door and demand Astrid’s whereabouts.

“Get the fuck away from that door Pan!”

Wendy shot around, shining her light on a squinting Tink.

“Watch it!” she hollered, blinking in irritation.

Pan jumped off the stepped. “The hell are you doing here!” he hissed, monitoring his tone in case he alerted the occupants of the boat.

She was going to ruin everything.

“I could ask you the same thing you little shit!” Tink spat, her own flashlight shaking in her hands. “But I believe I already know the answer to that.” She glanced around him to glare at Wendy. “Trying to get part two of your little fuckfest?”

Wendy swallowed a large lump in her throat. She knew Tink’s anger was misguided, but it still hurt to be so rawly despised by the truest friend she had in town.

Oddly, it was her worst enemy who stepped in front of her, shielding her from the ex-nun’s fire.

“You’re going to feel like a total jackass when this is all over,” Pan stated. “But for now I need you to shut the hell up an leave before you blow this whole thing.”

“Oh kiss a rattle snake Pan! I’ve been doing our own investigation. And I know what you’re about to do!”

“You mean trying to save a technically innocent woman from going to jail?”

“From framing her in the first place!” Tink yelled. “You’re trying to pin this on her and I won’t allow it!”

“Pin it?” Pan scoffed. “I know good and damn well she had something to do with it!”

“You’re here to stir up trouble like you always do! You’re going to mess her up just like you did Wendy!”

Wendy winced, and from the corner of her eye she could see lights of homes flickering on in the distance.

“Perhaps we should move this somewhere else?” Wendy called out in concern.

“Why would we do that! This is perfect! I’m so glad we can have this conversation out in the fucking open!” Pan howled, the sound loud and violent enough to wake half of Storybrooke.

And the occupants of Leory’s boat.

Through the curtained windows Wendy could see a fluster of movement and just the faintest clatter of glass. The string of movement traveled to the door until it slung open, revealing a stalky man in a wifebeater holding a baseball bat.

“You better have one hell of a reason to—” the man lowered his bat when he saw Pan glaring stolidly at him, a wide-eyed Wendy ducking just behind him.

“Pan?” he barked.

“Leroy.” Pan spat.

“Tink?”

“Not now Leroy!” Tink yelled.

“Oh for God’s sake!” he exclaimed.

“Leroy!” came a squeaky, much more feminine voice behind him.

The commotion stopped, and Wendy peeked behind Pan’s shoulder as Leroy muttered a hasty apology to the person, catching a glimpse of the itchy fabric the nuns had to wear as skirts.

“Astrid?” Tink inquired hopefully.

A small sound came from behind Leroy and in a moment the young murder suspect revealed herself.

The two nuns eyed each other for a moment, each taking in their distinctions. Astrid’s overly-ironed uniform that clung to her like a straightjacket. Tink’s messy updo and rugged jeans, ripped at the seams from constant wears.

One was caged. The other was free.

Yet they both were still wearing their own pair of shackles.

“Astrid,” Tink greeted with a wet smile. “I…”

“I was going to call you!” Astrid blurted out, her hands twitching. “Afterwards…when…” she glanced at Leroy.

Tink nodded, the worry resurfacing in her eyes.

“Please tell me what happened.” Tink begged. “The sisters said you disappeared sometime this morning, after Mother Superior…” Tink shook her head, her gaze landing on a sole overstuffed bag just beside the couch. Astrid had literally packed everything she owned.

Wendy heard talking from a distance, and knew they were seconds away from having a run-in with Graham.

“Like I said, let’s move this,” Wendy commanded.

Pan gave Leroy a dark look, and with a grumble he stepped aside to allow the three into his crowded boat.

But then, there was total silence. Everyone was staring at each other, unsure of who to trust, who would turn out to be the real enemy.

Wendy wanted this all to end so bad, but the only way it would be so was if the woman in front of her somehow confessed to Mother Superior’s murder. And that, no matter the consequence for her, is not what she wanted.

Wendy met the timid eyes, earnestly begging her to say something. The poor woman sensed her plea, and her fingers weaved nervously through her starchy skirt.

“I…I…” Astrid hesitated from behind the solidly-built man in front of her.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Leroy insisted.

Pan made a rush at the nun, stepping right up to her and avoiding Leroy’s ready bat.

“Astrid,” he said calmly, his fingers twitching to reach out and grab her. “You need to tell us what happened.”

“Don’t answer him sweetie!” Leroy warned. “It’s a trap! Look what they did to Mother Superior!”

“It wasn’t like that!” Wendy cut in.

“Sure it wasn’t!” Leroy snarled. “You’re just the one who wrote the story! How many more lives do you want to ruin tonight?”

Wendy locked her jaw to prevent herself from yelling at this man. He was only defending Astrid, she knew, but she was about damn tired of people jumping to conclusions about her.

Much to her curiosity it was Pan who stepped forward and got into the stalky man’s face.

“How about you shut up and let us settle this before someone else ends up dead?” he warned, low and frightening enough that Wendy’s throat in apprehension.

“Do not threaten him!” Tink warned, stepping between Leroy and Pan.

Pan gritted his teeth, wanting to scream at her to go away. She was going to ruin everything! But he saw the rawness in her light brown eyes. She didn’t hate him; Tink didn’t have that kind of bitterness in her soul, even towards him.

And there was something else there, something he hadn’t seen even when she was being pulled out of Jekyll’s morgue drawers.

Fear.

Fear for Astrid, fear for the a future without her wicked mother.

“Yesterday you escorted Wendy into Mother Superior’s office, right?” he inquired more softly.

“Y…yes.” Astrid admitted.

“Astrid, be careful.” Leroy warned.

“But you didn’t leave them? You hung back, heard a few things?”

“No!” Astrid defended earnestly. “I mean…I did hear the beginning of the conversation, but I left,” she nodded, as if trying to convince herself.

“What did you hear,” Wendy asked.

“Just…” Astrid fidgeted. “Who you were and that she upset your friend. But I left after that I swear!”

Wendy nodded, remember the bits of the conversation.

“But you didn’t stay away for long, did you?” Pan pressed, and Wendy turned to see the lifelessness in his eyes. Gone was the gamemaster who had his target corner. All that was left was a guilty man who had to make the strenuous decision of turning over the culprit and letting an innocent person take the fall if he didn’t.

“When did you go back?” Wendy continued.

“Later,” Astrid continued, and Leroy led her to the bruised couch. “I saw you,” she said to Wendy. “I saw you break in…but I recognized you from earlier, so I hesitated to call the police…I just… didn’t.” she looked back to Pan. “Then I saw you. You were running, and I thought something was wrong.”

Wendy glanced at Pan, forgotten aggravation over yesterday’s interference resurfacing. Though Pan didn’t return her look, she could feel the cockiness radiating just under his skin.

With a smothered roll of her eyes, she replayed her confrontation with Mother Superior in bouts. Her coming across the half cross, confront the head nun on it and nearly losing her hand when she took the cross back. And then, of course, Pan making his grand entrance and stealing her thunder, though to his credit his presence did cause her to finally admit what she did to Tink.

Wendy rubbed her temple. If she had just looked over her shoulder, she might have seen Astrid, might have prevented all of this.

“You heard everything,” Wendy concluded. “Mother Superior’s confession, and her promise to deny everything.”

Astrid slowly closed her eyes, the guilt written all over her face.

“Astrid,” Pan growled. “Whatever you saw or did after we left will determine what’s going to happen next. To you, to Tink,” he barely nudged Wendy’s way. “And even to her.”

The young nun’s head shot up, meeting Wendy’s dull gaze. Wendy gasped at the wounded look in her eyes, and knew in a single moment that no matter what happened after tonight, whether she came forward or not, she couldn’t hate her.

All she could see in that moment was Tink leaning into Felix’s arms as she struggled not to fall apart.

She’s always doing this.

Surrogate, but just barely.

Make it stop.

She wasn’t looking at a crazed vengeful murderer. She was looking at an abuse survivor.

And whether she had anything to do with Mother Superior’s death or not, she didn’t deserve any of the backlash from it.

Wendy went looking for the truth to give Tink some well-deserved closure. It was more than apparent to her now that Astrid deserved the same.

“Wait…” Wendy sighed, ready to end the whole mess when there was a loud bang on the door.

“Shit!” Leroy yelled, raising his bat. Astrid gasped and pressed herself into the corner.

“Leroy, open the door!” came Graham’s brogue.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Pan hissed.

Wendy gasped as Tink shot past her to run to Nova. If Graham came through, it was over for both of them.

The young journalist gulped, her mind readying a very stupid idea that would either save her or endanger all of them.

“Is there a back door?” Wendy whispered to Leroy.

The stout man’s face lit with realization. “Yes, and there’s a supply shed just down the docks. She can stay there until I get these pests out of here.”

Wendy nodded. “Astrid, come with me.”

“I’m coming too,” Tink announced, stashing Astrid’s bag in a small cupboard.

“We’ll all go,” Pan added, looking out one of the back blinds. “All clear.”

Graham knocked on the door again and Leroy called out to keep him occupied while the four of them quietly left through the back.

Wendy could here someone walking around on top of the boat, no doubt looking for evidence for Astrid’s arrival. Up a head a flashlight was hovering about, and Pan grabbed her by the collar to keep her from walking out into it.

As soon as it lifted, the four of them quietly sprinted towards the direction of the shed, all worried that if they looked back they’d be caught for sure.

Pan struggled to get the rusty door open, the friction causing the metal to scream in protest, giving away their position. He did manage to get it open just enough for them all the slip in, the overwhelming smell of salt filling their lungs as Pan closed them in.

Wendy brought out her cellphone, the dim light barely adding illumination to the dark room.

“Watch your step,” Pan warned, pulling out his own cellphone to aid her. “One false move and you’ll fall into the water.

“Thanks for the tip,” Wendy deadpanned as Tink added her phone light as well.

They managed to find overturned barrels to sit on while they waited, using the cracks in the walls to watch the police raid from a far.

Tink had Astrid nestled close to her side, protecting her from the elements—and worse—the two people in the room who wanted her to talk.

Wendy squinted at Pan, his emotions disjointed from the light. What were they going to do, she asked with her eyes.

I’m working on it, he said with his own.

“I…I had to have proof.”

Wendy turned to a mousy Astrid. “Proof? Proof of what?”

“Remember what Leroy said,” Tink jumped in, glaring at Wendy, “You don’t have to say anything.”

 “No, no I do,” Astrid gasped, pulling herself from her surrogate sister’s loving embrace. “I-I-I need to let this out. I need to confess to what I did.”

“Hold it,” growled Tink as she jumped up and stalked over to Pan. He barely had time to raise his eyebrows before Tink lifted him by his collar and began groping his pockets.

 “The shit Tink!” Pan yelled, swatting her hands away.

 Tink pushed him back harshly against the barrel. “Just had to be sure you weren’t recording this,” she snarled. “Rule one, right?”

 “Rule two, actually,” Pan growled.

 With Pan checked, Tink nodded to Astrid, giving her her blessing to continue.

 Wendy rolled past him, anxious to hear Astrid’s truth.

 “You were there that night, weren’t you?” Wendy gasped, searching her eyes in the weak light.

“I was…returning from Leroy’s,” she said with a shy smile. “And my room is right near Mother Superior’s office.”

Wendy watched as her hands wrung nervously in her skirt.

“So you heard me talking to her?” Wendy pressed carefully.

“Yeah…” Astrid sighed. “I heard…everything.” She glanced to Tink, tears in her eyes. “Tink I’m so sorry!”

Tink shook her head, though her face was as blank as a fresh coat of paint.

“So then, what, you stuffed pills down her throat?”

“Pan!” Tink warned.

“I’m just trying to wrap this up.” Pan shrugged.

“You know good and damn well she didn’t kill her, Pan!” Tink fought.  “Why the hell are you trying to in this on her?”

Pan glanced Astrid’s way and clenched his teeth when she didn’t meet his eyes. He brushed past Tink and Wendy and sat right in front of her, making their knees touch to keep her attention.

“You heard what she did, and couldn’t take it, so you went into her office and drugged her up.”

“No!” Astrid gasped.

“Or maybe you waited until she drugged herself up and slipped some more in?” Pan shrugged. “She have a nice cup of tea before she croaked?”

Tink grabbed his shoulder. “Pan I’m fucking warning you?”

“Or maybe you walked in at the right time?” he smiled cruelly. “Maybe she already overdosed and you made sure she didn’t come back from it.”

“No!” Astrid sobbed. “I would never do something like that, I couldn’t!”

“Yes you can I know you can! I watched you—”

Before he could finish his accusation, someone grabbed him by the collar and pulled him around. In a second he was on the rotting wood, his nose aching and bloody, his head spinning from the adrenaline of it all.

A shout followed next.

And then a thud of something heavy hitting the ground.

The lights danced from the confusion, and for a moment Pan was surrounded by blackness.

Yet somehow it was nearly as terrifying as it should have been.

He smirked, the feeling of blood on his fingers expected but still a unrequited surprise.

He reached across the floor to grab his phone, using the light to illuminate his attacker’s bloody, clenched wrist, and then her face, ready to congratulate Tink on finally getting it all out of her system.

His smile faded some when he saw it was actually Wendy, her eyes bloodshot from unshed tears, her breath labored.

Pan took in a shaky breath, squashing his instinct to fight back.

She needed this. He wanted her to have it.

“I just went to get proof.”

 Pan glanced up at Astrid. “Proof of what? What the hell did you take?”

 “I’m guessing that,” Wendy answered, nodding just behind Tink and Astrid.

 Tink followed her gaze and the sight of the familiar lusterless metal stilled the air in her lungs.

 Astrid hurried to the object, cradling it to her chest.

 “She was asleep when I went in, so I searched for anything to prove what she did. Paperwork or something, but I found this instead.”

 Tink reached out and took the object, the other half of her begotten cross.

 Pan stood, wiping his nose as he addressed the hurting woman.

 “I was going to send it to you later, but I wanted to keep it in case she…”

 “In case she what?” inquired Wendy.

 Astrid looked absolutely miserable. “I…I was planning on leaving the convent for a long time. Leroy finally fixed the engine in his boat and we were going to leave,” she smiled fondly. “We were finally leaving this place.” Astrid shook her head—there was no time for sentimentals. “So, I searched her drawers until I found that, and I was going to call her as soon as I was out of Storybrooke to tell her what I knew.”

 “So that she wouldn’t come after you,” Pan muttered.

 “Exactly,” Astrid concluded wetly. “And—and I swear she was breathing when I left! She was just sleeping! I swear…I don’t know what happened after I left.”

 Tink wrapped her arms around her from behind.

 “Don’t.” Tink breathed. “Don’t say anymore. I believe you. I get it.”

 Wendy gulped, stepping forward in hopes of comforting both of them.

 This is all my fault.

 “Don’t!” Tink sobbed. “Just stay away from me,”

 Astrid pulled away from Tink, holding her hands up in defense.

 “No, Tink she didn’t do any of this!” Astrid proclaimed. “She told Mother Superior she would let her tell you everything.”

 Tink glanced at Wendy, disbelief glassing over her eyes.

 “But you published it anyway,” she said quietly. “You published her filth for the entire town to see.”

 “No she didn’t,” Astrid jumped in before Wendy could defend herself. “She wanted to give you two a chance. Even Pan said—”

 “Pan?” Tink questioned. “What the hell does he have to…”

 Wendy gulped when the realization blossomed in her eyes.

 Pan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was fucked.

 “You did this.” Tink said, not as a question but as a fact. “This was all you…” she paused, her lips twitching until her body shook with rusty laughter.

 “Oh my god of course this was you!” she laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You…you do shit like this all the time!”

 “Tink—”

 “You take…” she breathed in a shaky breath of stale air and limped up to Pan, inches from his stoic face. “Innocent people…their lives…everything they love…and you crush it!”

 Pan remained still, even as the spit flew from her mouth and hit him.

 Let her have this.

 “I trusted you,” Tink cried. “I forgave you even after everything! After you let the psychopath lock me in a fucking drawer!”

 Pan flinched, but kept his gaze with the spitting ex-nun.

 “But why?” Tink gasped. “Why me? Why hurt me like this? Why her!” she motioned to Wendy. “Do you have any idea the things I said to her because of you?”

 Wendy wiped the tears from her cheeks and willed herself to speak for Pan.

 “He wasn’t trying to hurt you Tink—”

 “You stay out of this!” Tink yelled at her. “This is still on you as much as him!”

 “Oh please,” Pan snorted. “She’s doesn’t have the gall to pull something like this.”

 “To ruin lives?” Tink laughed. She glanced briefly at Wendy and nodded. “That much I believe.”

 “This was never to hurt you Tink,” Pan sighed. “This was to take that bitch down once and for all. Wendy just stumbled on the perfect gateway.”

 “Oh please,” Wendy gagged. “You invited yourself to my investigation.”

 “If I hadn’t showed up she would have knocked your ass out and nailed you to a cross.”

 “Sacrilegious much?” Wendy snarked.

 Astrid shook her head. “But who killed her then?”

 Wendy and Pan looked at each other, both wishing they had some kind of answer.

 Tink moved past them and slumped exhaustedly on her barrel.

 “Maybe it really was an accident,” Tink shrugged. “Maybe she took too much Vitacin and…” her shoulders began to quake. “went to sleep.”

 Astrid was by her side in an instant, consoling her friend and releasing her own sorrows.

 Pan stood back, dumbfounded and sobbing women before him.

 All he could see was Felix running after the devil nun as she dragged Tink away…begging her to let her go.

 To set her free.

 “You’re hurting her!”

 “Why!” Pan yelled at them, starling even Wendy.

 “Why are you crying over that bitch? She hurt you both! She hurt so many others! And you shed tears over her? Why? Why aren’t you celebrating?”

 Please thank me. I did this for you.

 “She was my mother, Pan!” Tink screamed.

 “Oh why the hell does that matter now!” he spat.

 “Because if I had found out from her rather than reading it in the fucking paper, maybe we could have a chance?”

 “Chance at what?”

 “To forgive!” Tink cried. “To begin again. To…something.”

 Something.

 Why was it always ‘something’?

 “Now…I’ll never have that.” She rested her head on her clasped hands. Like she was praying.

 To what?

 “I’ll never know what it’s like to have a mom who truly loves me. If she were alive…if I knew everything…I might have had a chance then.”

 Tink’s word cut Wendy to her core. When she first came to Storybrooke she was terrified of losing her mother. Even as she proved victorious in her fight with cancer, that god-awful fear refused to stop chewing at her brain.

 Through the fear there was an intense love that made the cells in her bones sing. Her mother always had her back, always protected from her the ostracizing voices around her.

 The very idea of anyone—especially Tink—not having that, and never having, broke Wendy’s spirit.

 “Tink, I’m so sorry,” Wendy said. Sorry for the investigation. For Tink’s lost youth. Even for Mother Superior and the crater of emotion her death had left on her begotten daughter.

 Pan tensed.

 Not you too. Please Wendy don’t.

 “Well this sob fest isn’t getting us anywhere,” Pan exclaimed. “We need to come up with a plan. Astrid says Mother Superior was still alive when she met. That either means someone finished her off or it really was an accident.”

 “Then let’s just turn ourselves over,” Wendy suggested. “Astrid had nothing to do with Mother Superior’s death, and neither did we.”

 Pan rolled his eyes. “That watchdog will get us for everything else but murder. Breaking and entering, evading the police, knocking out a doctor and stealing an autopsy report—”

 “Half of that is on you!” Wendy shouted at him.

 “Technically you broke into the convent on your own, I just followed you in,” Pan winked.

 “On your suggestion!” Wendy fought.

 “This all started because you couldn’t mind your own damn business!”

 “I was trying to help my friend! What have you done good lately!”

 Before he could fire back, the door to the shed opened with a rusted scream.

 “Astrid!”

 The three gathered around the scared nun, using their bodies as barriers between her and the intruder.

 “Astrid your safe!”

 The three let out a strained breath of relief as Leroy’s stalky body bounded through the shed and took hold of Astrid’s freezing hands.

 “It’s over, they know what happened to Mother Superior! You’re not a suspect any more!”

 “What?” Pan exclaimed.

 Leroy turned to him but his eyes stopped on Tink, his wide thankful grin vanishing at her tear-stained face.

 “Oh Tink.”

 “What is it Leroy,” Pan ordered.

 Wendy watched in uncertainty as the man stumbled for words, for a way to spare Tink from the pain she didn’t deserve.

 However, there were times when one needed to just be…blunt.

 “Tink, they found a suicide note.”

                                                                                                 0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 Wendy rubbed her eyes, exhaustion sinking into her bones. She gasped when she looked at the overhead clock in Graham’s office: 8:30 p.m. This day seemed to be lasting forever.

 Across the room Pan was still wiping dried blood from his bruised nose. Wendy wondered if he felt guilty at all, if he would show any change at all from the experience.

 Then again, she wondered the same thing after the de Vil incident as well as the Jekyll one. He was still cold, and reckless, and illusive.

 Through the glass window she could see Leroy and Astrid standing, looking utterly relieved. Tink was in the other office with Deputy Nolan giving her own statement.

 Wendy couldn’t help but smile. They’d all been to hell and back, but it was all almost over. Astrid and Leroy could begin their lives anew, and Wendy could work on earning Tink’s trust back. She was indirectly responsible for her grief, and as much as she hated to admit it, Pan was right about her busy-bodiness. She shouldn’t have done any of this without Tink’s blessing.

 However, Tink would have closure now, even if forgiveness was a long way off.

 Graham finally walked them to the door, but Astrid looked over her shoulder, smiling brightly at Wendy. The young journalist could see years of stress melt off her face.

 Thank you, she seemed to say.

 “Good,” Wendy sighed, relaxing in her seat. “Good,”

 Graham returned shortly and the two journalists were faced with a new mystery: how were they going to be punished for their various crimes.

 “I should lock both of you up,” Graham said. “This has been a day from hell.”

 “Glad we could add some excitement in your pointless life,” Pan smirked.

 “Shut it!” Graham warned, and though Pan’s smirk didn’t fade he became blessedly quiet.

 “Then…just what are you going to do to us?” Wendy inquired tentatively.

 “Shut up rookie!” Pan hissed. “Never show fear, rule six!”

 “You both shut up!”

 Wendy and Pan both flinched when Sydney’s voice boomed through the police station.

 Wendy herself felt a chill at the site of him, but not necessarily for the rage on his face. Glass had to use a cane due to the back injury he received during the showdown with Jekyll’s lackey. Just the thought of the battle made Wendy’s blood curdle.

 “I leave you two to your own devices for a day and you almost become accessories in a murder!” he yelled at them.

 “Please, we were barely witnesses—”

 “I mean it, Pan!”

Pan stopped talking, but he popped his jaw as loudly as he could just to prove he wasn't going to be put down.

 Glass sighed, leaning tiredly against Graham’s death.

 “This was too close a call, and your actions caused a lot a problems.”

 “That’s journalism, Glass,” Pan muttered.

 “You’re both suspended.”

 “What!” Pan roared.

 “One week.”

 “Like hell we are!” Pan jumped up.

 In a flash Glass had the end of his cane just pressing into Pan’s windpipe. The younger man barely flinched, but he didn’t try to pick a fight.

 “I’m warning you, leave, and shut the hell up,” Glass growled. “Or so help me I will make sure your writing Garden Club updates until the day you die.”

 Wendy could see steam rising from Pan’s skin. He was ready to explode, and he would more than likely take half the block out with him.

 “Go home, Pan,”

 Pan glare turned to Wendy, piercing into her soul. Wendy resisted his heat. She’d accepted her part in this and would gladly accept her punishment. He couldn’t hurt her.

 With a growl Pan slapped Glass’s cane away and stormed out of the office, the concrete of each step sounding as if it was breaking under his seething stomp.

 The rest of the party flinched when Pan slammed the door downstairs.

 “As for you kid,” Glass continued exhaustedly. “I’ll drive you home.”

 Wendy nodded and followed him without protest, avoiding Graham’s downcast eyes.

 The ride to her apartment was slow and quiet, the humming of the heat a dutiful distractor from the slight tension between the two journalists.

 “For what it’s worth, kid,” Glass spoke. “What you did was pretty damn impressive, but this on top of everything else you and Pan have stirred up, it was either cut you down or let Graham cage you.”

 “Duly noted,” Wendy sighed.

 Another short bout of quiet followed until Glass began to shuffle around in his saddle back, worrying the woman with his slight swerving.

 “Check it out,” he said as he handled her a wrinkled paper. “A rought draft of tomorrow’s paper.”

 Wendy gulped at the large printed headline of Mother Superior’s story. She scanned through the story, the first-testimony coming from another nun at the convent who found the note under Mother Superior’s chair after the police left, followed by a statement from Sheriff Graham.

 “How does an entire forensic team miss a suicide note?” Wendy pondered aloud.

 Glass laughed. “I wondered the same thing. I also wondered how the hell Superior overdosed on meds that she took for years.”

 Wendy paused. “That…is weird.”

 She turned the page for the rest of the story and saw a strangely shot picture. She squinted a bit, and found it to be a letter.

 Wendy gasped. “Is this…”

 “Technically yeah,” Glass answered as he slowed at a stop sign. “But there is no way in hell I could actually publish it. Respect for the victim and all that. We replaced it with a photo of her.”

 Wendy nodded absently and turned on the mirror light to better illuminate the page. The letter was sprawled out, obviously hastily written. Wendy pondered if her hurried letter was written out of fear. Fear of the future in her position? Or with the community? Maybe with Tink, if she cared about her at all.

 Wendy couldn’t make out the writing after all, but she couldn’t look away from the letter.

 There was something else. She could feel it in her bones. Buzzing and begging to nestle deeper.

 Until it finds blood.

 She squinted at the letter and while the words were unclear, the penmanship was admirable with it’s curvy cursive. It reminded her of her father’s. It took years of practice to create such longhand, and usually by people who’s livelihood depended on how well they could right. Bankers, like her father, secretariws, lawyers…

 Wendy’s blood went cold.

 “Kid?”

 It found the blood. 

Wendy grabbed her bag and dumped its contents in her lap, searching hastily for the one scrap of evidence that would tie this nightmare together.

And she did.

Wrinkled under a slew of pens was Mr. Gold’s cell number on his business card.

 The l’s on the card and in the letter were the same.

 “Kid are you listening?”

 Wendy clutched the card in her hand and opened the door, causing Glass to come to a screeching halt.

 “The hell! Wendy?” he barely dodged her seatbelt hitting him in the face as she sprinted from the car.

 “Wendy? Wendy!”

 Wendy blocked him out, blocked anything out that would prevent her from getting to Mr. Gold in time.

 It was ironic really.

 The only time she ran in a panic was to evade a foe, yet for once she wasn’t running from a monster.

 She was running to one.

                                                                                 0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 It was well past closing by the time she reached Gold’s shop, yet the lights were still on and the man himself was behind his desk, seeming to fill out paperwork.

 Or more suicide letters. Wendy thought bitterly.

 The door was locked, and Gold looked up when he heard someone jimmying the lock.

 Through the glass she could see his lip tug in a half smile, and she resisted throwing the nearest rock through the door.

 “A bit late, isn’t it Miss Darling?” he greeted when he let her in.

 “You did this,” Wendy seethed when he closed the door.

 “You’ll have to be a bit more specific,” he countered as he limped back to his desk.

 Wendy rushed after him and threw his business card on the glass.

 “You wrote Mother Superior’s suicide letter,” Wendy gasped. “It’s your handwriting!”

 Gold simply stared at her, brilliantly masking any fear or being caught or surprise that Wendy had put the pieces together so soon.

 “That is a very serous accusation, Miss Darling,”

 “But not untrue,” Wendy calculated. “Do not lie to me, Gold. We’ve been completely honest with each other up to this point.”

 Gold nodded in agreement. “Indeed we have,”

 “So its true then?” Wendy gulped. “You wrote her letter?”

 Gold simply stared at her, and Wendy could almost think it was Pan.

 And as Pan he would do, Gold tilted his head and chuckled, low and humorous. Dark.

 “Why?” Wendy breathed. “Why would you do something so…heinous?”

 Gold shook his head, his smirk becoming more of a tired grin.

 “A variety of reasons really. Not that her dark little secret was out, I no long had the leverage I needed to keep her in my corner. She was disposable.”

 “She was human!” Wendy yelled.

 “She,” Gold seethed, “was a vile woman who used fear to manipulate people to do her bidding.”

 “Like you?” Wendy scoffed.

 “I always give the people I deal with something in return.”

 Wendy shook her head. She couldn’t believe this. This was a nightmare. When was she going to wake up?

 “Did you kill her?” Wendy inquired.

 Gold actually scoffed, as if being accused of murder was below him.

 “I simply put everything into place. She handled the dirty bits.”

 “But the letter…”

 “Was the only way you and Sister Astrid would ever be clear.” He concluded, his tone dropping more seriously. “If her death remained labeled an accident, the eyes of the town would have stayed on you forever. They’d never trust you, never accept you because suspicion wins out every time.”

 “No,” Wendy shook her head.

 “And then of course there was Sister Astrid’s unintentional role in all of this,” Mr. Gold said in a low, almost sarcastic tone. “She would have been arrested, being the last person in her office and all,”

 “We would have helped her!”

 “And ruin yourself in the process,” Gold pointed out. “This is what is best for everyone, dearie. You’re all free now. Why not fly and leave the matter be?”

 “Because it’s still wrong!” Wendy gasped. “You meddled with evidence and put a horrible light on her death. That is how she’s going to be remembered.”

 “As she should be,” Gold growled. “That woman was no saint, and now she can receive the reputation she finally deserves.”

 “No…” Wendy gasped. This was wrong. So wrong.

 Gold sighed. “You’re a smart woman, Miss Darling. I no doubt you’ll see the benefit in this soon enough.”

 Wendy glared at him, holding back tears.

 “But you’re also a kind one,” Gold added, picking up his business phone and placing it in front of Wendy. “You have a good heart. I saw that yesterday with Miss la Bell,” he paused for a moment. “And with Belle.”

 Wendy gulped.

 “If you truly believe that revealing my folly is the right thing to do, then go ahead,” he tapped on the phone. “Expose me.”

 Wendy’s fingers flinched, itching to take the phone, call Sheriff Graham, and end this whole thing.

 “But I know you won’t do it.”

 Wendy’s hand shot back.

 “And just why do you think that?”

 That eerie smirk returned.

 “Because deep down you know I’m right. That Pan is right.”

 “Stop.”

 “And I think he’s in your bones now,” he nodded convinced. “And I think you do too.”

 “Why the hell would you say that!”

 Gold tapped on the phone again. “Because you’re not picking up the phone.”

 Wendy took in a shaky breath, willing her hand to rise.

 You’re just as filthy and selfish as he is.

 “That’s not true.”

 You're setting yourself up for a world of trouble if you stay here.

 “No I’m not.”

 This town, that…maniac you call a boyfriend, they're going to ruin you.

 “I’m not like him.” She reached for the phone but couldn’t will the nerves in her body to pick it up.

 I just want to be free.

 She was no saint.

 And next time

 No one's going to run back here to save you

 Wendy released the phone and got out of Gold’s shop as fast as she could, just missing the satisfied look on his face.

 “Fly, fly, little bird.”

 Her lungs were on fire by the time she reached her apartment, her vision blurring. By shear instinct she was able to find her own apartment.

 She didn’t feel safe until her door was closed and locked. Until she was past her bedroom. Until she was in the deep polished tub where she could blame the sickening noises that left her throat on the aging pipes.