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Weaver had never been comfortable around crying people, especially crying women. There was something about the raw, open emotion and vulnerability that always made him feel awkward. Perhaps it was because he hated feeling vulnerable himself and he would always avoid showing such emotions if he could help it. Maybe he just hadn’t had enough experience of being close to people; of having people feel safe enough around him to express their emotions like that. He would never in a million years have pegged Isabelle Schwarz as the type to get close enough to anyone to let them see her cry, let alone himself.But here she was, sitting on the floor in the corner of the animal shelter front office, crying her eyes out and not caring a wit for the detective standing awkwardly in front of her, wishing he knew what to do but, oddly, not wishing he was somewhere else entirely.Weaver had never known exactly what it was that drew him to Isabelle. For as long as he could remember, she had worked in the animal shelter and for as long as he could remember, he had been seeing her around Hyperion Heights. She always had a kind word for everyone, even him, and he had certainly never done anything to ingratiate himself with anyone. It was only once he had been partnered with Rogers that he had actually started to think about Isabelle more and more. Rogers had joked that Weaver had a crush on her, and Weaver responded by threatening to send him back to uniform and put him on desk duty for the rest of the year, which Rogers had taken as confirmation of his feelings.Weaver had gradually come to realise that he probably did have a crush on Isabelle. She was a very good-looking woman - late forties, early fifties, streaks of grey in her long dark hair, and the most brilliant blue eyes that he had ever seen. He had the vague memory of seeing them before somewhere, that exact shade of blue that he’d never seen anywhere before.There was something about Isabelle that was familiar, a feeling of oh, hello again, it’s you. We’ve met before, somewhere. He’d never spoken to her about it; they weren’t close enough for that yet. He’d never even worked up the courage to ask her out on a date, let alone engage in that kind of conversation with her. Their interactions usually consisted of him coming into the animal shelter on some kind of trumped up errand, and a few minutes of small talk, before he left again and they both went about their days. He had a vague memory that they had first met when he’d found an injured cat at a crime scene and had brought it in to be checked over. That cat had now joined Isabelle’s growing collection of pets.Perhaps it was the plethora of cats that had him assuming she had no-one close to her. The stereotypical cat-lady, so to speak. Looking at her now, though, he knew that abject misery. That was the look of grief at losing a loved one.“Isabelle?” He took a few tentative steps towards her. “Isabelle, what’s happened?”She didn’t reply, just bursting into fresh floods of tears. Perhaps against his better judgement, Weaver knelt down on the floor beside her and gingerly put his arms around her. He wasn’t sure if this was the best move as the next thing he knew, Isabelle was clinging to him like a limpet, her sobs muffled in his jacket.“What’s going on, Isabelle? Are you hurt?” If someone had hurt her, Weaver didn’t know what he’d do. Isabelle was sweet and wouldn’t harm a fly; some might go so far as to say that she was a doormat, but Weaver had never thought so. She was guarded with her emotions, always had been. She had a core of steel when she needed it, but it seemed that today, that core was nowhere to be found.She shook her head against his chest, and gradually her crying subsided.“I’m all right,” she said quietly after a while, even though her red and puffy eyes told a different story. “I just had a shock, that’s all.”Although she seemed to have calmed down now, Weaver kept holding her, and she showed no signs of wanting him to let go. In fact, she closed her eyes and nestling in closer against him with a little sigh of contentment. Weaver felt himself beginning to panic. He had no idea what to do now.“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. “Could you… Would you please stay a little longer? Let me remember the good times for just a little longer.”Unseen by Isabelle, Weaver raised an eyebrow. Did she think he was someone else? Was this a case of mistaken identity? Either way, he decided that the best thing to do would just be to go with it. He might not understand what Isabelle was saying, but he could see what she needed, and right now, that was whatever comfort his arms could provide. If he wasn’t the person that she thought he was, then so be it. He wasn’t going to leave her alone and shatter her illusions now.They stayed on the floor in their embrace for over five silent minutes, and finally Isabelle pulled away, wiping her eyes on her cardigan sleeve.“I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense at all, am I?”Weaver shook his head. “Not really, Belle. But it doesn’t matter. Just tell me what you need.”Isabelle’s hand dropped from his arm and she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for something she desperately wanted to find. “What did you just call me?”Weaver blinks. “Isabelle?”“No. You called me Belle. You never call me Belle. No-one ever calls me Belle.”Weaver shrugged. “Short for Isabelle, I guess.” Why had he called her Belle? She was right; he had never called her Belle before, and on the few occasions he had heard her colleagues shorten her name, she had always been Issy.She gave a weak smile. “It’s bleeding through,” she whispered, before pressing her lips to his cheek in a chaste peck. “You’ll understand in time, Detective. I’m sure of it. Thank you.”“Are you going to be ok?” Weaver asked as she got to her feet.“Yes. Yes, I’ll be fine. And you’ll be fine too. And Gideon…” She tailed off, looking around nervously as if she had said too much. Weaver made no comment. He didn’t want to muddy the waters. All he could do was be here and offer his help.XIn all his many years as the Dark One, being shot was not something that Rumpelstiltskin had ever anticipated being a problem for him. Now that it had happened, he realised that not preparing for such a situation had been a gross oversight on his part.It wasn’t so much the shock of Tilly - Alice now, he remembered it all - shooting him that was the problem. It was the huge influx of memories rushing in on him. His life travelling with Belle and Gideon. Seeing Gideon off to the Academy. Alice arriving in his and Belle’s lives, seeking a cure for the curse that separated her from her father - Rogers - Hook - a different Hook to the one who stayed in Storybrooke - Henry needing their help and he and Belle going to his aid, promising Gideon they would be back when he came home for his winter break - Drizella and the coven’s curse…Belle. Gideon.Isabelle.As he came back to himself, he felt a soft hand holding his, delicate fingers stroking his hair out of his face. His eyes flickered open, meeting Belle’s wonderfully familiar blue ones.“Belle?” he rasped. Not Isabelle, not this time around.She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Hello, Rumpel. I knew you’d get there in the end.”He squeezed her hand, afraid that if he let go, she’d fade back into the curse and become Isabelle once more.“How long have you been awake?”“Just a few days.” Belle ran her thumb over his knuckles, pausing on the third finger where a wedding ring ought to sit. Her own hands were bare too. “That morning you found me in the animal shelter crying my eyes out. I’m not sure what happened, precisely. The memories just came back suddenly. I think that the curse is beginning to break. It’s weakening in places. I was just so overwhelmed, and I was thinking about Gideon… I miss him so much, and now he’s in a different realm and we have no way of contacting him…” Her voice began to wobble and she shook herself. “I can’t start crying now, you’re the one who’s nearly been killed.”“It’ll take more than Tilly with a gun to kill me.” Even then, the thought of it sent a pang of despair through Rumpel’s heart. Alice had been like a daughter to them, and now she was here trapped in the curse, memories only bleeding through intermittently. “And Gideon will be all right. He’s his mother’s son; he’s got a sensible head on his shoulders. He’ll be fine at the Academy. If I know him, he’s probably trying to work out a way to get us back to the Enchanted Forest as we speak.”Belle nodded, laying her head down on the pillow beside his, and Rumpel put his arm around her, resulting in angry beeping from the machines he was hooked up to as the lines and wires became disturbed.He understood now, perfectly. He and Belle were together, and they had their memories. They could only do what they could to work against the curse and get back to Gideon, but they would stick together now, and they would protect Alice and reunite her with her father.So many children separated from their parents. Rumpel felt tears well in his own eyes, and Belle let him cry, kicking off her shoes so that she could get onto the bed beside him and hold him close, much to the chagrin of the nurse who had come in to investigate the beeping.“We’ll get through it,” she whispered. “We’ve weathered so many storms before. We’ll get through this one, and we’ll see Gideon again.”There was a timid tap on the door and Tilly’s wide, frightened eyes peered around the frame.“Is he going to be ok?”Belle nodded, beckoning her over. “He’ll be fine.”“Honestly, these beds should only have one person in them and that should be the patient,” the nurse muttered, but she accepted that she was powerless to stop Tilly clambering up as well.“Thanks for looking after him, Ms Schwarz.”Belle reached across so that she could hug Tilly as well.“I’ll always look after him.” There was a long pause. “And Tilly, you can call me Belle if you want.”In that moment, even through the haze of Tilly’s medication, the three of them reached a brand-new understanding.