Once Upon a Time 1. Chapter 1

A/N: While I wasn't at all shocked that Belle and Rumple ended up in different worlds in the finale, it was the magic blue curaçao that had me rolling my eyes and thinking: "really? That's what you're going with?" So let's take a different run at this, shall we? Oh, and obviously I don't own anything. :P

**Chase the Sun**

_Some choices we live not only once but a thousand times over, remembering them for the rest of our lives. _  
_~ Richard Bach_

**137. True love. Gone in an instant.**

The grey door swung open at his touch and he glanced around, taking stock. Blessed solitude: away from both the aloof looks of the mother and the incessant chatter of the boy. He stepped forward, staring morosely at his reflection in the mirror, desperately willing the churning sea of emotions within to still, but without success. Control was fleeting, an illusion barely kept intact by the sheer force of his will and he trembled, unable to shake the stomach-lurching feel of plummeting off a cliff into the unknown.

The men's room in Logan International Airport was thankfully empty and Rumplestiltskin forced his breathing to remain steady. Slow and even. In and out. Concentrate only on that… He briefly closed his eyes. He was so close to achieving his goal. Centuries of single-minded manipulation and herculean effort to find his boy had all come down to this one single trip.

And then he'd know. Know if he was welcome… or if it was all for naught.

His grip tightened on the golden handle of his cane. Nerves were a slowly stifling knot of worry that fed on his uncertainty about finding his son, of having to beg Bae for forgiveness. The memory of the boy's utter fury as Rumple had broken their deal, letting him fall alone through that damn glowing green portal, had stalked his nightmares every night since.

_Coward. Why would he even want you back?_

The mocking question was a lead weight in his stomach when he caught his own gaze in the mirror. His fingers twitched. A lifetime later and it still felt like mere seconds: the first grasp of a tiny newborn babe on his papa's finger transforming into that of a willful teenager yanking him forward. He had purposely let Bae drop, his son's small hand sliding through his even as his grip tightened around his precious dagger.

A dagger more precious than his son.

No. He wouldn't think about that. The guilt was staggering.

In his mind flashed a better memory: one of a wild mop of curly dark hair and the sheer joy of feeling childish arms thrown around his neck in a big bear hug. Bae had loved him once. Surely he would again.

Then there was the plan he had never even dared to express aloud, not even to the woman he adored. His secret, most precious hope cradled safe within the deepest regions of his being: of rolling back the clock, erasing in an instant the hurt and long painful years of separation from his son. And they could start over. There was an image burned onto his heart of bringing a laughing fourteen year old boy home to his Belle, the loving and compassionate mother he should have had right from the beginning.

And they'd be happy. Bae. Bae and Belle. A family reunited.

He glanced down, feeling the keen wash of disappointment. Things don't always work out the way you want them to. The words mocked him, taunting the flickering illusion that he could ever fix the worst of his mistakes. Here he was on the brink of happiness only to feel as if his world were ripping to pieces like the slow motion shattering of a dream.

Rumplestiltskin turned from the sink, pausing slightly before entering a stall. No matter what happened in New York, Belle wouldn't be waiting for him when he got back. And the pain of that reality threatened to wholly undermine any semblance of calm he possessed.

He jammed the bolt into the lock and paced back and forth: a caged tiger desperately needing to strike out at the one that had crushed his heart; destroyed his darling Belle.

The thunderous blast of a single gunshot echoed in his mind; the memory tearing at his soul.

They'd leaned close to kiss goodbye then there'd been the heart-destroying flash of blue magic as she'd stumbled across the town line leaving a stranger to stare back up at him. She no longer knew she'd once loved an ugly man; could have even been his redemption if he'd but chosen wiser.

Belle's final words to him were a jagged gash of loss, their special chipped cup lying shattered in pieces on the hospital floor and her panicked voice pleading: "Just go. Just go away!"

Memories. They knit us together. Define us. Make us who we are; who we love. And when they're gone? A thousand precious moments obliterated as if they'd never happened at all.

Which was worse? A son who remembered… or a lover who didn't?

It seemed a lifetime ago now. He'd bent in and kissed her by the old wishing well after she awoke from the curse: their first kiss since that ill-fated night even longer ago when he'd shouted and shoved her aside, not believing she could ever truly love him. But she'd said she still did and his heart had immediately soared to the heavens. Her lips were soft and warm and opened to his with a tender eagerness that left him breathless: a glorious dream sprung vividly to life after so many agonizing years trapped alone in the darkness.

A second chance. He could do it right this time. She'd wanted promises he wouldn't seek revenge and when staring deeply into her soul, Rumple could do no less.

As their lips parted, Belle pressed against him, burying her face against his neck and their arms tightened around the other.

He'd waited a beat...

Then another…

Waiting for the curl of magic that would signify his curse was breaking…

Only it never came and his first terrifying thought was that she didn't truly love him anymore. But she'd _said._ And she was _here,_ pressing against him as if she never wanted to let him go. And then the anger and hatred of the Dark One returned with a vengeance.

He'd never been good at making the right choice. And he thought he'd utterly ruined it once again, but she'd eventually come back with forgiveness and love in her heart. She'd chosen to stay in spite of the monster. That alone left him bewildered and uncertain.

Later that night he'd offered her his finest guest room and instead she'd stepped into his arms, whispering that it was very nice, but she'd rather share his room. Her lips ghosted along his jaw and he'd been so nervous because he was old and broken and she was young and beautiful, and the last man she'd been with was her muscle-bound fiancé, a dim-witted idiot to be sure, but certainly handsome and… and… gods knows who before that. He was so completely certain she'd be disappointed.

Love is a mystery to be uncovered, she'd said once before, and he fully believed it when they'd first tumbled together into their bed. Desire flared white hot when clothing dropped away and his nerves suddenly vanished at the onset of discovery: the soft curve of a breast that fit perfectly in his hand; her palm smoothing across the small of his back. Skin pressed to skin. It was glorious heat and tender surprise. They'd shared a grin. Her caressing touch was gentle and the slow, purposeful worship of each other's bodies left him breathless and trembling and so very much in need of her.

She was a goddess and he'd never felt so free, her soft mewls of satisfaction when his hands and mouth drifted across her flesh all the encouragement he needed. He was hers, and she was his. Always. It made him feel a little bit braver to be so wholly loved like that.

When he'd finally slipped inside her tight heat he could have sworn there was a blinding surge of magic driving him to come apart in her arms: an exquisite connection of heart and soul and body that would bind them together forever. Hips rocked into hips and they'd easily found their rhythm as if no time had passed and their separation was nothing but a fading nightmare.

"Sweetheart," he'd murmured brokenly against her temple, then: _Please,_ he'd silently begged to whatever deity might be listening.

Rumple laced their fingers together, their hands braced on either side of her head as shared passion arced toward completion. They crested together as one: a tsunami that tossed them against a distant shore, blissfully wrecked. He'd watched in silent awe as, in that moment, she'd mouthed the words: "love you," her soul-stealing blue eyes proclaiming it as absolute truth and he'd leaned down to gently touch his mouth to hers.

He willed it to work.

It was magical… but not extraordinarily magical.

Not then and not any time in the next few weeks when they'd barely stirred from bed, after so many painful years apart, both having discovered an unwillingness to waste another precious second that could instead be spent in touch.

He'd hid his bitter disappointment, not understanding what was wrong, but not wanting to call attention to it either.

Then he'd once more needed his dark magic to find his son and was acutely torn, the entrenched anxiety that he could no longer live without it at stark odds with the shining light she'd brought back into his life.

The eventual crash into reality hadn't been a shock and he didn't blame her for leaving him. It had mainly been his actions that had wrecked their precarious balance. Belle required honesty and that was the hardest thing of all for him to give. He'd realized belatedly that in her deep-seated need to uncover his mystery, she'd smashed headlong into a rock solid barrier he would not lower and so she'd struck out in hurt and disappointment more than anything else.

She'd _needed_ him to trust her with both the good and the bad, but the prospect left him cowering in fear. Her crushing loss finally offset the blinding terror that she would peel back those layers surrounding his heart and discover his singular truth: that he was completely worthless.

So when there wasn't anything left to fight for, he'd explained how it wasn't magic for the sake of magic. It did have a purpose; a plan. He'd given her Bae's name because it was important. _He_ was important and sharing it made him important to them both. The sheer vulnerability of admitting out loud that she was right: he'd always been a coward and then of explaining how his lust for power had cost him his son… it left him jittery and terribly lost.

But he'd done it.

He'd let her in.

Belle made him long to be a better man, no matter the cost… To believe in the possibility that he _could_ be a better man.

It broke his heart to let her go with a final soft caress of her cheek, but he would always let her go if she wished because deep down he hadn't believed she would stay. Not forever at any rate. No one could.

Yet surprisingly, telling her the truth seemed to be all she'd needed and they'd ordered hamburgers the next night, leaving well before their meal arrived. Soft words of reconciliation and love had her fingers dancing on his as they held hands across the table followed by her eyes darkening with lust and longing… The need for each other was simply too great.

She'd dragged him to her room at Granny's because she just couldn't wait long enough for him to get her home. Twining together, they'd laughed and staggered up the stairs in a flurry of groping hands and heated kisses as they'd tried to be quiet, but failed miserably.

He'd hoped it might have happened that night: a night of honest kisses and the first time he'd truly wanted to let her peer into the depths of his heart… but no. The curse remained stubbornly intact, a dark all-consuming blight on his soul that dragged at his stuttering attempts at happiness.

He was still a coward.

The apartment over the library yielded a semblance of space, but more often than not it was ignored. For the life of him, he still couldn't understand why she stayed even as they'd built up a tentative trust as seemingly delicate and fragile to him as wispy gossamer thread. Part of him couldn't banish the doubts: kept waiting for her to discover something horrific and simply walk away and when he'd finally gotten up the courage to ask why she hadn't, even after finding out how he'd ruthlessly killed his wife, her quiet confidence surprised him.

Belle wouldn't ever give up on him because he, Rumplestiltskin, was indeed worthwhile. He didn't understand it. It was shocking. But it was enough.

Until finally at her bedside in the hospital: surely now it _had_ to work. He'd stood, watching her sleep, jaw working under the suffocating weight of his grief. Desperation to have her back finally superseded cowardice and he leaned down to brush her mouth with his, just as tender and feather-light as that very first kiss she'd given him so many years before. For a single thudding beat of his heart he'd thought it had finally worked, had felt the flicker of response from her mouth, saw the briefest hint of that familiar smile she'd give him when he kissed her awake. And then like a dagger slicing through his heart, there was the cold blue of her eyes registering fear instead of recognition.

Her terrified scream echoed down the hall as he stumbled away, his broken heart shattering into dust.

He'd missed his chance; that single narrow window of redemption had slammed shut decades ago, lost to his cowardice and inability to trust.

True Love's Kiss simply didn't work on monsters. And now his Belle was gone forever, her curse just as stubbornly locked in place as his own.

Seething hatred slithered through his heart like poison; boiled to breaking point. Rumplestiltskin jammed his fist into the disposable toilet seat cover dispenser, punching it over and over and over: needing to feel something, to _do_ something that didn't involve wrapping his fingers around that damn marauding pirate's neck and slowly squeezing the life from his worthless body.

Because even now, with her memories gone forever and his happiness lost along with them, Rumple knew in his heart that Belle would not want him to kill the thieving bastard.

_Belle. My beloved Belle._

Spent, he slumped backward against the cold tile wall. He'd never felt more alone.

* * *

**10813. I'm sparing you a lifetime of pain and misery.**

She jerked awake dreaming of choking purple smoke and a whirling vortex and the echoing sound of maniacal laughter that didn't seem to have a source: a nightmare that gripped and held and terrified until she tumbled from her hard, narrow cot and landed with a jarring thud on a cold concrete floor.

Chains. On her wrists and ankles. Shouldn't there be chains? She was certain there ought to be chains.

Gaping through the dark strands of her dishevelled hair, Belle whipped her head around, trying to breathe, trying to steady her wildly beating heart… trying to _understand. _ Because… because… She wasn't sure. The dingy grey cell was padded and she sat up; pushed her hair back out of her eyes.

Insane. Delusional Paranoia. Amnesia.

She blinked. What? The thoughts had crashed into her head like a freight train from nowhere and she whimpered a little.

Marks. Marks on the walls. Weren't there marks?

Confusion reigned and an icy chill raced up her spine as she suddenly sensed there were things she was forgetting. They were sliding away like quicksand and the harder she reached for them, the faster they were gone and she didn't know how it was happening; just that it was.

Her father. She remembered her father. And Rumplestiltskin.

Belle suddenly spotted a small tea cup tucked into the corner of her cell and she hurtled across the empty space toward it.

_Our cup!_

The tangible feel of cool porcelain was infinitely comforting to her fevered mind and she carefully cradled it in her palms, staring intently at the leafy pale blue branch painted on the side. Her thumb worried the chipped edge and she smiled a little.

She was drifting away into nothing, but this was still real. Their cup was real. Their love was real.

Panic set in as the door opened and a uniformed nurse strode in looking harsh and unfriendly.

And suddenly Belle knew about the needles. They made her hazy and lost. "I don't want any more tranquilizers." The words seemed to form on her tongue before she realized she shouldn't know what they meant… shouldn't she?

Maybe she really was insane. Her body reacted regardless, tensing up as the woman approached and she scrambled backward until there was no more place to go. Cornered and desperate, she searched for something, anything that could help, but the room was completely empty save the two of them. And her cup. The _chipped_ cup. She carefully placed it next to her where she crouched on the floor so that it wouldn't get damaged when she… She wasn't sure what she'd do...

"It's for your own good. You don't remember. You're not well."

"I do remember…" Any further words died on her lips. She blinked. What _did_ she remember? Truly? "I…"

Mulan. Belle remembered her friend, the warrior who moved like lightning; who thought a bookish girl could still take down a fiery monster, though ultimately it had been more through her wits and dumb luck than any real technique… Yet she'd seen how the warrior moved: lithe and fast as a striking serpent. If she could just…

The nurse stepped toward her, momentarily distracted while uncapping the end of a syringe and Belle made her move.

"Now don't be troublesome. It's the delusions making you upset. This will help soothe-"

Belle brought a knee up, slamming it into the taller woman's groin with a sickening thud. The nurse grunted and bent over double as she staggered then dropped to her knees. The needle went clattering into the opposite corner and Belle's eyes widened with hope as she catapulted herself toward it.

A strong hand clamped onto her ankle, yanking her back. They struggled and Belle tried to shimmy out of the way only to find herself pinned down, her face pressed into concrete. Her vision turned spotty and she fought for air as she stared forlornly at the tiny cup across the room.

She was going to lose and the thought spurred her to heave her entire body in retaliation. Sheer desperation was the most powerful incentive of all.

Belle managed to land another blow, this time a forearm slamming across the nurse's throat and the woman gagged, momentarily loosening her grip. Belle's eyes smarted as excruciating pain shot up her arm, but her scrabbling fingertips finally closed triumphantly around that which she sought.

She whipped her fist backward as she rolled and pivoted, jabbing the syringe into the nurse's hip and pressed downward on the plunger the second it contacted flesh. The effect was immediate and the woman's eyes suddenly unfocused, rolling backward up into her head and she slumped to the floor.

Shocked that it had worked, Belle grabbed her precious cup and bolted without a backward glance. There was no time to marvel at her success or her freedom would be very brief indeed.

Left. Dead end. Right. Run.

She took off down the corridor and up a set of stairs that twisted up and up and up until she banged unceremoniously out into… into… a hospital ward?

It didn't look right…

Possibly…

She didn't dawdle, hurtling instead through a hallway, around a corner and clattered down another set of stairs, slipping a little at the bottom. Pure gut instinct led her toward a double set of sliding doors and outside for the first time in… as long as she could remember.

Belle didn't know which way to run. Nothing was familiar and yet somehow it was. Words like cars and electricity slammed into her consciousness unbidden. There were people. They were dressed strangely. She averted her eyes while hurrying past a young woman in scandalously short red shorts. Or maybe they weren't strange. She really wasn't sure anymore.

She stared down another side street, desperately looking left then right. Rumplestitskin? Fear had her head whipping down and she intently focused back on her cup when she abruptly realized she could no longer picture her mother. She'd had a mother… right? Entire chunks of her past were bleeding away from her and she felt close to tears.

Where _was_ he?

Belle didn't dare shout his name, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to herself. "What's happening?" she whispered brokenly, but there was no one there to respond as she hurried, turned then stopped, unable to make a decision about which way to go.

Half a block away she saw a tall man walking his dog across the street and another older gentleman with a cane limping away from her.

She thought for a fleeting second she might have recognized the set of the older man's shoulders, but then he was gone and no one was familiar.

Pounding feet resonated behind her and the sound threw her into a blinding panic. The Evil Queen would lock her back up if she was caught.

The Evil Queen? What did that even mean? As if in answer, her mind supplied a flash of dark hair and cruel eyes. She still recalled that much at least.

Dodging and ducking into a park, she lost herself among the trees. Her breathing was laboured and a cramp pinched her side, but she kept going. Then there was the smell of salt water and the pounding of surf as she suddenly found herself exposed on a wide stretch of open beach. Had she come here as a child? She couldn't remember and the sand was heavy and made running an exhausting slog.

Her pursuer closed in and she chanced a hunted glance over her shoulder only to find it far too late. She barely had time to register a man about her age with sandy brown hair and a trimmed beard before the breath was knocked from her lungs with a dizzying thump. He tackled her to the ground and she had to spit hair and sand from her mouth.

"Help me," Belle begged as she struggled uselessly against his iron grip. "Please don't send me back."

He never said a word, merely tugged the cap off a needle with his teeth before jamming it through her shabby hospital gown and into her thigh.

And then… then there was nothing.

When she awoke back in her padded cell she had no idea how much time had passed and the world was sluggish and thick as if viewing another's life through a sooty window.

She didn't fight this time. She hadn't the strength.

A woman was standing over her. Dark hair. Cruel eyes.

"You don't belong outside." Her heels tapped on the concrete as she stepped closer, catching Belle's drug hazed eyes with an intense stare. "You are no one," she finished with quiet emphasis.

"I… I'm… Belle."

The Queen – she remembered that now – leaned forward a little; re-emphasized the words.

"No one."

Nothing seemed to be the appropriate response and she couldn't think of another anyway.

Then…

Fear. It lanced through her like lightning when she spotted what the woman held in her hand. She noticed Belle's expression and her smile turned vindictive.

"Such a sentimental little keepsake." She waved the precious tea cup back and forth a little, just out of reach. "But he no longer remembers that he loved you. My curse has seen to that."

The taunting words sliced deep and true through her heart as the woman leaned forward. What was the woman's name again? Belle tried to force her hand to move and grab the cup, but she was weak and missed. She was so very, very tired.

"You no longer need this, my dear."

It was her talisman. The chipped cup kept her focused and without it she knew she wouldn't remember him. Rumplestiltskin. Belle's eyes watered and a single tear tracked silently down her cheek.

"You can't keep us apart forever. I… I'll…"

She listlessly palmed the tear away with the heel of her hand and frowned, all of a sudden uncertain as to why she grieved. Or for whom.

Her name slipped next into the void and she frantically held onto the handful of shattered memories that remained though those now seemed more delusion than reality.

A cup and the tender press of lips and the spellbinding rush of true love. Yes. That was it. Someone had loved her once…

The dark-haired woman left with a satisfied smirk and she curled up on the corner of her cot, tucking her knees to her chest. She stared blankly into the distance.

"I am no one," she whispered into the suffocating silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**10811. It's just a cup.**

"This town. This isn't the deal we made."

Gold prided himself on his cutthroat ability to benefit from other's desperation. But in this case, the mayor had stridden into his pawn shop, clearly looking for a solution to a problem and for the life of him he hadn't a clue what she was after. It was rare that that happened. And he never forgot the deals he made. Never.

"I'm sorry; I don't know what you're talking about."

She looked perplexed as if she hadn't been expecting that response. "You don't do you?"

Regina pulled a small teacup from her purse and placed it on the glass counter between them; arched a questioning eyebrow.

If the thing was supposed to mean anything to him, she'd be sorely disappointed. Although he supposed he'd made deals over less. Never underestimate the value of sentimentality. It could always be used to turn the screws to someone. _Always._

"It's a cup. It's damaged." She looked less than impressed at his sarcastic tone when stating the bleeding obvious.

"So it's not worth anything?" He made note that she was eyeing him carefully. Again, he couldn't fathom why. He knew for certain he'd never set eyes on her precious teacup before today. If she was somehow trying to tweak _his_ sentimentality she'd rather missed the boat.

"In this state? Even a blind cave beetle could spot a chip this size." Gold poked at the triangular notch in the rim with his finger. "You wouldn't even get one thin dime for it at a jumble sale. You can thank the klutz that dropped it for that. Where's the rest of the set?" he asked curiously.

"Gone." He would have enquired further, but apparently she'd gotten what she needed and had moved on.

"I was supposed to be happy here."

Gold hated it when people spilled their emotional crap on him as if he gave a damn… unless he could make a profit off it, that is. He tried fishing for what Regina truly wanted from him so he could benefit from it later… because apparently it didn't have a damn thing to do with broken teacups, but did have to do with power. And he knew about power. It was the most important thing in his life.

The mayor rambled on a little more about everyone kowtowing to her.

"They do it because they have to, not because they want to!" She seemed genuinely bothered by the fact. "It's not real."

Her emphasis on what was real briefly gave him pause before he let it go. "I'm sorry. What exactly is it you want?"

"Nothing you can give me."

"Wait, you don't want this back?" He held out her cup intending to return it.

Regina impatiently waved her hand in dismissal, already halfway out the door.

The woman was ridiculously high strung. "All right then," he muttered into the now empty shop. Gold rolled his eyes and made to drop the worthless cup into the trash.

Something stayed his hand; he wasn't sure what, exactly. A niggle of something… important.

He sighed and lightly touched a single finger to the design on the side.

It _was_ a pretty little thing in spite of the gapping chip in the rim. He eventually shrugged imperceptibly then tucked it into the very back of a cluttered cabinet. Gold was a pack rat after all. And who knew. Maybe someday someone would find some value in it.

* * *

**137. Go away. Just go away.**

_She doesn't remember, doesn't remember, doesn't remember. She crossed over the line. She doesn't remember._

The words hammered through her mind like the staccato repeat of automatic gunfire: a gut-wrenching terror accompanied by a continuous barrage of imprecise and confusing images that made her quake.

There was a man. He must have thought she wasn't sick anymore since she remembered he'd set her free from her padded cell in the basement. There'd briefly been the kiss of wind on her cheeks and dappled sunlight through trees for the first time in what felt like forever. Then nothing: an empty sucking blank as if she'd never really existed at all.

She hadn't remembered who she was before, but there was a new gap now of months and it was this that terrified the most because what if it happened again? And what if she really wasn't well? She'd awoken dressed in pretty clothes instead of the shabby hospital gown and battered coat she remembered fleeing the asylum in… as if she'd simply materialized out of nowhere… but that was impossible.

There'd been stunning pain through her shoulder and blood on her hand and a different man kneeling between her legs. He'd called her Belle, but she didn't know who that was; who he was. She just remembered the cold press of damp asphalt at her back and it was loud, too loud and too many flashing lights.

There'd been a ball of fire and a flare of purple and the pain had vanished like it had never been, but she still had the blood on her hand and the icy grip of fear touching her heart. Somehow she'd been _healed_ and he'd said it was nothing to be afraid of, but that was the worst lie of all because nothing _human_ could do that.

They'd given her something after returning to the hospital. It made her sleep, but it didn't calm the dreams. They stalked her now with a visceral clarity that they'd never had before.

The dream had been there for as long as she could recall. It wasn't real. They'd told her it had never been real: a cup and a kiss and someone who loved her.

It used to be comforting: the only thing in her dismal grey life that sparked of living colour. Now all she could sense was the spiral tug of insanity: delusions seeping into reality causing her to question both.

It was always the same: the soft flutter of breath against her skin before warm lips pressed against hers in the gentlest of kisses. The tender wash of love and a sense of utter belonging came next before she awoke.

She'd smiled this time as her eyes flickered open, trying to hang onto those last swirling vestiges of affection.

But instead of a dream, the stranger from the road was leaning over her. It'd been his lips; his breath. And she screamed.

She'd screamed because it wasn't real. None of it was supposed to be real.

He'd fled, but shortly come back carrying a damaged teacup. It looked exactly like the one from her delusion: snow white porcelain with a stylized blue branch painted on the side. And a chip. There'd been a chip in the rim.

"It's your talisman," he'd said. "I charmed it. If you focus, it will work." He'd spoken in a hushed whisper, his fanatical brown eyes attempting to draw her into his madness as he urgently pressed the cup into her hand. "It's magic."

Her mind violently recoiled against the thought. She'd shouted and begged him to stop, but he wouldn't. He just kept pressing and pressing and pressing.

_Just look at it, look at it, look at it…_

With wide-eyed terror she'd smashed his little cup; thrown it as hard as she could against the wall to get him to shut up, to leave her alone; to just go away.

Time seemed to freeze then.

Disbelief.

Her first thought was that he'd be angry, but he staggered, looking instead as if she'd destroyed something far more precious than a cup: she'd stolen his hope.

She refused to allow for regret, for truly, there was none. Close to tears, she'd begged him to leave. Again.

_Just go. Just go away. _

He'd quietly apologized, his shoulders slumping forward and thankfully done as she asked, slowly limping out the door without a backward glance.

_There's no such thing as magic, no such thing as magic._

It was a mantra she repeated to herself over and over.

Her eyes drifted and unfocused as her head lolled on the pillow. 'This means it's true love.' The disembodied voice echoed in her head. It sounded a lot like hers, begging and pleading to be believed and she moaned, trying to make it stop.

She couldn't stand it any longer: being in the same room as the shattered pieces of that cup. Furtively glancing around to make sure she was truly alone, she carefully slid out of bed, bare toes landing silently on the cool tile floor.

When no one came crashing through the door, she lunged across the room; dropped to her knees. Her breathing came in desperate rapid gulps for oxygen. She gingerly picked up the pieces as if they might burn her then quickly placed them in the small trash bin she'd collected from next to the bed.

A last look around and under a small table to make sure she'd gotten them all and she was on her feet and creeping quietly toward the door.

She prayed he wasn't waiting out in the hallway, but when she carefully nudged the bin outside the door she saw that it was deserted.

A thankful sigh of relief and she stood, turned and barely caught a flash of pure white light out of the corner of her eye as the broken pieces of the teacup shimmered then vanished from the garbage.

She froze, heart pounding.

That wasn't… It couldn't…

"I'm not crazy. I'm not." The claim was wrenched from her throat as something perilously close to a hiccupping whine and she screwed her eyes shut.

When she finally dared to look again the pieces were indeed gone and she fled back to her bed, choking back a sob and curled up in a tiny ball, unconsciously rocking back and forth.

"You're regressing." The nurse from her cell in the basement had found her again. She was holding another syringe.

"No. No," she whimpered, scooting as far away as she could get on the bed without tumbling off. "No more tranquilizers." But the nurse didn't listen. She never listened.

And then it was hazy and dark and her heart wouldn't stop whispering that someone loved her.

* * *

**135. Welcome to the mines.**

The long tunnel sloped downward and Leroy carefully picked his way along the twisting cart track, a string of industrial lights brightening the route. His sure steps echoed off the dull brown walls. He supposed some would find the mine claustrophobic, closed in by the weight of too much rock, but he loved the stillness found deep underground. It was comforting, this space where he could be alone with his thoughts.

Still, today's foray did have a dual purpose. Checking the perimeter within the mine typically fell to him or one of his brothers and he stopped just in front of an orange line spray painted across the rocky floor, careful not to accidentally venture across. He swung his flashlight around, the beam illuminating the darkened tunnel beyond the town line.

All clear.

It wasn't like he'd expected to find anything. Other than Moe French's misguided attempt to erase his daughter's memories of cavorting with the Dark One, no one tended to venture down here but the dwarves.

On one level he couldn't say he really blamed the man. Doubtless she could do so much better, but for whatever reason, Belle loved the town monster. Of that he had absolutely no doubt.

Kind and compassionate: that was Belle. She'd helped him follow his own heart once and Leroy grimaced. No matter who she'd loved, such a sweet woman certainly didn't deserve to be laid up in a hospital bed, reverted to her cursed self… Like Sneezy: no idea of who she really was.

Ruby had mentioned she'd gone to visit and it hadn't gone well at all, extreme paranoia rendering their friend a jittery unstable mess; was questioning the magic she'd seen when she no longer had any frame of reference with which to process the information. Heavy sedation was all that calmed Belle now and his mouth compressed into a grim line at the thought. Apparently she hadn't been held in the asylum solely because it was a convenient place for Regina to keep her out of sight for twenty-eight years.

He huffed out a breath and turned to go back, the beam from the flashlight briefly swinging across the rough wall of the tunnel before he switched it off.

Odd.

Leroy frowned; flipped it back on. A single hairline fracture near waist level ran about five feet before ending abruptly where the town line projected up into the wall. It hadn't been there the last time, he was certain. Besides it didn't seem to match the rest of the host rock, yet strangely, it did have a twin on the opposite side of the tunnel.

His calloused fingertips lightly traced the crack as he leaned down to get a closer look. He was certain it was something only a dwarf who'd spent a lifetime underground would have spotted.

Curious. He'd keep an eye on it.

* * *

**136. Every story in this book actually happened.**

Henry sat alone at the table, nose well buried in his book while absently munching on a piece of toast liberally spread with peanut butter.

He'd never stayed at such a fancy hotel before. Okay, truth was he'd never stayed at any sort of hotel before, but Mr. Gold certainly didn't go second class. The breakfast room was airy and ornate, complete with linen tablecloths and potted ferns, however, the setting and even the quiet clink of dishes emanating from the kitchen and the soft murmur of other patrons melded into an unobtrusive background hum that he didn't even notice.

Instead, Henry was fully engrossed in the story of Rumplestiltskin and his son Baelfire, a tale he'd previously only skimmed.

Long before he'd become the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin had vowed he would _never_ abandon his infant son, the heartfelt words of a new father pouring out between them after he'd hobbled home from the first Ogre War with the disquieting omen of a prophecy hurrying his steps. He'd been so thrilled. Even the horror and shame felt by his wife over his cowardice on the battlefield couldn't dim the excitement. He'd cradled small Bae close to his heart for the very first time and a bond of love that would transcend worlds was forged in an instant.

Father and son.

Henry felt a momentary pang. His own father was dead. True, he'd died a hero in his own way, and he still had both Emma and even Regina, not to mention his grandparents, but Henry would never know what it felt like to be loved by his father; what it felt like to be loved like _that._

With a sigh, he licked a smear of peanut butter from his thumb then flipped the page, pausing to examine the drawing of Baelfire, now a teenager. In the picture, the boy wasn't that much older than he was now and Henry tried to imagine how it would feel to face being shipped off to the Ogre Wars. Fourteen was hardly a man, but he'd been brave and willing to go if the law said he was old enough.

Instead Rumplestiltskin had stabbed Zoso through the heart, taking the Dark One's powers for himself. He'd done it to save Baelfire; to save all the children from certain slaughter on a bloody and brutal battlefield.

And from the best intentions, it had all gone horribly wrong. The story painted a picture of a cowardly man who continually made bad choices. Errors compounded upon errors until finally, faced with a glowing green portal and a chance for a new life free of his cursed magic, Rumplestiltskin hadn't chosen his beloved son. In that instant the mighty power of the Dark One was infinitely more important… and nothing had been right ever since.

A prophecy fulfilled.

Henry re-read the section just after the portal had sealed shut separating young Baelfire from all he'd known, his finger drifting down the block of text. Rumplestiltskin's regret had been instantaneous; he'd immediately recognized the utter folly of his choice: his son, lost to him, perhaps forever. Yet those first panicked moments hadn't seeded despair, but the initial roots of an all-consuming quest to recover that which had been stolen from him. He would never give up hope.

o0o0o0o

_Rumplestiltskin hollered for that accursed Blue Fairy to show herself. The one that had destroyed his Bae: filled his head with nonsense and warped his thoughts. The thick forest pressed in on all sides, shutting out all but a thin sliver of faded moonlight. He twisted and spun his entire body around as he frantically searched the sky for a floating flash of blue._

_"You will never make it to that world," Reul Ghorm noted patiently._

_"Oh I'll find a way," he promised. His tone could have melted iron, confirming the dangerous fury that lurked just beneath the surface. "There must be other paths. A realm jumper, a time turner-"_

_She tried to cut him off after each guess, exasperation growing. "No!" _

_Rumplestiltskin continued firing out options with maniacal swiftness as if she hadn't said a word. "Mage." _

_Darkness of purest evil sunk its endless talons deeper and deeper into his soul as each possibility was expressed and then summarily dismissed. Bae had been his only flicker of light, the depth of love for his son the single anchor keeping him grounded against the encroaching malevolence and the boy's loss cast him adrift, bound fully and completely to the power of the Dark One. _

_"There is no-"_

_"A curse."_

_An astonished pause shocked the Blue Fairy into silence and he instantly knew it to be true. "No!" _

_"Ah! So it is a curse!" he gestured wildly, thrilled he'd figured out the correct path so easily._

_"Of course you would think of a curse instead of a blessing," she muttered in disgust. "Your magic is limited by its own rotten core, Rumplestiltskin. Anyway, it can't be done. Not without a great price." _

_"I've already paid a great price," he trilled, stating the obvious._

_"So you'd be willing to sacrifice this world for the next? Because that's how great the price is!"_

_Fairies were ridiculously obtuse creatures. He hated them. "Well what do you think?" he asked as if it were the stupidest question in all the worlds. _

_"Well I'll comfort myself knowing that such a curse is beyond your abilities," Reul Ghorm sneered right back. _

_"Oh for now," Rumplestiltskin agreed. "But I've got all the time in the world. I will do nothing else. I will love nothing else! I will find a way. You took my son, but I will get him back." _

_His voice was pitched low with steely resolve as the oath was forged; his path was set. And in the deepest shadow of night, the mythic swirl of fate bound him eternally to his singular purpose. There would be no deviations. Nothing or no one would get in his way. And he would find what belonged to him…_

o0o0o0o

A land without magic. _This_ was why the curse had brought them all here. Henry had _never_ guessed it'd been about finding Mr. Gold's son, but looking at it now he saw how the man had been carefully manoeuvring people and objects into place for years: like puzzle pieces on the most complicated chess board imaginable. It was impressive, actually, but he supposed it must help that Mr. Gold could see the future. He'd know what needed to be done.

Henry wasn't sure that anything in his story book would help their quest here in New York City, but just knowing the pawnbroker's motive made him feel somewhat closer to the older man. He knew what it was like to search for someone important.

Mr. Gold had made the worst choice imaginable and his dreams had been shattered… But Emma was the saviour; she would bring back the happy endings. Even Mr. Gold's. He had utmost faith in his mother's destiny.

Henry looked up and stared thoughtfully as the man he'd been contemplating came into view. Mr. Gold was walking toward his table carrying a plate from the breakfast buffet stacked with a pair of Eggs Benedict and a small bowl of fresh fruit.

"Henry." He sat and meticulously organized his food in front of him before unrolling his napkin to pull out a knife and fork. "Where's your mother?" he asked while carefully draping the cloth square across his lap.

"Still getting ready. She told me it was okay to go ahead; not to bother waiting. This is him, right?" Henry pointed at the book, neatly changing the direction of conversation.

Mr. Gold flinched a little, but Henry was sure he'd spotted a glimpse of hunger flicker across his face before his eyes went carefully blank. "Yes, that's Bae."

A waitress paused at their table; asked if Mr. Gold wanted coffee. He made a negative gesture then asked for a cup of tea instead. She nodded and turned her attention to Henry. "How about you, sweetheart? More milk?"

"I'm good, thanks." Henry smiled. He'd noticed that Mr. Gold couldn't take his eyes off the drawing of his son even though he was trying to be sneaky about it.

"Your grandson has your eyes." Henry was taken aback at that, his gaze quickly flicking up to the waitress then to Mr. Gold. Must just be because they were sitting together, he thought, though he failed to recognize another similarity: that he was wearing a more casual version of Mr. Gold's impeccable wardrobe with his buttoned down plaid shirt and sweater with jeans and a stylish black pea coat, currently slung over the back of his chair.

Mr. Gold blandly corrected the waitress' misconception straight away. "He's not my grandson."

The woman looked surprised. "Sorry, my mistake."

"No matter." He dismissed the thought with a careless wave of his hand. She returned promptly with his tea then left them alone.

"So what's the plan? Do you know where to look?" Henry fired off the pair of questions in rapid succession with barely contained enthusiasm. He was finally on a real honest to goodness adventure and he wanted to get started right away.

Mr. Gold, for his part, answered with more patience than he'd been expecting. It must be a latent fatherhood thing. The corner of his mouth crooked upward as he leaned in slightly to share his tale and Henry felt a little more of his fear of the man slip away. He could picture _this_ Mr. Gold doing something similar when Baelfire was small.

"I have a magic globe back in Storybrooke that can be used to locate anyone you're related to by blood. I simply pricked my finger on the axis and the single drop of blood that fell reformed to show a map: the location of my son."

"Cool!"

"Indeed. I can get us to the right block. After that, it will likely take some detective work."

"My mom! That's where she can help. She's good at finding people."

Mr. Gold nodded in agreement while Henry impatiently bounced a little on his chair and craned his neck around, looking for Emma so they could get going. He was sure Mr. Gold wouldn't want to wait, but as he couldn't see his mother anywhere, he supposed they'd have to do just that.

"When you find him, do you think he'll come back to Storybrooke with us?"

"I hope so," he answered noncommittally.

"He can meet Belle."

There was no mistaking his pained expression at that. "She doesn't remember," he murmured softly.

"But True Love's Kiss can break any curse," Henry said matter-of-factly, brimming with an optimism he felt Mr. Gold really ought to share. "You're Beauty and the Beast. You'll kiss her and she'll wake up and..." Mr. Gold's face could have been carved from stone. "Oh. You already tried that," he said quietly as the sinking realization dawned.

It hadn't worked.

Tactfully, he didn't mention that out loud; stared instead at his plate while absently playing with the cuff on his red sweater. Henry suddenly felt sorry for Mr. Gold. He'd lost the only two people he loved. Truth be told, his whole life seemed to be one loss after another.

Family was important. It was what had driven him to search for his birth mother over a year ago: to fix the broken pieces and bring him and Emma back together as well as reunite her with her own parents.

Mr. Gold seemed nervous that Baelfire wouldn't be happy to see him after all this time. But he was here now. That was what counted. Henry hoped he'd have an opportunity to tell Mr. Gold that, but it seemed too late right now as he'd just spotted Emma striding toward them.

"Anything interesting in the book, kid?"

Instead of his mother, his gaze was riveted back on Mr. Gold. It was like watching a mask drop across his features, hiding his hurt away from the world as Emma plopped down in the chair between them. This was the harder, aloof expression he was used to seeing from the pawnbroker.

He suddenly realized that you never really knew a person until you looked into their heart. And Henry was starting to suspect that the man underneath the beastly exterior wasn't so cold-hearted after all.

Rumplestiltskin was the most powerful man in all of Storybrooke, the ruthless deal-making imp that had the entire town cowering in fear of his wrath: a man that would turn you into a snail and crush you dead for crossing him. And true, just the other day Mr. Gold had even threatened to kill Henry's entire family if anything bad happened to Belle while he was away. It had frightened him badly…

Yet he was here, searching for his son; was trying to fix his horrible mistake. And he'd helped Henry control his nightmares that time when he'd been trapped in a fiery netherworld; had even said the cost of that particular deal was on him. That was nice and he hadn't had to do that.

Examining further, Henry thought back to a time when he'd once seen Mr. Gold and Belle having lunch at Granny's and he'd given her the warmest smile, like he was suddenly lit up from within. He remembered it only because it was so strikingly different from how he usually looked.

It didn't fit with an evil cartoon villain. He supposed that people were layered. Besides, deep down The Beast was supposed to be one of the good guys. Maybe Mr. Gold just had trouble choosing the right side.

Henry closed the book and shoved it into his backpack. "Just backstory" he answered his mother, suddenly figuring Mr. Gold would probably prefer his privacy. Not that it was likely to remain a secret for long, but still. They didn't have to talk about his failings in front of him. "Can we get going now?" He knew she probably wouldn't want anything to eat and he and Mr. Gold were both finished.

She stood, chugging back the remainder of the coffee she'd poured into a disposable to go cup in their room. "Finish your milk, Henry."

Emma affectionately tousled his brown hair as he beamed up at his mother from behind his glass. It was getting a little shaggy looking and he could see she was thinking it was long past time he got it cut.

He swallowed the last drop while Mr. Gold paid for their meal then shrugged into his coat and adjusted Bae's shawl around his neck. He started toward the door with Henry hot on his heels.

"Don't forget your scarf!" Emma called and he hurriedly returned to retrieve it.

Henry then raced to catch back up with Mr. Gold and gave him a small private smile as if they shared a secret. He was pleased when the older man returned it. Everything would be just fine. He'd see…


	3. Chapter 3

**134. I know that you're not crazy, cause I saw it too.**

Daytime television was a dreadful affair so she'd turned the set off, preferring instead to curl on her side and stare morosely at the blank screen, her mind drifting both a million miles away and nowhere in particular. The tranquilizers did that to her, calming the anxiety with drug smeared serenity. She knew it was the worst sort of false security, that the cutting fears and paranoia would return, but even so, the blinding panic of those first couple days had now mostly faded to dull acceptance.

Somehow she'd lived outside the hospital, had apparently had some kind of a life before she'd forgotten it. Too many people confirmed it. They couldn't _all_ be delusions: the entire thing some form of extensive make believe world that only existed within the shattered remains of her mind.

She hoped…

Because to believe otherwise was infinitely worse. It would mean that absolutely _nothing_ was real. Her insanity had simply constructed an alternate life for herself, a better life where she was whole and free, but somehow she'd forgotten even that and… and… maybe she was still trapped in the basement, her cheek pressed against the padded wall while she pictured a chipped teacup on a silver tray.

No. There'd never been a cup. Not until three days ago.

She brushed away the pinprick of tears. It was all so disjointed and nothing truly made sense no matter how hard she tried to force herself to remember. She plucked a little at the bed sheet, pinching it and feeling the soft texture of cotton slip between her fingertips. This was something that was real. Wasn't it? She hoped perhaps she could at least hold onto that.

The book on the nightstand caught her eye. Comforts from home that woman Ruby had said, but nothing seemed at all familiar let alone comforting. Reading was still a way to fill the long empty hours until nightfall.

She sat up a little and picked up the paperback, flipping slowly to the page where she'd left off. They'd never allowed her books before, yet this one held little interest. The words ultimately blurred together on the page. She simply couldn't concentrate well enough to put aside the nagging questions and plaguing doubts that filled her mind and she impatiently tossed it away. Jules Verne? Really? This was what she'd liked?

She really wasn't sure.

It was like her very being was a puzzle that'd been smashed and someone was trying to shove the pieces in all wrong… only she didn't know for sure what the pieces even were let alone where they belonged.

The drugs were wearing off for the moment, leaving her mind marginally clearer and she slipped out of bed to make a beeline for her private bathroom. In some ways it had become her haven; the only place she was allowed anything resembling privacy. She closed the door to the tiny room and stared at herself in the mirror, hands braced against the sink as she hungrily took herself in: tried to figure it all out for the millionth time.

Deep blue eyes smudged with exhaustion, long chestnut hair, right now looking rather mussed, and too pale skin: those were the obvious things, the unhelpful things.

They didn't explain who she _was_.

She yanked downward on the loose neck of her pale yellow hospital gown to reveal her left shoulder. No matter how many times she checked, the skin was still smooth and undamaged on both her front and back. Her fingers skimmed across the non-existent wound as she tried to force her mind to give up its secrets; to understand the impossible.

There'd been blood. She shrugged and flexed the muscles. It didn't hurt now. But she knew it ought to.

The man from the road – she still didn't know his name – had not returned, and the relief at that was palpable, somewhat helping to calm the nightmarish cast of her life. He'd truly terrified her that first night, suffocating her beneath the weight of expectation when the heavy glaze of shock was orders of magnitude more chaotic and surreal than now.

Who _was_ he?

Why would he kiss her?

And that teacup? She shivered though the room was warm. There was _no_ explanation for the cup.

She reached out to her reflection; tentatively traced a fingertip across her cheek in a way that mimicked the gentle touch of a phantom lover.

_Someone who loves me. _

The idea floated ethereal and unbidden out from somewhere near her heart, yet it failed to soothe. She was lost, hopelessly flailing about alone in the dark and all she recognized was the vivid coating of fear in her expression.

"Who am I?" she begged the silence. Desolation rang in her broken voice; her breath shuddered. An urgent palm flattened against the glass while she gazed into her own eyes, desperately searching for an answer but sensing the pursuit may be futile.

Maybe there really was nothing hiding behind the veil. It was the worst thought of all.

Unconsciously, she played with the hospital bracelet snapped around her wrist. Belle. The name was typed in bold black ink on the band, but it didn't feel like hers.

She looked down and finally vocalized the painful truth: "I am no one."

Her troubled stare slipped back up to lock on her reflection.

It felt as if someone was watching her, their heart breaking alongside hers: watching through the mirror even though the notion was insane. And it wasn't the first time she'd sensed it. Yet if she shared that thought with the doctors she knew they'd simply write it down in her file, there'd be more rounds of drugs… maybe they'd even lock her back up in the basement. And she didn't want to go back there.

So she kept it secret.

The knock on the door to her room and the sound of a muffled voice calling: 'Belle?' jerked her thoughts back to the here and now. She tried not to flinch at the name and mostly succeeded for the first time.

Pushing the confusion and uncertainty aside, she scrubbed at her damp eyes then straightened her gown, taking a deep breath in preparation to go greet her visitor.

No one knew what to say to her. The more questions she asked the less anyone said and when it was more than one person coming at a time, it resulted in so many sideways glances and avoidance that it made her want to scream.

They were keeping things from her. That wasn't paranoid. It was fact. So she'd quickly learned to be wary; to remain calm in the face of her mounting frustration or no one would answer anything and then the nurse would come with another syringe.

What did that say about the people that were supposed to be her friends? The only one in this entire place who'd willingly told her the truth was an outsider.

She'd only seen him once, but she liked that Greg was truly a stranger. He wasn't someone she was supposed to remember; wasn't someone who'd look at her like they were waiting for a response, for recognition. And most importantly, he was the only one who'd been honest. No matter how improbable, Greg had seen the man holding the ball of fire in his hand as well.

She wasn't crazy. At least not about that part. And she held onto that particular truth tightly as if her life depended on it.

She opened the bathroom door and found Ruby had come to visit again. She'd brought along a takeout bag from some diner containing what smelled like a hamburger with fries and Ruby smiled tentatively while handing her a Styrofoam cup filled with iced tea. She wasn't sure she actually liked hamburgers or the iced tea for that matter, but still offered the woman a quiet thank you while climbing back into bed.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Ruby smiled tentatively.

She sensed she was being checked up on, though she had no idea why or what was going on beyond the confines of her ward.

The conversation bordered on stilted and uncomfortable. She really had little to say to this woman who was supposedly her friend and yet wouldn't tell her the truth. Ruby had tried to pawn off what she'd seen on the road to side effects from the tranquilizers even though the ball of fire and healing purple glow had happened _before_ she'd been forced into a drug induced stupor.

She may not know who she was, but she knew what she'd _seen_.

After a few minutes of painful back and forth she tried again, determined to finally ferret out _something_, anything.

A woman with shoulder length dark hair had come to visit: apparently some kind of acquaintance rather than a friend. Honestly, she hadn't liked the look in her eyes; found it more than a little disquieting. The woman had been evasive and was searching for something that belonged to someone she no longer remembered knowing. The slam of wariness at that had been immediate. It'd made her nervous and unsteady until suddenly everything had pitched to black… Then there was absolutely nothing.

When she'd finally lurched awake it was hours later, the woman was gone and her lunch tray was stone cold. The unexplained blackout had frightened her immeasurably, leaving her edgy and tamping down a bloom of panic that it was just like the last time and that it would happen again. So far there hadn't been another episode and at least the woman had provided her with a name. Two actually, but the first was a ridiculously long mouthful and she couldn't remember it all. Story of her life.

"Who's Mr. Gold? I apparently knew him?" She thought the question was delivered perfectly peacefully and lacking in any overtones of 'raving lunatic.'

"He's…" Ruby paused, clearly trying to marshal a response. She sighed a little as if she were struggling with an internal decision. "He's the man you were asking about before. The man from the other night on the road… by the town line."

"Oh." The man with the teacup. The man who'd _kissed_ her; _healed_ her. Her stomach churned uncomfortably and she fought for composure. At least she knew his name now even if she didn't know why he'd done those things.

She'd _known_ him. He'd kissed her as if he had a right to. The ramifications were… She couldn't think straight.

She unconsciously fisted the edge of the blanket lying across her knees. Her entire body tensed. Feeling as if she were stepping off a cliff, she whispered the natural follow up. "Who was he to me?"

Ruby looked uncomfortable, but held her gaze. "I think that's a question Mr. Gold should answer for you."

She nodded, disappointed at being given yet another sidestep.

"He's out of town right now." At her impassive expression, Ruby continued: "Looking for his son."

Oh. So that was why he'd left her alone. And when he came back? Apprehension twisted her belly into an iron knot cored with suspicions she wasn't ready to fully acknowledge. She couldn't halt the tremor that sluiced through her body.

She still didn't remember him.

Would he stay away?

No.

He would come… If he was… If they were… He wouldn't be able to stay away.

And she remained certain she didn't want to see him again.

* * *

**133. Is Mr. Gold going to be okay?**

Things had gone from great to bad in a heartbeat. It was as if something was always waiting around the corner to mess things up.

Henry stared thoughtfully out the window of the borrowed car, his chin resting on the heel of his hand while his dad slalomed through traffic. His whole world had shifted and mostly for the better. They'd gone to New York to find Mr. Gold's son and discovered Baelfire was also _his_ father, Neal. How cool was that?

He smiled a little to himself.

His father was alive! Sure, he was an ex-thief, but then so was Emma. And anyway, they'd immediately hit it off great, the mystical bond of father and son forging on a fire escape eleven years late instead of at his birth in a hospital… Okay, technically it would have been in prison, but whatever. He found tradition didn't matter so much in the end. The love was still there, instantaneous and powerful, regardless of timing. That was what mattered.

The same couldn't be said of his grandfather and Henry snuck a sideways glance at the man sitting in agony beside him in the back seat.

_"You stay away from me. You caused this. You brought us back here. You did this."_

The rejection cut deep.

His first thoughts had been worry and fear when Neal had helped Mr. Gold to the couch and he'd opened the top buttons of his shirt to reveal the bloody stab wound in his chest. Scared, Henry had asked if he'd be okay only to be hauled close, his grandfather's words tossing aside his concern with a lash of vicious anger before the man physically pushed him away.

The venom in his eyes had left Henry stunned. He wished he knew what Mr. Gold had meant.

Shock did funny things to people, but how was Hook stabbing him in the heart _his_ fault? Just because he'd wanted to go back to his dad's apartment and grab his camera? That desire for vengeance traced back well before he was even born. Even if they'd returned later, Hook would still have been lying in wait.

But truthfully, Mr. Gold hadn't seemed thrilled about their connection even earlier when he'd smiled warmly and asked if he should call him 'Grandpa.' He'd thought before that Mr. Gold liked him, at least a little bit. But now that they knew they were family it seemed the exact opposite.

He unconsciously gnawed on the inside of his lower lip; tried to work through the disappointment. Maybe most kids wouldn't be happy to learn Rumplestiltskin was their grandfather, but then Henry knew he was unusual. And he was still pretty sure Mr. Gold wasn't as bad as he seemed.

If only he understood what the problem was, maybe he could fix it. Because that story he'd read over breakfast the other day: now it was _his_ story too. Those choices his grandfather had made were a deeply intrinsic part of him, the repercussions echoing down through the generations like a stream tumbling downhill.

He'd work it out eventually, he supposed. Until then, they had a cloaked pirate ship to steal and a race against time to get Mr. Gold back to Storybrooke so he would live.

"Let's go," Emma said over her shoulder as Neal pulled into a parking spot with a view of a pretty tree-lined park surrounded by towering concrete skyscrapers on one side and overlooking the Hudson River on the other. The place was full of joggers and dog walkers and they blended into the crowd as best they could. Mr. Gold couldn't move very fast.

According to their stolen map, Hook had managed to moor the Jolly Roger at an exclusive yacht marina complete with high end security and Henry had been unsure how they'd gain access, but his parents thought they had it covered and the key card Emma had found in a pocket of the pirate's coat did indeed open the gate.

"Walk like you belong," his dad urged him as they moved down the gangway toward the larger ships and aimed for the first slip that appeared empty. No one paid any attention to the four, but they knew that could change quickly.

Though they couldn't see anything but the harbour and the New Jersey skyline beyond, eventually the quiet lap of water sloshing between invisible hull and floating dock told them they were at the right place. And then they found the stairs; vanished from view. A pair of seagulls were making a cawing ruckus from the yard atop the mainmast as they passed underneath and part of him couldn't believe it. He was on a real honest to goodness pirate ship! Maybe his dad would show him how to drive it.

Neal supported his father as they slowly maneuvered down the narrow stairs leading below deck. Henry followed along behind, carrying Mr. Gold's cane and they helped him lie down on a lower bunk in one of the cabins.

His mother and father were distracted; took off to set sail, but he stayed behind.

Henry briefly caught his grandfather's gaze before he looked away, clearly trying to ignore him. Not put out, he stayed where he was; stared.

After a minute or two, he carefully leaned his grandfather's cane up against the bunk then pulled Emma's cell phone from his pocket and dialled the number for Granny's diner. She picked up on the second ring. A quick conversation and he'd found out Ruby was already over at the hospital; had been going from the beginning.

They knew to cover Mr. Gold's weak points; that Belle had been used as a bargaining chip for far too long to let it happen again. Plus they cared about her for her own sake. He was thankful for that. Though he wouldn't show it, he was sure Mr. Gold would be thankful too.

The ship groaned and creaked as they got underway.

"Ruby is with Belle. You don't need to be worried Cora or Regina will grab her."

"They have my dagger," he spat while clutching at his chest and Henry was unsure whether the agony was due to the poison or his girlfriend being in danger, however tangentially. "At this point, Belle is irrelevant. And the least of anyone's concern."

_Not to you,_ he thought.

"You think Mary Margaret made the wrong choice," Henry murmured softly. "You're thinking that Belle was the only one ever worth trading for your dagger, but also glad it wasn't her because then she'd be the one broken and gone at the bottom of the clock tower… and you wouldn't have been there to stop it."

He knew what Regina had told Rumplestiltskin all those years ago; knew the haunting similarity of what could have been.

_She threw herself off the tower. She died._

The pronouncement echoed harshly in both their memories: one from living it, the other from words written in a book. He could see the recollection of it bite in his grandfather's eyes: eyes just like his he realized belatedly. That waitress _had_ seen the truth even if they could not. He filed it away for later, returning his thoughts to the woman who was effectively his other grandmother and the man who loved her deeply.

"She's safe."

His breath hitched. "She still doesn't remember."

"She will," Henry said with quiet confidence. He could see Mr. Gold didn't remotely believe him and he smiled sadly before heading up top. You had to truly believe for something magical to happen. And his grandfather already seemed to have given up.

* * *

**132. I started to think you were maybe worth my time.**

Magic had destroyed his family: utterly and completely ripped it to shreds. That they were hiding behind it now; that it wasn't his father's but the mother of his son who'd cast it, was… irony, to say the least.

Even so, Emma's protection spell wouldn't last long. Cora would get through to the back room of his father's shop. It was looking inevitable. And when that happened… He refused to acknowledge the grim possibility. His father would not die, not this day.

"Maybe it's for the best," Rumplestiltskin murmured, his voice wracked with pain. "At least this cursed power will pass from this world."

"No. No, you're not dying." Frustrated, Neal tossed his sword onto the cluttered work table; plopped down on a stool next to it. The interminable waiting was worse than just getting on with the fight… even if they lost. That his father already seemed to have given up was not helping his mood. He'd always been a pessimist, Neal thought dully. And a coward: always expecting the worst until it happened.

"I am dying, that much is certain. I need to talk to Belle." His father raised his hand; gestured at Emma for her cell phone. "Emma, please." A look of silent understanding passed between the two.

Confused, he asked: "Who's Belle?"

"Your dad's girlfriend," she answered solemnly.

That threw him way off track. A girlfriend? Neal hadn't even remotely expected _that_ when he'd come to Storybrooke. Sure, on an intellectual level he knew his father was a man, but… His father was… his father. He'd been a young boy when his mother had abandoned them yet the intervening centuries hadn't dulled his memory of the biting contempt she would regularly fling at his father. And he took it. He'd always just rolled over and taken it, no matter how callously she'd cut him down. If there'd ever been any love between them, it had well and truly died before he could remember. Rumplestiltskin had been a weak man before killing Zoso; easily bullied. And then his dark power had consumed him, turning his thoughts toward vengeance and cruelty that ultimately became much more important than even his own son.

His papa had loved him once. His heart had been true… but it hadn't been nearly enough.

_He didn't choose me._

Time had failed to dull _that_ gash even one iota. The fury burned at his abandonment. He wasn't sure his father was even capable of love any longer.

So what sort of woman would be attracted to him now? Boggled, he found himself staring blankly at his father as he tried to wrap his head around the concept.

Rumplestiltskin pressed a sequence of buttons and suddenly Neal and Emma found themselves privy to one half of a conversation that veered deeply private. Emma had moved to the other side of the work table; turned her back on the both of them, but it was only a semblance of discretion. Whatever deathbed declaration his father had to say to this mystery woman, both of them couldn't help but overhear it.

For whatever reason, it didn't seem to start well. Why would he have to introduce himself to his own girlfriend: like she didn't know him?

His father struggled to string together the words to tell her the end was coming. "I, I know. I know. It's just… sweetheart, I, I'm dying."

Rumplestiltskin's eyes drifted closed as he ignored his audience, his entire being focused entirely on the voice of the woman on the other end of the line. There was a short pause before his father continued and Neal belatedly realized he ought to look away.

"I know that you're confused about who you are so I'm going to tell you," he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. "_You_ are a hero who helped your people."

Deep emotion and tenderness flooded his father's voice and he saw Emma sneak a shocked glance over her shoulder. She clearly hadn't been expecting it either. That his father felt concern over the welfare of another was diametrically opposed to all he'd thought. Whatever had happened to this woman, Belle, he was slowly realizing that this call was entirely for her benefit: so that she would… _know_.

His father carried on, oblivious to all else while Neal and Emma bore silent witness to the depth and breadth of the truest form of love.

"You're a beautiful woman who loved an ugly man, really, _really_ loved me." His voice shook a little; he dug deep to control it. "You find goodness in others, and when it's not there, you create it. You make me want to go back, back to the _best_ version of me. And that never happened before. So when you look in the mirror and you don't know who you are, _that's _who you are."

His tone pitched so that she would listen and believe it; left no room for doubt.

"Thank you." He breathed her name at the last; savoured it on his tongue as if it were the final time he would ever say the word aloud. "Belle."

Neal's heart caught in his throat, squeezed tight. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. That brief glimpse into his father's heart, normally walled behind a cold, hard mask, challenged everything he thought he'd known about the man. He _loved_ this woman: really, truly loved her. And the best version of his father was what he'd wanted for _them_ all those years ago when he'd accepted that magic bean from the blue fairy.

Did he truly mean it? Was that what he'd intended? He didn't want the Dark One's evil power any longer?

Neal carefully cleared his throat; muttered gruffly: "I didn't know you had that in you."

"Oh, I'm full of love. I spent a lifetime looking for you for a chance to say I love you… and I'm sorry."

He heard the infinite regret laced with heartache and loss, yet was afraid to believe, to hope it was the truth.

"I didn't think you would go back on our deal." Neal could feel the prick of tears as eons of hurt and rejection bubbled toward the surface. He pressed his lips together; refused to look at his father.

"I just made the wrong choice." Rumplestiltskin reached out a hand, trying to bridge the yawning chasm between them with a simple touch. "May I?"

"I'm still angry," he muttered softly.

Hiding his face in the collar of his coat, Neal desperately tried to hold onto it, but felt the hardened shell begin to crack all the same.

"I know."

And then he was grabbing hold; bending over their tightly clasped hands as he pressed his forehead against his father's. He screwed his eyes shut, still unwilling to meet Rumplestiltskin's gaze as the slow seep of hot, salty tears washed over his cheeks.

He could sense the relief pouring off his father in waves. It was the first time he'd held those hands since that night his papa had let him fall: a touch that had haunted his broken heart ever since. They felt the same: a strong grip and lean fingers rough with callouses from the spinning wheel.

Then the protection spell was failing and Cora swept through the curtains. He'd managed to grab his sword; pivoted so he and Emma would face the evil witch together.

"You two. Out of the way."

Her words barely had time to register as they were engulfed in a swirl of purple smoke and the next second Emma and Neal reappeared on one of the hiking trails in the surrounding forest.

They looked around, stunned. He unconsciously dropped the sword to his side.

Seriously?

"Shit! Which way?" he yelled. His father: his papa was alone and defenceless with a woman who would kill him and take his power. But they were completely boxed in by trees; couldn't see more than thirty feet in either direction.

"Uh, uhm," Emma spun around, trying to catch her bearings. "That way?" She pointed uncertainly in a direction that led downhill.

"You sure? You've never really been a romp through the woods kinda girl." He took off anyway, figuring they had a fifty-fifty shot of being right. And if they weren't… well he prayed they wouldn't be too late either way.

Emma huffed, easily catching up and they barrelled together down the trail. "Hey, I took down an ogre once in the Enchanted Forest!"

Neal did a double take and nearly tripped over a protruding tree root as a result. "Really?"

"No, not really," she admitted. "That was my mother. Ass kicker with a bow and arrow. But the dragon under the library? Was all me."

He grinned and chuckled and for a moment it felt like old times. That she had swung toward humour instead of drawing attention to those final moments with his father broke the tension, and he was immensely grateful.

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree then."

"I suppose not."

Family was important and he was truly glad she'd found hers. And maybe it was just to take his mind off the upsetting fact that there may already be a new Dark One, destroying what little remained of his father in the process, but curiosity had him asking: "So who's this Belle?"

"Worried you're _this_ close to an evil stepmother scenario?" Neal shot her a dry look and she continued. "Relax. I don't know her well, but as you heard, Belle is really nice. Incredibly protective of your father, actually. Hook shot her in the back and she fell over the town line. She's in the hospital; doesn't remember who she is anymore."

Why his father had said what he did fully clicked into place. Facing the end, he'd needed to reach out to the woman he loved even though he was a stranger to her. Neal wondered if that loss was killing him inside or if he was just projecting. If it'd been Emma… No, he wouldn't go there.

"Sucks."

"Yeah."

"What was it in the beginning? Some kind of extortion thing or something?"

In spite of the phone call, the deep-rooted distrust born of abandonment kept him looking for the trick; for the man he thought he knew. How could a woman like _that_ love a man like his father? He didn't know what it was. On some level it defied belief. Because this man, _this_ Rumplestiltskin: he wasn't anything like the man who'd let him drop away.

Maybe the years _had_ changed him. He hadn't wanted to let go of the darkness for his son, but maybe… just maybe for this woman, this Belle, he really would make a different choice.

She was special.

Emma snorted. "Well I suppose it may have started out as something close. Back in the Enchanted Forest she traded herself to your father as a maid in return for the safety of her village from rampaging ogres."

"Lovely."

"I know! Only in a fairy tale, yeah? But I've seen them together when he lets his guard down. She does truly love him. They truly love each other," she corrected herself.

Forgiveness was a long way off. Still, a tiny flame of hope flickered to life and he could tell from Emma's sideways glance that she saw it spark inside him. He simply couldn't help it… because buried deep beneath the fury laid the shattered remains of an optimistic boy who desperately wanted his papa back.

This couldn't be the end. He wouldn't let it be. And maybe… Just maybe… The rift could be mended.

"Huh. A hero who saved her people," he murmured, remembering his father's description. "I suppose if I had to picture him with anyone, i'd've figured some power hungry bitch," Neal admitted.

"Life's full of surprises. Look, there!" Emma pointed at the clock tower, barely visible through the screen of trees. They shared a strained smile and somehow managed another burst of speed, the gravel crunching rhythmically underfoot as they picked up the pace. If only they weren't too late…

* * *

**131. You make me want to return to the best version of me.**

In the dead of night the normally busy hive of activity at Storybrooke General momentarily reduced to a state of sleepy calm. In fact, the hospital felt quiet as a tomb as he slipped unnoticed down the corridor housing the psychiatric ward: thankfully not the secret basement Belle had been locked away in for twenty-eight years, but a cheerfully painted wing on the third floor.

His cane clicked softly against the tile as he mentally counted down the rooms.

When he found the right one, Rumplestiltskin silently pushed the door open just far enough to see the outline of Belle in the dim light filtering through from the hallway. She was curled on her side facing away from him and he could tell by the steady depth of her breathing that she was asleep.

Thankful for that, he simply leaned his head against the doorjamb and watched. He'd purposely come to see her when she'd be asleep, stealing the chance to look when she couldn't send him away, and wishing he still had the right to slip into bed beside her and cradle her close.

He missed her so much.

_You promised you'd be here waiting for me when I got back._

The thought held more sorrow than he knew what to do with.

His Belle was gone. And calling her on his deathbed earlier that afternoon… he wasn't sure that it'd been a good idea, but he'd needed so badly to hear the soothing lilt of her accent wash over him one last time; needed her to know without a doubt who she was and what they had shared.

She hadn't screamed and told him to go away when they'd talked, but he could feel the disconnect in her voice when she'd answered the phone. It hadn't been the tone of a lover or even a friend, but something more resigned, as if putting up with his attention was some form of penance. He was the one who'd frightened her: the creepy old man who wouldn't leave her alone.

He'd told her he was dying and he could tell from the hitch in her voice that she didn't know how she was supposed to feel about that. She didn't remember him; didn't remember the depth of their love. Of course she didn't know that it would have shattered her otherwise.

Yet she was still _his_ true love. And even if that no longer meant anything at all to her, it still meant worlds to him.

He truly _had_ changed. Belle was the only one who had ever seen past the beastly exterior to the witness the love in his heart. Her startling intuition had spotted it almost right from the beginning.

It was Belle and only Belle that had caused him to shift from holding back to wishing he could spill out the entirety of his heart to her, because she would have understood and accepted him regardless. She had loved him once: really, truly loved him.

Not even Baelfire had looked so deep. His son was justifiably angry, but perhaps willing to give him a second chance and he desperately held onto the tiny sliver of hope that not all was lost.

"I found Bae. And he would have _really_ loved you, sweetheart," Rumple murmured brokenly. Belle would have been the bridge between himself and his estranged son. He was certain of it, but now he was left to fumble through without her as best he could, his longed for family in tattered pieces.

The spectral threat of prophecy flitted through the back of his mind: a looming undoing at the hand of his newly discovered grandson. His family was larger than he'd thought. And he wasn't sure he relished the change, the interweaving threads of destiny tugging him inexorably toward the abyss.

Yet if he did die and by some miracle she eventually remembered… then she'd know from what he'd told her. His Belle would know that in the end he'd desperately wanted True Love's Kiss to work.

It would have to be enough.

Belle moaned and fretted somewhat in her sleep and it jolted him from his reverie. He longed to offer comfort; to banish her nightmares with a soft kiss and whisper how very much he loved her. Instead Rumplestiltskin let the door close quietly before she could wake then turned to limp away.

He was a coward. And she didn't want to see him anymore.

* * *

A/N: All right, the wheels are off, we're careening down the road, so next up: we smash into the ditch, lol. Thanks very much for reading everyone! And let's see if we can get back on track timing wise now that I've got work back under control…


	4. Chapter 4

**90. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.**

The dull grey day fit his pensive mood. It carried the heavy, ominous feel as if it might rain. There was a threat carried in the cool air, lurking somewhere nearby, though he couldn't yet pinpoint the source. It set his nerves on edge. In marked contrast was the sharp clack of wooden swords and the occasional happy shout ringing out across the small park near the docks.

Rumplestiltskin stood stock still on an overlooking platform, hands lightly covering the golden handle of his cane while watching the tableau of his son and grandson jumping and running: playing together in a way he and Bae never could when his son was small because of his injured ankle. That was his own fault. Another regret for the mountainous heap that overflowed from within. His son had been cheated out of many things because of his cowardly actions on that distant battlefield many years ago.

Portents of prophecy. The seer's declaration had always been akin to a serpent with razor sharp fangs burrowing deep inside until he simply couldn't ignore it any longer. He'd felt it pierce the depths of his soul. There was no escaping the poisonous venom now wicking through his veins, nothing left but to yield to powers so much greater than anyone could ever imagine. Powers conspiring to make it all happen, regardless.

_The prophecy. The seer said the boy would be my undoing so I have no choice. I must be his._

His logic from the nightmare that morning was unshakable in the cold light of day. With a flourished wave of a stolen fairy wand, he'd turned Henry into a life-sized figurine. Evil lurked in the darkness of his soul and the gasps of horror from his family were no deterrent. The boy must die so that he may live. Why couldn't they see that? The sick sound of shattering porcelain as the threat of his grandson was obliterated forever reverberated over and over throughout his mind.

Removing the threat would be easy. Right now the boy was defenceless. His hands tightened fractionally on his cane. He recalled the feeling of glorious freedom in the instant when the dust had settled, a twisted part of him longing to feel that thrill in reality.

It was complicated now.

Killing the boy who meant to destroy him had been easy enough to contemplate before they shared blood. Now it was more than that though. Rumplestiltskin _liked_ Henry. The boy was indeed remarkable. None of this would have happened without him. And a part of him was drawn to his youthful optimism, his courage to steadfastly believe that all would be right in the end.

Could he make a different choice? Was it possible to sidestep destiny? Would it even matter in the end?

To destroy Henry would drive Bae away forever along with all hope of forgiveness. He didn't need to see the future in this instance. His son was a father now too. He could see how his love for the boy grew with each passing day. Henry meant everything to him now: an unbreakable bond of blood that transcended their time apart. Bae would do anything to protect his son. Cross worlds if he had to. Even, he suspected, let his own father die in the process.

He watched them from afar this morning for a reason. His gaze had briefly locked with that of Baelfire when he'd discovered the two together having fun in the park. His son knew he was here yet there'd been no other acknowledgement, no encouragement to come join them. And so he waited. Waited patiently for the longed for invitation that he was welcome.

"It seems we've both been pushed to the sidelines."

Regina. Why she was bothering him now was anyone's guess.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, irritated at having his thoughts interrupted.

"The real question is, what's your son doing with mine?"

"Oh, that. That's right." He smirked a little. "You didn't get the birth announcement, did you? That's Henry's father." Rumplestiltskin pointed at the pair as they catapulted themselves across a picnic table, toy swords clashing with wild abandon.

_"What?"_ She spit out the single word with quiet incredulity at distinct odds with the fire he saw building in her expression.

"Do I have to spell it out for you? Miss Swan and my son-" His eyes went wide with innuendo.

"_You're_ Henry's grandfather?" She cut him off, outrage raising her voice. Her gaze could have skinned a cat.

Rumplestiltskin truly enjoyed turning the screws to Regina. It was good sport and he twisted a little further as she processed the implications that they were now family. And really, what did the woman expect? She and her mother had been trying to kill them all. To be upset now about not being kept in the loop was utterly ridiculous. It wouldn't stop her, he supposed, but then Regina did have the tendency to lose her tenuous grip on earth logic at times.

"When I adopted him it was _you_ who procured him for me. You expect me to believe that that was a coincidence?"

They walked together down a ramp toward the grassy area where his son and grandson were still playing.

"No, not coincidence. Fate. And apparently Fate has a sense of humour."

"Fate. So you're playing the part of the loving grandpa now?" Her eyes narrowed. "They won't accept you. No matter what you do. Not your son, not any of them."

He recognized how she was trying to turn the tables back on him; regain a semblance of control over the situation by projecting her own foundering attempt at redemption. As if they were similar. Sometimes Regina was entirely predictable.

"Yeah, we'll see." He wouldn't let her squirm under his skin.

"I've already seen, Gold. I've seen your dark heart and it always wins out. You always choose darkness."

"You know, you think you know me, dearie, but you don't." And she didn't. Regina, like the rest of the world, only saw what he let them see: the dark façade of power.

"I know you well enough. If your own son couldn't bring out the good in you, who will?"

It was a calculated taunt and she left as soon as she'd flung it at him. They both knew who the answer was. Belle would have helped him choose the right path; to see the option the Dark One could not. Right from the beginning: she had always been the shining light within his darkness. And Regina knew as well as he that Belle had very nearly broken his curse back in their world, had very nearly wiped the darkness entirely away with a simple kiss.

Though now… was an entirely different matter. His stomach clenched. Regina had gotten to him after all.

Weeks had passed. He knew Ruby visited most often, but he couldn't ever bring himself to beg the girl for information. Belle didn't want to see him and though it had killed him to do so, he honoured the demand, preferring to convince himself he was doing her some kind of noble favour by staying away rather than cowardly slinking off right when she needed him most.

Either way, every day was a gaping wound that refused to heal.

He pulled a little mirror out of the inside lapel pocket of his suit jacket; cradled it carefully in his palm. He'd had it tucked safely over his heart ever since he'd left Storybrooke to find his son. His other hand passed across the surface and an image of Belle replaced his own. It was all he had left of her: an image in the mirror and the shattered remains of their treasured cup, found carefully hidden away where no one could see.

As always, she was staring at herself in the mirror in the bathroom attached to her room at Storybrooke General.

He noted sweatpants, the standard pale yellow hospital gown and a plain white fleece robe. She seemed… better. Not upset, just quiet. Lost in thought. He wished she would say something so he could gauge what she was thinking about.

Rumplestiltskin watched her reach for the mirror on her side. Her fingertips drifted across the glass. When she did that he liked to imagine that she somehow knew he was there; was reaching out for him. That even without any of her memories, on some level she still desperately needed him as much as he needed her.

He glanced away with pain ripping at his heart.

It was a flight of fancy, nothing more.

At least she was safe.

"Gold."

His breath caught in his throat at the soft whisper of his name. He watched her lips tremble a little. She was thinking of _him_. And in that singular moment, if he could have without frightening her, he would have flung himself through the mirror to her side. His own heart was starved for her. It seemed a lifetime since he'd last felt her gentle touch; seen her smile at him with love in her eyes.

Rumple consoled himself with staring hungrily. Maybe, just maybe, this meant she wanted to see him again? There was a rocketing level of hope at the thought. Maybe their love _hadn't_ slipped away forever.

He could get it back.

If he had the courage to fight for it, fight for her.

But she'd always been the brave one, he mused anxiously. Not him. Never him.

Belle had told him before Hook shot her and everything had gone to hell that their love was worth fighting for. He touched a fingertip to her face in the mirror. Then Rumple recollected perfectly how the fear had hovered behind her beautiful blue eyes before he'd spoken her name from across the town line. Yet she'd let him go because it was what he needed to do. And she'd trusted him implicitly to come back to her no matter what.

He knew with a stinging sense of guilt that if their positions had been reversed, if he'd stepped across the town line and Bae's shawl _hadn't_ protected him, that she never would have _ever_ given up until he remembered: remembered the two people in all the worlds that he loved dearly.

Belle and Bae.

True Love's Kiss: a magic powerful enough to break any curse. It hovered in the back of his mind, buzzing like a swarm of insects that would not be ignored. Rumple knew it was the solution; could bring her back to him.

But it hadn't worked yet, the pessimism inside him mocked. It may _never_ work.

Still, Belle had called for him, was thinking about him even as he stood alone in a park wracked with indecision instead of hurrying to her side.

He stared over at his son. He and Henry were clearly having a fantastic time together. He doubted they would even notice if he slipped away…

He had to at least _try_ again. For her _and_ for him. It came as a flood of relief to choose Belle. The darkness wouldn't win this battle. She would bring out the good in him like she always had and he… would do everything he could to bring her back.

But for this to work, first and foremost, he needed to regain her trust. He'd be wiser this time. Magic had terrified her; set her scurrying away from him both physically and emotionally. He'd done it without thinking: just the overwhelming need to heal her wound and then with their special cup, to bring her back to him. In his own panic and loss, he hadn't given due consideration to how it would appear to someone that didn't know anything about magic. If he was lucky, maybe she wouldn't remember his reckless babbling about castles and magic and enchanted teacups. And they could start over.

He'd have to be extremely careful. She already thought she was crazy. They didn't live in a normal town and the longer she was exposed to it, the greater the chance of her seeing something that could throw her back over the edge.

Rumplestiltskin halted the spell and placed the mirror back in his pocket. For the first time since she'd looked up at him with the eyes of a stranger, he felt peace. Peace and hope.

Yes. This would work. He'd go right now.

* * *

**90. A brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness.**

There'd been truth in his voice. Of that she was absolutely certain.

_You're a beautiful woman who loved an ugly man, really, really loved me._

He sincerely believed she'd loved him once. And to his view at least, theirs had been an entirely mutual bond. No matter how many times she mulled over his words, that didn't change. In spite of how she'd screamed and panicked and pushed him away, Mr. Gold had loved his Belle deeply, truly. Every word he'd spoken to her during that final phone call had been saturated with it, the depth of his tenderness taking her breath away and calming her fears.

She stood, staring peaceably into her own reflection in the mirror above the sink. Again. Everything always seemed to circle back to the mirror as if it somehow held the key to everything. Without fail she invariably ended up returning to where she began every bland and boring day: searching it for answers that lay shrouded in a haze of mystery.

Who am I?

Am I Belle?

The name still sounded foreign to her ears, but she supposed she'd gotten used to it on some level even though it had yet to settle and feel like she owned it. Rather, it was more like a stranger existing somewhere within the deepest fragments of her mind. She'd been told this Belle was there, but she couldn't quite find her no matter how hard she tried to bridge to gulf.

Was this simply another symptom of her insanity: this other person lurking somewhere deep within? How would she even recognize the real version of herself when reality itself was a seeming loosely grasped thread? Even the doctors were vague about her amnesia and every time a question was dodged her disquiet grew and the list of medications lengthened.

She shivered; forced her thoughts to center once more on Mr. Gold.

_You find goodness in others, and when it's not there, you create it. You make me want to go back, back to the best version of me. And that never happened before. _

_That's _who I am. Outside the asylum, she'd been _someone_: someone worth loving. Someone that brought out the best in people. She focused on that.

He was gone now. He must be. He'd said he was dying and that had been weeks ago with no word since. An unspoken heaviness had settled around her heart. She hadn't figured out how to grieve for one who'd apparently once meant the world to her, but now was reduced to a handful of terrifying memories and a single phone call that had changed it all. She was sad he was gone and when he'd first hung up, the loss had sliced keenly. Still… It seemed an unfitting epitaph to a relationship that had meant so much to him.

Yet when the dream came to her at night, it was now Gold's gentle kiss she awoke to, delusion and reality somehow weaving an odd fuse of images in her mind that she didn't understand. He _had_ loved her. Maybe it made a certain amount of sense. Maybe.

At first, the knowledge of their bond had sparked nothing but dread when he'd clicked those puzzle pieces together in a way she'd been too afraid to contemplate herself. Reflection and time had ultimately calmed the chaos. Looking at that night on the road from his perspective, she understood that while she may have forgotten herself, he had not. Leaning down to kiss the woman he loved was an entirely natural response.

The cup… must simply be a coincidence from a life she couldn't remember… A love she couldn't remember.

Unless…

Magic. There was the faintest whisper from within: her talisman. She frowned a little; felt a tiny nudge around the edges of delusion. And then it was gone.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she felt the subtle awareness again as if she were being watched. It was comforting instead of terrifying; came with a sure sense that she was cherished and beloved by someone who longed to reach out and hold her close… Like in her dream.

Did I really love you?

Her fingers traced a path down her own cheek in the glass. Had he ever touched her like that? She wished it was a memory. Instead it was a flight of fancy, nothing more. And now she would never know.

"Gold."

His name was pulled straight from her heart and she sensed something deep and powerful moving just out of reach though she couldn't understand how or even what. He was gone. But he'd given her something precious before the end: the thinnest sliver of herself to hang onto.

She was truly thankful for that. If only… it wasn't the end. It had taken weeks to come to that realization and now it was far too late.

With a sigh, she wandered back to bed. She sat for a while with her chin propped on one knee as she stared off into space. There were no answers. Finally giving up for the time being, she grabbed the book from her bedside table and settled down, cross-legged, to read.

There was a gentle tap on the door and she glanced up; couldn't believe her eyes. She gasped. "You're… you're alive!"

Mr. Gold. He was standing in her doorway, his expression a cross between warmth and hope.

"Indeed I am." She sensed a hint of relief as he saw her mouth turn upward in a smile. Gold returned it with a one of his own and he took that as permission to enter; moved to stand next to her bed.

"I imagine my last phone call was a bit alarming."

"Yeah," she said, still in a state of mild disbelief. "It sounded like you were on your deathbed." He was whole and safe and alive and all she could think was that she'd somehow gotten her wish. It wasn't the end.

"I'm really sorry if I startled you. I know that you have no memory of me, but my feelings for you are real. And I just needed you to know that in case… Well, in case I died."

She accepted his apology with a gentle smile of understanding. "I'm glad you're okay. And I could tell your feelings were true."

"You could?"

"I have a sense about people. I can't explain how, but I could just tell."

He loved her. She may not remember returning his love, but the agony of his loss was clearly evident. His heart was laid bare in his eyes; impossible for her to miss. And while he'd claimed to be ugly, she didn't see it. All she observed was a vulnerable man with a loving heart.

"So you believe we know each other." Gold gestured between them, his tone guarded, and she knew he was trying to tread carefully; was likely reliving how she'd shouted and told him to go away.

"I believe that whatever caused me to forget myself means that I have a past. And that past probably included you."

"It did."

Two words and his relief was obvious. She pounced on the opportunity. No one else had given her a straight answer and it was driving her nuts.

"When I, uh, when I was injured, I... This is gonna sound crazy." She laughed a little in embarrassment. "I remember you healing me." There was a tremor of fear sliding through her voice that she couldn't manage to control, yet she pinned him with her stare. She _required_ an honest answer as to _how_ it had happened.

There was a rueful half smile as he realized what she wanted to know. "You've been through a lot. A serious injury, all the drugs you've been on since you've been in here…" Not even Mr. Gold would tell her the truth, to the woman he _loved_ no less, and she glanced away in annoyance, recognizing evasion when she heard it. "Once you remember who you are, it will all become clear."

_When I remember._ She tenaciously latched onto that instead of the aggravation. He made it sound as if she _could_ remember. She could remember _him_.

She eyed him suspiciously. "Can you help me do that? Remember who I am?"

"Only if you help me remember who I am."

"Sorry, what?" That wasn't the answer she'd been expecting.

"Belle, you always brought out the best in me. And right now I need that. So yes, I will do everything I can to bring you back. For you and for me."

His hands were clasped in front of him on the handle of his cane and she instinctively reached out to place her own hand over his. He seemed stunned at the gentle touch, briefly glancing down as if he couldn't quite believe she'd done it. She felt the swift flood of tension form beneath her palm when he marginally tightened his grip on his cane, but he didn't pull away. He might have stopped breathing.

His skin was warm. And the connection… It felt natural. Almost… familiar. Almost… something.

And she smiled as they agreed to help each other.

* * *

**90. When you find something that's worth fighting for, you never give up. **

On some level he knew she was speaking English, but none of the words made a lick of sense. Van _who? What?_

Lacey strutted off to fix what was apparently a dreadful musical selection emanating from The Rabbit Hole's jukebox while he stood rooted to the floor in shock, certain a deer in the headlights of an oncoming lorry couldn't have looked more dumbfounded than he felt in that moment.

Regina had done this on purpose: vengeance for his jabs over not telling her about Henry's father. She'd twisted the knife in a calculated effort designed to maximize his misery.

"What are you doing?" David hissed from his stool down the bar.

"We have nothing in common!" Rumplestiltskin blurted. He wasn't sure even the prince's help was going to solve _this_ crisis.

"It doesn't matter. You just need a way in. Ask her out."

Easy for Charming to say. His true love actually _worked_ while Rumplestiltskin and Belle's had somehow been on the fritz ever since she'd escaped the asylum the first time.

All of his careful plans had relied upon courting the Belle from the hospital: the one more like his Belle minus her memories; the one reaching out to him through the mirror. He'd have started asking her about the book he'd found her reading and gone from there, trying to reconnect first at an intellectual level. And even if she'd never regained her memories, they could still have fallen in love again and been happy together.

He very much doubted _Lacey_ would be impressed at being given a library. Fighting through a head crammed full of curse memories to re-win her heart wasn't at all what he'd bargained for.

Lacey.

Talk about dropping down the rabbit hole. Everything was so glaringly wrong. All he could see were the differences. Polar opposites. Lacey even _moved_ differently than Belle; her sultry voice sinking a fraction deeper. Regina had completely tarted her up and he watched in horror as she blatantly flaunted her sexuality in a way Belle never would. And if that wasn't enough, the alcohol consumption was truly frightening. She was downing shots like she had a cast iron liver. Where the hell had _that_ come from?

He instantly recognized the type: the kind of woman who'd never look twice at a cowardly spinner let alone an ugly imp. He'd never felt older or more boring in his life, was suddenly worried that anything he said would come off sounding ridiculously old fashioned. And the last thing he wanted was to sound like her grandfather.

He'd never get Belle to fall in love with him now and the despair hit like a swift punch to the stomach.

His mind flashed to a stark memory of Milah carousing in the tavern nearest their hovel, flinging back shot after shot of whatever gut-dissolving crap was cheap and plentiful, surrounded by a sea of raucous, groping men. Men who'd never shown any qualms about putting their greedy hands all over his wife because she'd never told them no.

She'd never chosen him. Not after he'd shown himself a coward and shamed her in the process.

And now Rumplestiltskin sensed it was happening all over again, his self-confidence rapidly shrivelling toward nothing.

He remembered that first day they'd met: Belle in her pretty gold gown clutching a book to her chest. He'd seen that moment in a vision; knew his answer as if fate itself had ripped the words from his chest.

_My price is her._

She'd been beautiful and sparkling with life, but he hadn't been looking for love that day. All he'd wanted was a companion. Someone he could talk to; someone to break the numbing loneliness of his solitude. Of course they'd wanted something from him. Over a year of siege, bloody and brutal, had laid waste to their once fertile land. And she'd been desperate enough to agree to his terms.

So… What the bloody hell could he find to talk about with _Lacey?_ Now there was also the terrifying fear taking root that even if by some miracle he managed to get her to go out with him, there'd be no substance, nothing on which to build a new foundation of love.

The curse was supposed to use a person's real life as a framework, stripping off personality traits and accentuating others in order to make them miserable. But this…

"That's… That's…" Rumplestiltskin found himself at a complete loss for words.

"A sexy drunk?" Leroy supplied, unhelpfully. He'd sidled up to lean against the bar next to where David sat. Terrific. Just what he needed: an audience to his utter humiliation. He thought he'd gotten rid of that damn dwarf back in the diner.

"That's _not_ Belle. You said there'd be a sliver left." Pleading eyes glanced toward David while his voice pitched up toward panic at the end, but he couldn't help it. Every instinct in his body was screaming to bolt out the door and _never_ come back. But Belle needed him. It was the only thing keeping him from fleeing; from giving in to the raging cowardice.

"Oh, I don't know. How well did you really know your girlfriend?" Leroy taunted. "The first time I met Belle was in The Lubber & Duck a couple years before the curse. Maybe a little more." At Gold's bewildered expression, he explained: "The pub near the dwarf mines in our world? Anyway she was pounding back the ale like a pro. Couldn't drink a dwarf under the table by any stretch, but still. And I happen to know for a fact that the two of you were banging like bunnies because Granny is _still_ having nightmares about overhearing you get off. Rather impressive stamina for a guy centuries old though. Do you use magic for that?"

Again. Rumple heard the words, but his comprehension felt like zero. He blinked.

"How the hell did you end up playing wingman for Gold, anyway?" The question was directed at Charming. Leroy sipped at his beer.

"I know how to recognize a desperate soul," he quipped.

Across the bar, Lacey dropped some quarters into the jukebox and made her first selection.

"Hmm," Leroy murmured. "Looks like Regina only gave her a playlist of about three songs. This could get repetitive."

"Then maybe your amusement will die quickly." Rumplestiltskin weighed the consequences of turning the interfering dwarf into a garden gnome while Lacey was still within sight.

"Coulda been much worse."

"How so?"

"90's boy bands." He and David clinked mugs; shared a chuckle.

"If you don't shut up now, I will quadruple your rent," Gold growled, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened around the handle of his cane. "And sink your boat."

David finally took pity on him. "Go on. Just ask her out. You have to start somewhere."

"Show her the man she fell in love with," he muttered under his breath while nervously adjusting his tie. "Right."

He mentally counted off on his fingers. So no murder. No torture. Turning people into snails was right out. Feeling as if he were walking the plank off Hook's damn pirate ship, he nodded and walked over to the jukebox.

"Uh, Lacey."

"Yeah."

She was distracted looking for music to better suit her taste, but eventually turned to face him as he ploughed forward. "Now that you're back to your old self, perhaps we could spend some time together."

"Like a date."

Her skeptical expression didn't fill him with any confidence, but he hid it behind a front of cool composure. "Yes, a date."

"Well you do know that I'm not this _Belle_ that you're always talking about." She stated the obvious as if he were a rather slow-witted school child.

"Yes, of course." As if he could forget it.

Lacey pinned him with those deep blue eyes that were a mix of both familiar and foreign all at once and he got the distinct impression she was testing him. Or trying to figure him out. Maybe both.

"I've heard about you, you know. People in town, they're afraid of you Mr. Gold."

His stomach sank. A bad reputation: not what he needed right now. Belle had fallen in love with the good in him. "Don't let that deter you. Give me a chance, please."

Her stance seemed faintly combative as she continued sizing him up; made her decision.

"Okay. Tonight. Granny's. Eight o'clock."

She strode away while still in the midst of giving him the time and he wasn't sure whether her acceptance had spawned relief or panic of a different sort. She'd given him a chance. Now he had to make it count. No bloody pressure.

David grinned and came over to join him. "Not bad Don Juan." Even Leroy looked grudgingly impressed.

He smirked a little. "Don Juan was nothing before he made his deal with me."

"Regardless, you got her to go out with you. Congrats."

The younger man looked as if the rest would now simply fall into place. Rumplestiltskin knew better.

"Indeed. Now I just need her to fall in love with me."

Never in his life had he felt less certain over the outcome of anything. Lacey was back over by the pool table singing along to something obnoxiously loud, her hips swaying in time to the pulsating noise as she expertly racked the balls. He could feel a migraine coming on.

Rumple managed to make out a few words from the horrible screeching that she was so obviously enjoying.

_I wanna go. I wanna go, oh won't you please take me home. I wanna see… how good it can be. Oh won't you please take me home._

He hoped it was a good omen. He so desperately needed this to go well.

Snow White and her prince… Their true love was so powerful that they'd somehow been able to _feel_ each other through the curse, had found and loved each other in spite of the false memories. He could only hope that destiny would be as generous to him and Belle; wouldn't let Regina's bitterness keep them apart yet again.

Because if a sliver of his Belle was truly still buried in there somewhere, he was having an impossible time seeing it.

* * *

**12278. There are no coincidences.**

In the gathering dusk, sunset fingered across the sky in trailing wisps of peach, scarlet and slowly deepening indigo.

The tall handsome knight and the brave beauty: she laughed a little, her small hand tucked into the crook of his arm as they walked side by side. The canopy of majestic oak trees opened up above them and he tugged her to a halt at the crest of a hill overlooking a small lake. His arms wrapped around her waist as he bent his head to gently steal a kiss. They stood that way for a long time, her palms pressed to his shoulders, mouths softly exploring in a manner reminiscent of thousands of lovers before them.

Perhaps…

Though her body responded willingly enough to that of her newly betrothed, to those with the vision to truly see, it was obvious that within the hidden depths of her soul the lady's heart remained unmoved.

Shadows played in the treetops, the sun dropped beneath the horizon and a pair of stars flickered to life high in the evening sky.

The couple were oblivious to all else save each other; couldn't realize they were being watched had they even known to look for truthfully there was nothing to see within the advancing twilight.

Everything happens by design. Destiny, fate… No one in any world could ever escape it: what was past, what was present and especially that which was yet to come. All twined together for eternity in an interweaving tapestry of gold and silver and bronze.

The raven haired beauty with the innate ability to see into the heart of a beast…

Yes. She was the one. The only one.

With a flourish, a hand was raised… and then the ogres came.

* * *

A/N: The song is Guns N' Roses, Paradise City. Welcome back to the 80's. :D


	5. Chapter 5

**90. You really are as dark as people say.**

He'd observed her as she'd walked in, fed change to the jukebox then scanned the crowd, clearly a hungry woman on the prowl. Their eyes locked across The Rabbit Hole and Lacey smiled and swaggered over, hips swaying to the pounding beat of Van Halen. Her body brushed provocatively against his as she moved to sit next to him at the bar.

The woman simply oozed sexuality in her skimpy little fuck-me-now blue dress. It barely covered her quite charming assets and he smiled to himself, thinking it really was a tragic shame that she and the wolf-girl hadn't ended up wandering around Storybrooke trapped in their respective cursed personas at the same damn time. They'd have made a matched set of trashy debauchery and it would have rendered his enforced watching of the interminable twenty-eight years of the curse somewhat amusing if nothing else.

The bartender poured her a shot of tequila and a scotch on the rocks without needing to be asked and set them in front of her. She smiled her thanks then turned her attention back to the man she'd set her sights on.

"So. Who're you?" Lacey asked in a sultry bedroom voice that made him grin in spite of himself. Regina really had outdone herself this time and he could already sense that Rumplestiltskin was going to have his hands full. Whether or not it would involve a handful of his girlfriend's delectable ass remained to be seen, but a hand full none the less.

"Name's Jefferson," he responded with a smirk.

"I'm Lacey." She tossed back the shot then briefly sucked on a wedge of lime.

"Oh I know who you are." At his confident declaration, she suddenly looked wary: as if she wasn't entirely sure whether or not that was a good thing.

Still, she asked the follow up question with an expression of bravado tinged with suggestion. "Did we know each other?"

He wondered exactly how the curse had allowed her to wrap her head around the concept that she'd been this whole other person that she couldn't remember. Then again, maybe she'd just chalked it up to the loony bin and some kind of head trauma slash amnesia thing.

"We met once," he murmured, thinking of the time he'd broken her out of the asylum.

Her eyes narrowed as she scraped around for the memory; grinned when she actually found it. "The asylum. You were the man that broke me out of that horrible basement. I remember." She seemed inordinately pleased at that final statement.

Jefferson nodded, interested that she'd recognized him from that particular night, but from what he'd heard, not Gold. Another manifestation of the curse, he supposed. No happy endings.

Lacey inched closer, fluttering a palm across his forearm. "Well then, if we've only met the one time, I clearly haven't thanked you properly."

He looked down at her hand. She had no idea what she was messing with and he purposely let a little madness float through his eyes and voice. "Looking for a bit of danger, are we?"

Her face lit up. "You have no idea."

Jefferson merely chuckled and shook his head a little in disbelief; slid a glance from her eyes to her chest and back. He was a man after all. "It's not that I don't appreciate the view, darling, but my sense of self-preservation is really quite high in this case. And I am one hundred percent confident that I have zero desire to be turned into a snail this fine evening."

She laughed, her expression somewhere between incredulous and uncertain that she'd heard him right. "What?"

He gave her a slow smile and sipped the last of his drink before leaning closer to whisper conspiratorially: "It means that I know far better than to dip my prick where it well and truly does not belong, Lacey, no matter how alluring the package. Mr. Gold is completely ruthless and not one I particularly care to cross." Jefferson skated backward on his stool, his voice returning to normal. "Hell, I think you'll find his wrath where you're concerned is something very few men in this town are eager to provoke."

He tossed a couple bills onto the bar to cover their drinks and rose to leave. "If you have an itch that needs scratching, I'd suggest you head home. It is where you belong."

Lacey watched him walk away, her brow knit in thought. _Home. I don't have a home._ She supposed he'd meant it as friendly advice and his gentle smile had taken most of the sting out of the rebuff. Still… It felt like she'd slammed headfirst into a wall.

That Gold person again. Seriously? Lacey downed her scotch in a few large gulps and rolled her eyes. What _was_ it with the people in this town? So damn wary and downright afraid of the man…

Ruthless?

Most powerful man in town?

She'd admit to being a little disappointed the rumours weren't true, but if that's what people thought, she really didn't see it. Gold wouldn't hurt _anyone._ Nothing but a harmless pawnbroker and… how did he put it? _'Antiquities' _dealer. Not that she really knew what that meant, but it sounded… Well honestly, it sounded boring as hell.

There really wasn't enough alcohol on the planet to get her through the rest of _that_ date. It'd been a disaster. Okay, that was something of an exaggeration, because truly, he'd been sweet and… so damn _nice._ It was irritating.

What did they have in common, anyway? Thinking he knows what she likes when he doesn't have a clue… Not to mention, his taste in music was dreadful. Gold was classy and nervous and it was so fucking clear that the guy was pining after this Belle woman. She just happened to share the same face.

There was like zero attraction. None. It was like dating her grandfather.

Maybe sneaking out the back door of Granny's hadn't been the bravest thing to do, but since when was she the brave one? She'd done him a huge favour. Truly. Hopefully he'd see it that way too and move on…

She absently drummed her fingers against the polished wooden edge of the bar. A marginal sliver of guilt at abandoning him churned through her gut.

Surely she didn't really care about his feelings… That was absurd.

Lacey sighed and wandered back across the street; stared indecisively at the back door to the diner, wondering if she should go back in and at least see out the remainder of the date before blowing him off.

She realized belatedly she'd left her coat in there although she figured she could always collect it later...

Another couple minutes passed.

It was all so confusing. Getting her memories back was supposed to make everything better. Instead, it felt just as claustrophobic as when she'd been crazy and trapped in that damn padded cell.

"So what, it's Gold or I'm _never_ gonna get laid in this town?" she muttered to herself.

"Well. Hello there."

She jumped a little then cocked an eyebrow as she recognized the scruffy looking chump from earlier at the bar. "You again." He had a slinking gait like he was trying to be smooth and hadn't a clue he was completely missing the mark.

"Waiting for someone? Your pawnbroker perhaps?"

Her eyes narrowed a fraction and she felt the swift surge of rebellion. Everyone just _assumed_. But she wasn't even remotely that Belle woman and no one would _ever_ choose for her. Irritation made the spur of the moment decision come easy: "No. I'm not."

He immediately moved closer, leering at the hem of her dress like he couldn't wait to hitch it up to her waist. "I wasn't lying when I said I've had my eye on you for a while."

He didn't seem to be terrified of the 'infamous' Mr. Gold which was a point in his favour. Besides, fucking the smarmy bastard would at least help take the edge off. And he was reasonably good looking… in a trailer trash kind of way. Tonight, he was just her kind of man.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you had more in mind than just looking," she purred, running a palm down his chest to tug lightly at his belt buckle.

Her eyes darkened dangerously as her hand slipped lower, exploring the bulge in his jeans. She placed odds on twenty minutes or less. The Chump was already rock hard. They crashed together and he tasted of cheap liquor, but it didn't matter. She didn't need forever. She just needed now.

For some bizarre reason he seemed way too tall. She put it out of her mind and concentrated instead on the flaming pull of passion as his large hands palmed her breasts and they staggered backward, groping and kissing and needing someplace, anyplace to rip off enough clothing to get it done.

"M'name's Keith," he panted against her neck.

She didn't really give a damn.

They only made it as far as around the corner and in between the trash bins. The stucco on the wall dug into her bare back and the smell was atrocious, but then she'd rarely been one for class and ambiance. This was about fucking. Pure and simple.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The furious question barely had time to register before the chump was suddenly ripped out of her arms and Lacey staggered a little trying to regain her balance.

Aggravation over the interruption was ice cold water that dashed her lust to nothing.

Mr. Gold.

Damn it.

"Wait." Keith's gaze flipped between herself and Gold as he connected the dots. It was impressive actually. She hadn't been sure he could get his trio of brain cells to fire in sequence like that. "You two are here together?"

"Yes. We are." The clipped tone dripped with anger.

Mr. Gold slowly moved toward him with measured steps and the chump raised his hands and staggered backward helplessly as if trying to ward off the attack of an advancing lion, patiently circling in for the kill.

"I, I, I'm sorry. I, I didn't know!" And… there it was. The man was reduced to a babbling idiot within seconds. Cue the frantic fear of one, Mr. Gold. She could have rolled her eyes clear out of her head.

Keith must have several inches and at least a few dozen pounds on the older, slighter man, not to mention he wasn't crippled, and yet…

"Go! Now!" He bolted like a terrified jackrabbit, taking off around the corner without a backward glance. "Are you all right?" Gold turned and asked, the anger vanishing instantly as he placed a concerned hand on her shoulder.

Lacey jerked away from his touch. "Yeah, I'm fine." Couldn't Gold just fucking mind his own damn business and leave her the hell alone? How could he be so oblivious to the obvious?

"Let's get you inside."

"No." His palm slipped to her back and she twisted away from the unwanted touch; pushed them apart. "I said I'm fine. Okay?" He'd absolutely ruined her night and she felt her own ire rise. Everything from her body language to her words was blatantly screaming go away. Just go away.

She tried to make a dash for it and he quickly blocked her escape.

"Whoa, whoa, oh." Here it came. Stunned, he asked: "You came out here because you _wanted_ to be with him?"

Close enough. "Yeah." At least he'd finally pieced it together. Finally.

Truth was a bitch.

"But I don't understand. Our date. I thought it was going well." Gold appeared genuinely blindsided.

"No, no. It wasn't." Lacey knew she was going to hurt him. Honesty did that, but maybe a little cruelty now would help him see that they simply didn't belong together. There was no bond worth saving and there never would be. Clearly her destiny lay elsewhere.

"What?" he asked, utterly confused.

"I mean it never was. The only reason I agreed to go out with you was because I was trying to be nice, but that's not me. That's you." She coolly watched as his world fell to pieces, her admission stretching apart whatever he thought existed between them until it finally snapped.

Gold tried to hold on even as it all slipped away into the void, despair sliding through his eyes as he pleaded to understand what had gone so wrong. "But that's what you liked about me. The nice part. The good part."

"This is still about Belle, isn't it?" Comprehension built toward anger. It wasn't about her at all; never had been. Any attempt to dull the swinging blade out of half-hearted concern over his feelings was lost at that and Lacey flat out stated the obvious. Maybe then he'd finally get over it already. "Look, Mr. Gold? I am sorry she may have loved you, but I am not her." The final words were clearly enunciated so there would be no misunderstanding.

There was zero chance of her being cornered into something lame just because of some supposed past together. Whatever it may have been, it was one hundred percent over. She stepped around him and this time he didn't object as she strode away.

"No, you're not," he murmured to himself while she turned the corner.

Gold sounded as if she'd physically ripped out his heart and slapped him with it. There was another stab of guilt. But she wasn't nice. She was Lacey.

Frustrated, she stormed through the back door of the diner.

"Belle? What's wrong?"

"Don't. call me that," she growled at the waitress that had come to the hospital, claiming to be her friend. She was just another person trying to box her into something suffocating that wasn't _her._ Lacey grabbed her forgotten coat from a peg in the back and tore off out the front of Granny's, slamming the door hard behind her.

In less than a minute she was back at The Rabbit Hole. She angrily tossed her coat over an empty stool and flounced down on the seat next to it. The whole world could go to hell in that moment and she really wouldn't give a damn.

Lacey braced her elbows on the bar and rested her forehead against her fingertips, staring blankly into the neat rows of liquor bottles as she felt the resentment slowly drain away. This was the only place in the whole damn town that felt familiar, like she _belonged_ somewhere. Perhaps it didn't say much that she considered a bar soothing, but there it was.

"Something wrong?" the bartender asked. Her standard pair of drinks appeared in front of her.

She shrugged, unable to come up with an explanation for how shitty her life was. Who would believe it anyway?

Unstable. Paranoid. Delusional. The list of mental illness tags given to her in the hospital seemed as endless as the steady stream of medication she'd endured.

She was better now. Truly she was. She had her memories. She knew she was _Lacey._ And that was a hell of a lot more than she'd had before.

It didn't make her feel any less lost though: like absolutely nothing was right and she didn't even know what she was looking for.

There was the briefest flash of a teacup and she suppressed a shudder; carefully pushed the thought away.

"What do you know about Mr. Gold?" she finally asked conversationally. She didn't know what the hell she was hoping to glean from the question, but there must be someone, somewhere who shared her opinion of the man.

Instead the bartender blanched white and started manically scrubbing the already pristinely polished bar like he'd suddenly developed an obsessive compulsive cleaning fetish.

"Look, I promised him I'd clean the place up some. Just… don't sick him on me, 'kay?"

The man was practically quaking in his boots and she couldn't fathom why. "What on earth are you talking about?"

He wouldn't look her in the eye. "Everyone knows who you are," he mumbled awkwardly.

That put her on guard. "And you think… What? One wrong word from me and…" She left the thought hanging, hoping he'd fill in the blanks.

"Look, if Mr. Gold raises the rent any more, it'll put me out of business. The man could ruin me with a snap of his fingers. So enjoy your drinks and we're good, yeah?"

The scotch and tequila both sat forgotten in front of her. "Are you sure we're talking about the same man?"

One of the other patrons had clearly been eavesdropping when he snorted into his beer and piped up: "Wouldn't put it past Gold to completely bleed the whole town dry. I figure the only reason he doesn't is because he needs us lackeys around to spin the wheels to make yet more money for him. He preys on our desperation. It's an endless cycle."

The man leaned over and offered his hand. "Leroy."

"Lacey."

"Yeah. I heard."

She managed not to roll her eyes at that. "You knew me? Us?" she automatically corrected. No, that sounded really wrong. "Me and Gold?"

Lacey noticed he was sitting with the short dude she'd skunked at pool earlier that afternoon. Clark, she was pretty sure his name was, and he raised his mug in way of greeting.

"Yeah. Although personally, sister, I always thought you were slumming it with the heartless bastard. Or he'd… you know… blackmailed you or something."

Lacey chuckled and shot him a disbelieving look. "Seriously? Blackmail?"

"How else could a snake like that get a girl? Any girl?" Leroy joked then relented. He looked almost sorry for her as his voice softened and his face took on a wistful look. "You told me once a long time ago that love is hope; that it fuels our dreams. And that it feels so bad because you need to be with the one you love."

She really didn't know what to say to that; hadn't mentioned a damn thing about 'feeling bad.' Was it that obvious to everyone? The dwarf cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with something he'd just said yet she was somehow certain it had little to do with her.

"Anyway yeah, you loved Gold. I don't understand it, probably no one in this town does… but you did," he muttered, reverting to his normal gruff nature.

Then, as if by sharing he'd somehow revealed too much of himself, Leroy made a flimsy excuse and beat a hasty retreat. "Come on, Clark. Early morning tomorrow." He impatiently hauled the sneezing pharmacist along with him toward the door, leaving her alone.

Gold was like a puzzle and no matter how she shifted the pieces they just didn't come out right. How could every single fucking person in this town see something different in the man than she did? It was completely incomprehensible.

She needed to stop thinking about him. Because no matter what may or may not have happened in their past, Gold still wasn't and never would be, her type. End of story. Feeling unaccountably restless, Lacey slugged back the remainder of her drinks then buttoned her coat to leave. Maybe a walk would help clear her head.

"I should have done this to you a long time ago." The simmering rage carried in those words didn't truly register as she left The Rabbit Hole and turned the corner, too deep in thought, mulling over her day.

Yet what she saw brought her up short; had her questioning her sanity for a passing second. Shock was too tame a word as she witnessed the harmless and nice Mr. Gold beating the crap out of that Chump from the alley. He wasn't screaming at the repeated heavy-handed blows, which was odd, but that was hardly the greatest of her concerns.

Mr. Gold. Was beating a man half to death. With his cane. _Mr. Gold._

She blinked. He was still there and he must have heard her because he stopped and turned to face her. From the look of it, she was pretty sure he was just as surprised as she was at the accidental meeting, but he tried to pull it together; play it cool.

"Lacey."

She finally found her voice. "So it is true then. What they say about you."

His expression seemed to land somewhere between disgrace at being caught doing something he thought she'd disapprove of and defiance because he didn't really give a shit. They weren't together anymore and she'd told him she wanted nothing to do with him.

Defiance won out in the end and it was like watching a pot finally boil over. "Yes, it's all true."

She sensed the deep unwieldy undercurrent of hurt mingled with his obvious anger. It was as if he was daring her to rip into him for it and all she could think was Jefferson was right. Gold really would take down anyone who even looked at her sideways: viciously and without remorse.

He was possessive and powerful and darkly passionate. And decidedly not. nice.

Like her.

Lacey shook her head a little while walking toward him. "You uh, you are not who I thought you were." She laughed a little in relief. It bubbled up from deep within, uncontainable and free. Finally, something that made sense: _this_ was a man she could picture being with. "And I'm glad."

She figured if letting Monkey Boy paw at her had finally pushed Gold to slip and show her the real man he was inside, then she'd count it well worthwhile. His confusion was palpable and he just stared stupidly for a moment as if her response wasn't even remotely what he'd been expecting. At all.

"You really are as dark as people say."

And suddenly there it was. Attraction: deep and powerful and true, like some kind of obstruction inside had irrevocably broken loose. An all-consuming coil of lust filled her belly, quickly spreading throughout, and she pressed her lips together; wondered what he tasted like when he was in this sort of mood. Would he take her right here on the street corner?

Gold momentarily turned to spare a glance down at the sputtering Chump as he worked something out inside his head. "Darker, dearie." The words positively dripped cruelty and he raised his cane to emphasize the point. "Much darker."

Her deep-throated chuckle seemed to spur him on as he returned to thrashing Keith while she watched. He was magnificent.

The man was bruised and bloody and barely conscious by the time Gold tipped his chin up with the handle of his cane, forcing their eyes to meet. He'd halted the brutality before he broke anything too important. After all, he did want the scum to live so that he'd know with certainty never to mess with him and his again.

"Get lost. And if I see you anywhere near her ever again, it won't just be your tongue you won't be able to shove down a woman's throat any longer."

His anger finally spent, he turned to Lacey as the panicked idiot stumbled and tripped in his haste to scuttle away, as far and as fast as he could.

Gold confidently pulled her against him then roughly backed her up against the brick wall of The Rabbit Hole in an act of utter possession, his eyes dark with barely contained lust. His greedy fingers splayed as they moved restively from her hip to cup her ass.

Every single thing about his body pressing against hers felt right: so very, very right. Like for the first time in forever she was exactly where she belonged. She sensed the simmering danger in him and welcomed it, revelled in it.

"Mmm, that was-"

He cut off whatever she'd been about to say, impatiently slanting his lips across hers to take what he needed from her mouth with his plundering tongue. His cane dropped forgotten to the sidewalk and Lacey met him kiss for searing passionate kiss in a fight for dominance that sliced clean through all her prior confusion.

This? This was perfect. She felt as if she could never get enough of his touch. Gold trailed hot kisses down her throat before biting the juncture with her shoulder, wrenching a moan from deep within. Lacey convulsively jerked against him as they strained to merge into a single body.

Her hands gripped the hair at the nape of his neck before skating across his back. Too long apart. Eons too long. It was all she could think and yet on another level she knew they'd never even kissed before.

Breathless, she clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. "Now that's what I call fighting for what you want."

"Lacey."

His voice was rough with a sea of need and her leg instinctively came up to wrap around his calf. Gold slipped his hand beneath the short hem of her dress from behind. His eyes flew open; his heated gaze bore into hers.

"Christ, you're not wearing anything underneath your dress than this pointless little scrap of silk, are you?" he growled against her mouth, his fingers twisting around the thong he'd discovered.

He tugged a little on the material and she gifted him a sultry smile. "You'll find out for sure soon enough."

The hardening ridge of his cock ground against her in response and his fingers slipped between her legs, searching.

"So wet for me," he smirked knowingly. "We're getting a drink first. Then we're going home, dearie." His uncompromising tone earned no complaints from her.

"About time."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Taking the M rating out for a (ridiculously long) spin. No one predicted that, I'm sure. :P Enjoy!

**89. You really can do magic.**

"This is your house? Seriously? Does it look this pink in the daylight?" Lacey snarked as they turned up the front walk and she got her first good look at the place.

He shot her a dry sideways glance while tightening his arm around her waist. "Pinker, dearie." They were walking hip pressed to hip and she grinned, leaned in to nuzzle his jaw with her nose before following it up with a series of short nipping kisses.

The smouldering flame of attraction flared abruptly to life and they stumbled up the steps to the porch as her mouth hungrily claimed his. Her fingers twined around the belt loops on his dress pants; pulled him achingly close.

"Gold." The way Lacey whispered his name was dark passion merged with searing heat. She kissed him again. "I don't want you on your best behaviour," she warned with a sultry smile.

"Angling after the monster, are we?" There was the briefest teasing touch of lips and tongue. Then he swiftly pressed her back up against the front door; enjoyed hearing her soft gasp as he took her mouth and ground his body tight against hers. He lobbed his own warning straight back. "Be careful what you wish for."

When she'd agreed to go out with him, he hadn't dared dream they would end up anything like this.

Granny hadn't been impressed at all that they'd used her establishment for their 'first' date. He could tell she was thinking good riddance that Belle no longer remembered him, but he'd brought in his own tablecloths and little table lamps in an effort class the place up as much as he could no matter what the old bag thought. It was a stretch to turn the diner into a romantic dinner destination, what with the marginal food and tacky 50's vintage décor, but it'd all been for Belle. It needed to be perfect. Or as close as he could get.

He'd chosen something soft and romantic on the jukebox… He'd been extremely nervous… She'd called him out on it… and then it had all gone to hell.

Gold fumbled with his keys as he tried to get the door open while Lacey linked her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her front to his back. She'd turned her attention to caressing the nape of his neck with little flicks of her tongue and he had to bite back a moan. Her hands drifted lower across his abdomen while her hips shifted against his, a sexy move that had him hard in an instant.

Nerveless fingers couldn't shove the key in the lock and, impatient, her hands worked the zipper at his fly. Within a heartbeat she had a fist around him and squeezed just as she bit down on the corded muscle at the base of his neck.

There was no stopping the shocked keen, loudly torn from his throat as he smashed a fist against the doorjamb; strove for control. He could have come right there in her hand. Out on the fucking front porch.

"Lacey." His voice was tight; he'd dropped his cane.

"What?" she asked innocently. "I'm showing a remarkable amount of restraint." Her warm hand remained on him and he slammed a warning palm against it to still her stroking touch.

A steadying breath later and he turned to shoot her a disbelieving look. He was in trouble: deep, deep trouble. And somehow the thought was an incredible turn on. He blinked.

With a saucy grin, she twisted the key in the lock and the door finally swung open. She scooped up his cane and then her unrepentant mouth was against his once more. Lacey was touching him with both hands: fingers skimming across his face, neck and shoulders. The kiss deepened. She moaned.

There was another kiss; slightly harder this time and they pivoted inside, slamming the door behind them.

It was like someone had flipped a switch and she'd gone from not wanting him at all to a woman who couldn't keep her hands off him. Truth was, Lacey's rapid U-turn where he was concerned made him extremely wary that the wrong move would send her turning away from him equally quickly. Running with the change definitely made him an opportunistic bastard. But, he reasoned, if it meant keeping Belle from shagging someone else, he'd do whatever it damn well took.

Because the Sheriff of Nottingham? Seriously? It made his skin crawl thinking of them together; knowing that she'd preferred a quick fuck with that slimy bastard – when she'd blown the man off earlier in the day no less – to being with him. He'd felt his world crash and end in the moment she'd told him she didn't love him anymore: words he'd pessimistically expected to hear her say eventually were now irrevocably burned onto his heart with the cruel sear of reality.

But it _wasn't_ Belle saying those things. He kept reminding himself of that. It hadn't been Belle.

Belle _loved_ him.

Still, he couldn't shake the nausea and seething hurt Lacey's rejection had spawned. Beating the repugnant Keith half to death for coming between them had made the choice to slide head first back into the darkness and hatred so very worthwhile.

_No hard feelings._

Right. As if he could just shake it off. As if their love hadn't meant everything to him. As if Belle wasn't _special_.

Most men in town didn't have a death wish; knew far better than to go anywhere near her no matter what, but then the sheriff had never been the brightest bulb in the pack: had always looked at her with lust.

A night with your wench: he remembered with surprise how she hadn't seemed horrified at being linked to a monster in that manner even though he'd only recently stolen her away from her family. She'd been disgusted, clearly, yet he'd sensed it was directed at the sheriff's request, not the underlying assumption that she was bedding her master. And Belle hadn't turned pleading eyes on him. It was as if the idea was so hideous that she knew outright he would never barter her away in one of his deals and hence it wasn't worth getting upset over.

She was right. There was no way in hell he'd let that happen and the overwhelming urge to guard what was his skyrocketed to the fore. At the time, Rumplestiltskin hadn't attributed it to anything other than loathing over the sheriff's audacity; certainly not the tentative foundation of affection for his caretaker.

Still, people looked at them together and assumed a sexual relationship? On some level it'd boggled his ancient mind. Yet that instant, eyeing her in the woods, had seeded the first flashes of fantasy, both passionate and protective. Belle _was_ a beautiful woman and while he'd thought that beauty could never desire a beast in return, some small vital thing had permanently shifted in their relationship that day. It had wholly unnerved him how easily she'd seen into his heart when they'd been travelling in the carriage. No matter how thick the protective walls he'd carefully hidden behind for centuries, she could see his truth shining clear as day: he had love in his heart. And on that day Belle had realized inside a matter of moments who of the two the monster truly was... and who he was not.

Fate, his mind hummed now with the clarity of hindsight.

Belle had loved the sliver of goodness still left in him.

Unfortunately her polar opposite did not.

It was the worst sort of irony that Lacey would be attracted to the twisted outer shell of evil and darkness yet still retain Belle's exceptional insight to see straight through him to the good. Rumplestiltskin saw with sick certainty what Regina was trying to do: had the sinking feeling that Lacey was _not_ going to bring out the best in him like Belle would have. The meddlesome bitch would eventually pay dearly for that, somehow, some way. But both were problems for another time.

Right now his bigger concern was how to ensure Lacey didn't simply fuck him then leave.

Granted, right now it didn't seem to be an issue. Her tongue dove into his mouth and he groaned. After so many long painful days and nights apart it was an inferno of need and desire banking hotter by the second. Even cursed, he could never get enough of her. He liked to think that somehow she'd felt the loss too even though realistically, he knew she couldn't.

Gold shrugged out of his coat; tossed it blindly over the newel post. Hers followed within seconds.

She was still wearing her sparkly new dress. Blue. If the length of her hemline – or lack thereof – was unnerving at least the colour was comforting. It set off the richness of her eyes. There wasn't a back on the dress. He'd discovered that earlier when hanging up her coat: just a few slinky straps and a sea of tantalizingly bare skin. She clearly wasn't wearing a bra.

In the diner when he'd first seen and realized, he'd managed not to goggle. Only just.

Now, he confidently skimmed a palm across her back, slipping it up underneath the straps and she shivered a little.

"Lacey," he murmured distractedly. What the hell did he want to say? Oh yeah. "Upstairs." He gestured with a tilt of his head and an urgent tug at her waist. Even in his days without the cane he'd rarely moved so fast.

She had his belt undone and her fingers probing once more at the jutting ridge of his cock before they were even a quarter of the way up the stairs. At this rate they'd be done in minutes. Not a good plan. He needed Lacey to fall in love with him. This called for drastic countermeasures.

They staggered into their bedroom and tumbled sideways onto the mattress in a writhing heap of arms and legs. Something seemed a little off in the room, but he didn't even remotely have time to work out what it was.

Slow her down.

Somehow.

He made a grab for her exploring hands and missed.

Her messy bun was already coming loose around her shoulders so she removed the pins, shaking her hair free with a toss of her head. He stared, suddenly side-tracked, and threaded his fingers through the thick dark curls. She'd ended up on top; was wearing a satisfied smirk while she straddled his hips and reached for his pants.

"Oh no you don't." With a grin he reversed their positions, setting off a passionate wrestling match that ended with him pinning her beneath the trim length of his body.

God, she felt so good: all soft curves and lean muscle. He leaned in and her lips parted in anticipation. In defiance to both their needs, he dropped a teasing kiss onto the tip of her nose instead.

He tutted a warning. "Not yet, dearie."

She tilted her head up to catch his mouth. He allowed the kiss, but her hands remained firmly trapped between them. Her eyes narrowed as she struggled to free them and couldn't, then worked out what he was doing. "Ah, so that's the way it's going to be."

His gaze glinted with mischief. She wriggled partially free from his embrace and a flying pillow hit Gold across the face. "Bastard!" Laughter took the sting from the word.

He grabbed a pillow of his own and swung out in retaliation. His gaze was suddenly riveted by the soft swell of her breasts and the way the hem of her dress was riding up. Thong. He abruptly recalled she was wearing a _thong._ There was a flash of black at the juncture of her legs and his entire body throbbed. "Damn straight. Someone doesn't seem to recall nixing my best behaviour. If you can't hack the result…"

She smirked at the sudden tension in his voice. Using his distraction to her benefit, she managed to wrench an arm free from his grip only to try a roll away and ended up pressed face down among the pillows. Not good. Lacey grabbed another, blindly flinging it backward and hoping for the best.

He sputtered as it made contact. "Serves you right." The weight of his lower body ground against hers, twisting their playful flirting toward ever deepening lust. No amount of slowing down could disguise how much he wanted her, needed her.

He flipped Lacey back over and was busy counting ribs as she squirmed breathlessly beneath him. "You're ticklish." The discovery that something, no matter how small, hadn't changed made him grin from ear to ear. Since their first time together he'd meticulously mapped and memorized all the secret spots that threw Belle straight toward oblivion; left her a writhing puddle of sated bliss in his arms. He knew which buttons to push and suddenly he wondered if Lacey turned on in exactly the same way. Was it possible? There was an evil glint in his eye as he weighed the likelihood. While she may consider this their first time, if so, he already _knew_ how to drive her wild.

A sliver of Belle?

Some might call it cheating. He called it opportunity.

She gasped and her mouth abruptly crashed into his. Then within the span of a heartbeat they were straining together: all rough kisses and possessive touches. His hand instinctively slipped from her ribs to cup a breast while her hips jackknifed into his only to begin a slow deliberate roll that went on and on.

Desire flared like prairie fire. His concentration was waning. Fast.

Her mouth was doing distracting things to his earlobe, but when Lacey reached between them her exploration was rewarded with a strangled gasp and a hand tightening around her wrist.

"Anyone ever told you you're rather impatient? Because by the time I get you truly wound up, you're going to be absolutely begging me to get you off."

His gaze tossed down the gauntlet, silently daring her to object. She would not win this battle.

Tonight he wanted to take his time exploring her body, finding out exactly where and how to touch her to elicit the deepest response; to learn if his theory was true. The thrill of discovery beckoned. Plus he knew that every extra second he extracted from her now had the potential to re-forge their bond, to keep her from finding someone else.

She shot him a challenging look and raised an eyebrow. "Really. Begging? Sounds a tad optimistic, Gold."

"Absolutely. And in case you missed it… I really enjoy winding you up," he smirked. They touched noses while his tongue lightly brushed her lower lip.

"You were one of those annoying kids who painstakingly oh… so… slowly, unwrapped their Christmas presents weren't you?" she managed, her voice coming out somewhat strangled as his lips pressed against her throat.

Gold read her mutinous expression perfectly. If he wanted to purposely drag this out now… she might have to kill him.

Though he'd never actually received presents growing up, he still nodded an affirmative while trailing gentle fingertips up her abdomen to skim the underside of a breast; was pleased when she sucked in a ragged breath in response and her palms tensed against his shoulders.

There was one. He smothered a grin.

"And you were a ripper, I bet."

"Of course. Why wait for what you want?" She made another play for his pants and this time he let her cup him through his boxers for several long, exquisite seconds before capturing her hands and pressing them into the bedspread above her head.

"Ah, beautiful Lacey. I will show you."

Their eyes met and suddenly she couldn't stop laughing. He joined in, entirely enjoying their competitive version of foreplay. "There will be payback. I promise you that."

"I'm counting on it." Gold briefly levered them up to sitting in order to slip the dress over her head and was confronted with a familiar expanse of smooth ivory skin that beckoned for his touch. And gods: the thong. Black silk that left little to the imagination. He felt himself twitch in response. And she knew it. The witch.

He quickly shrugged out of his suit jacket and vest while she disposed of his tie. Then he was rolling her onto her back lengthwise across the bed and settled on top as her mouth collided with his. His hand skimmed across the underside of her left thigh, urging her leg up, but her knee was already bending and he felt her foot slide up the side of his own leg. It seemed to be a natural position for her and he mentally checked another box when his palm drifted across her calf and he sensed a tremor beneath his fingertips.

Gold tangled his fingers through her hair, the thumb of his other hand grazing back and forth across the small of her back. His fingers looped inside the waistband of her pointless scrap of underwear while the feel of her ass had him instinctively tilting her hips up to his. Quick light kisses gave way to the pull of pure passion, her tongue darting repeatedly into his mouth.

She moaned something indistinct and squirmed until she freed her trapped right leg from between his then immediately hooked it across the back of his thigh.

He dropped a kiss against her breast while adjusting his position between her legs. "Better?" They shared a smile. He could feel how the long, hard length of him, even through their clothing, was turning her madly liquid when he ground against her.

She loosely linked her arms around his neck and slowly rocked into him. Blazing desire inched higher as her body responded to his in the way it always had. Lacey looked down at his hands with his long dexterous fingers as he gently caressed her breasts and abdomen. She smiled a little.

A sudden intake of breath had him glancing up; flashing his dimples at her. "You like that?" he asked softly.

"God, yes."

Pleased, he tucked the information away and gently captured her mouth with his. "I always did think a woman's anatomy was the single best part of existence."

Gold punctuated the final words with butterfly kisses that trailed from her collarbone to the tantalizing curve of a breast and her deep chuckling laughter turned into another soft gasp. Her hands skimmed lightly over his shoulders and down his back before urgently tugging on his shirt, fighting against buttons until she finally pulled it off.

He let her savour that small victory then flicked his tongue against the nubbin of a hard nipple. His teeth and tongue worried the flesh over her heart and he stared in satisfaction when he'd left a mark.

Her body trembled against his and he knew without a doubt she was inching closer to the edge… but not yet close enough for his taste. He needed her to burn for him, white hot and absolute; to know without a doubt that this was where she belonged: in the arms of the man who loved her.

Every move silently shouted of tightly controlled power. His kiss was slow and sensual and he gently thrust against her a few times before pushing upright to kneel between her legs. Lacey reached for him, her eyes dark with unquenched need and he pressed her fingers to his lips. Then he was leaning forward to kiss her breasts; trail a meandering line downward to the waistband of her knickers.

It was an unhurried exploration: hands and mouth skimming over the supple curve of a calf, the taut length of a thigh.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee then pulled her toward him, lifting her ass onto his lap. His palms began to massage her inner thighs and lower abdomen, eventually skating beneath the silk partially covering her mound.

"You're trying to kill me!" He said nothing in response, merely smirked at her discomfort. "Not gonna forget this," she muttered through clenched teeth though he could tell she wasn't truly angry. Just the opposite in fact.

"That _is_ the point, dearie. I never let _anything_ stand in the way of getting what I want."

She finally whimpered a little and simply couldn't hold still as thousands of fiery nerve endings shot to life. His deliberate patience was rapidly driving her insane with need. Deft fingers moved the damp material aside to give him a better view, but still, he took care not to encroach on the heat that so desperately needed his touch.

Their eyes locked together when he finally slipped the black silk over her hips and tossed it aside, leaving her fully naked, legs spread open for him. In that moment, it took every ounce of self-control he had not to thrust inside her then and there.

"Beautiful," he murmured half to himself.

The solid pressure of his thumbs stroking up and down framed her center; had her mumbling his name though he couldn't entirely tell whether that was a good thing or if she was simply plotting revenge. Her hips involuntarily rocked into his touch and Lacey reached for him, fingers greedily skimming up the hard ridge of his cock. He smiled and once more trapped her wayward hands, neatly circumventing any budding strategy she might develop before she could get truly creative on him.

Gold rolled them onto their sides and she automatically draped a leg over his waist, keeping him close. A shift to a one-handed grip left his other free to slip over the curve of her ass and finally reach between her legs, the teasing caress of a single finger on her flesh exhibiting just enough pressure to elicit an unintelligible moan. The sound made him impossibly harder yet he stubbornly forced himself to hold still.

"So let me get this straight. You get to touch me, but I don't get to touch you. Where's the fair play in this rule book?"

Lacey struggled half-heartedly to free herself from the hand still tightly gripping her wrists.

Gold shot her a devastatingly evil grin. "Oh fair play has absolutely nothing to do with it. In fact… this is decidedly Unfair Play." The finger that had been lightly stroking suddenly plunged inside her; thrust in and out a few times.

He watched with satisfaction as her eyes widened, flaring with a passion he remembered perfectly from his dreams. Instinct had her arching toward him and his dancing fingers moved on her and within her with a knowing precision.

"And exactly how far are you going to stretch my patience in this pitched battle of wills?"

"Oh I expect your endurance is quite high…"

Lacey tried to stifle a grin, but he spotted it anyway.

"We don't have to rush," he breathed, immediately letting go of her wrists to wrap an arm around her shoulders, tenderly holding her close while his mouth moved against hers. They touched tongues and her fingers softly scraped across his bare back.

"So _you_ think. And if I try and hurry us along?" Two could play at this game. Oh yes they could. She managed to push his dress pants down and they bunched around his thighs. Then, using kisses as a distraction, Lacey finally got another hand down his boxers; caught a glimpse of his tightly engorged head as she leisurely pumped his cock.

He shivered a little; let her read in his expression exactly how much he liked her hands on him.

Her sultry smirk was contagious and he mirrored it right back, secretly amused at this particular instance of predictability. She clearly held no intrinsic objection to him slowing down. Tweak her competitive streak and all was well. Time for salvo number two.

"Ohhh. Game on."

The intimacy of so easily finding their rhythm, an ebb and flow between give and take, filled him with hope that one day she would love him again. His smile was warm when he slipped to his knees on the floor and tugged at her hips. She scooted toward the edge of the bed, her legs naturally coming to rest on either side of him.

Lacey propped herself up on her elbows to watch him, deep in concentration, as he inserted a pair of fingers then finally bent his head to taste. She moaned at the first flick of his tongue against her flesh while his hand reached upward to caress her breast.

He started slow, letting the pressure build until she threw back her head; fought for every breath. Her fingers tousled his hair as she blindly reached for him.

"Gold! Oh god… Gold!"

He'd always loved hearing how she called his name while her hips bucked beneath him in a monstrous, quivering climax. Though he preferred 'Rumple,' he found now was really no different.

When it was over he shot her a smug grin and threw himself on top, hips grinding together as his mouth captured hers is a possessive kiss. The tightness in his boxers could be put off no longer. She was so deliciously wild, so utterly ready for him…

When Gold stood and finally kicked off his pants, Lacey was kneeling in front of him, palms eagerly exploring his chest and abdomen. Desire drugged eyes looked up at him as she toyed with the waistband of his shorts. Searching hands moved on him, moulding the material to his rock hard length and he responded with a deep-seated rumble.

With her help, he finally shimmied out of his boxers and flung them away across the room. He was heavy and thick in her hands. Gold grinned at her hum of satisfaction and then groaned, not having managed to halt her before she could take him into her mouth. And then he didn't ever want to.

His ankle throbbed and he was trying his best not to pitch forward. Their eyes met as he watched and the glint of pleasure in her gaze held a sassy hint of I told you so. He smiled at that and softly brushed her hair back from her face. She instinctively seemed to know just how he liked it, her mouth working in tandem with her hands.

He carefully thrust in and out and her fingers skimmed across his arse; silently urging him on.

With a flick of her head, she rolled onto her back and he leaned forward to give her a better angle, bracing himself over the bed. Her tongue was pure magic, leaving his knees weak and his breath coming in quick, short gasps.

"Lacey…" He simply couldn't get any more words out.

She was beautifully laid out beneath him and so he took the opportunity to lightly kiss her abdomen then stretched further to brush his lips between her legs. He grinned against her inner thigh as he felt the resultant tremor of passion race through her body. It mirrored the one coursing through his own.

The aching tightness between his legs was hammering home a single deafening thought over and over: bury himself inside her. Now. The need had become absolutely imperative and he eased out of her mouth before she made him come.

They tumbled backward together among the pillows, settling against each other in a groping jumble of arms and legs.

"You are an absolute goddess," Gold gasped against her mouth.

"And we've only just gotten started. Then again, maybe I'd rather go grab a sandwich… take my time," Lacey snarked back.

He laughed and nipped at her lower lip as a hand kneaded her breast. She was hot and wet where they ground against each other and the slick pressure felt amazing.

Gold ran the tip of his cock back and forth against her opening, delaying the inevitable just a fraction longer until she rolled her eyes and thrust upward, taking him inside in one smooth motion.

She groaned his name and her tongue playfully flicked inside his mouth. She felt incredible. Absolutely incredible. Her palms feathered across his back, her knees unconsciously bending so that her feet dangled near his thighs.

Within a heartbeat she needed it rough and passionate; fast and hard. Gold had tried to be gentle, letting her body adjust around him, but she was so wet, so wildly turned on that he was immediately digging in at full length.

"Faster," she murmured against his neck and he gladly obliged.

Fingertips carded through his hair then tensed against his scalp when the first swift roll of orgasm shuddered through her body.

He slowed briefly, letting her catch her breath then began anew, pounding over and over to the sound of her rhythmic moans.

"Come for me. Again, dearie…" There was a fleeting touch of lips and tongue.

"Oh god!" Her gaze was dark: a fathomless pool of longing. Her nails bit into his back, her teeth into his shoulder. She'd marked him as well and somewhere he had the presence of mind to thrill to the fact. "Oh god!"

"Yeah." The single word came out as a deep growl. Each time she crested successively higher and his fingers gripped hers as if he would never let her go.

Lacey urged him onto his back, her long dark hair tumbling about them in a satiny curtain while she rode him hard. His hand skimmed the underside of a breast; caressed the spot where their bodies were joined. She smiled and leaned down to kiss him, her hands touching his face and neck.

Somewhere in the midst of feeling every fiery spasm that rocketed through her lithe body, Gold stared upward, completely enthralled, suddenly unsure where Belle left off and Lacey began, having discovered in both a beautifully feminine and deeply passionate lover. He simply couldn't take his eyes off her. And the hidden rush of longing for her to be truly his rumbled just beneath the surface.

He was close; knew he wouldn't last much longer. The inexorable pressure was building to a fever pitch and he flipped her back over, slowing them down, needing to prolong it, just a little longer.

Gold slid down her body to rain kisses between her legs, his teasing tongue once more flicking lightly against her flushed skin. A trio of thrusting fingers joined in and her hands gripped at the sheets as wave after glorious wave slammed through her body.

She whimpered his name and something incoherent that might have been praise.

His other hand had settled on a writhing hip and her fingers plucked frantically at his, attempting to pull him back up. He took the hint and launched himself up and forward to cradle her trembling form in his arms.

She softly kissed him then quietly pleaded: "More."

He thought it was the single most beautiful word he'd ever heard short of her sharing her love. "Lacey…" The name slipped off his tongue more naturally than he would have thought possible and she smiled a little, tremulous and warm.

The expression in her eyes took his breath away. It was passion mixed with… something indefinable that grabbed him right around the heart. It was so very nearly… Belle. And then the look was gone, lost in a wildly shifting sea of sensation. Her eyes drifted closed as he once more enveloped himself within her wet heat.

"Open your eyes," he whispered. Gold wanted to watch her come; needed to see the play of emotion as he stared deeply into her soul. She was more precious to him than anything else. False memories could never dim that.

Come back to me.

It was his final coherent thought before the blinding burst of heat swamped all else and they came together in an exquisite frenzy of passion and desire.

o0o0o0o

They lay tangled together in the aftermath, boneless and sated in the midst of a sea of rumpled sheets and crushed pillows. Lacey was draped languidly across his chest while he tenderly explored the curve of her spine.

She rolled onto her side, pulling him with her, their foreheads touching.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a cuddler," she murmured quietly.

"Just with you," Gold whispered then could have kicked himself for blurting it aloud. He scooted backward. Had she seen the man she didn't want? "If you don't like it…"

She smiled easily while hooking a leg across his hip to draw him back; kissed him on the chin. "Oh I like it. You're just… full of surprises, that's all."

"Ah yes: the powerful and ruthless bastard of Storybrooke. Try not to let it out. You'll ruin my reputation," he stated sardonically.

He felt like such a fraud. Belle had wanted him to be honest and now here he was resorting to hiding behind the monster so she wouldn't leave him.

Lacey snorted at his attempt to downplay the way he was holding her. Her palm skimmed from his cheek to still over his heart. He wondered what she was thinking. Her eyes betrayed nothing.

The unspoken intimacy of being together like this was a dream sparking vividly to life. He wanted her to stay with him; definitely didn't want her to get up and vanish… Not right after they'd just made love. The thought terrified.

"Not that anyone would believe you," he probed conversationally, trying to sort out where they stood without sounding anxious. His voice took on something of the lilting quality he'd perfected in their world. "You can, however, feel free to share that the most powerful man in town isn't just an economic construct."

"Yeah," Lacey responded sleepily after what was for him, a tense delay.

Not exactly the rousing endorsement he was hoping for.

_So… Does this make us boyfriend and girlfriend?_

It sounded so ridiculously juvenile that he couldn't work up the courage to ask the question aloud.

In spite of the banter and sex he still wasn't sure if she was his or if she were getting set to bolt. Gold breathed in her scent as she rolled over and he tucked her back against his chest. His arm tightened around her waist.

She yawned; fought to keep her eyes open. "I should go…"

His heart wailed against the announcement. He touched her cheek then lightly drifted the back of his hand across a breast; barely managed to keep his tone steady. "Stay. Just a little longer."

"So tired…" Lacey made no move to actually make good on her effort to go. He smiled against the back of her neck as she nuzzled closer instead, her palm unconsciously moving to graze across his hip. They dozed like that for a while, hands gently caressing the other until she finally drifted off.

Gold watched her sleep in his arms for a time, silently considering the odds stacked against them, then pressed a soft kiss to the nape of her neck. He gently brushed the tip of his nose against the same spot; laced their fingers together.

Lacey sighed, her lips curving upward in a faint smile. She seemed softer somehow as she slept.

More… Belle.

He could feel the steady release of tension from her muscles yet she didn't stir. Long fingers delicately brushed across her cheek and she turned, curling into his chest. Staring at her, the need was so great. Her eyes fluttered and she moaned a little; smiled once more. She was dreaming, he realized. He hoped it was something sweet.

Gold leaned close and feathered his mouth over hers in a gentle kiss. She unconsciously returned it just as she had before she'd forgotten him; seemed to snuggle even closer into his embrace.

It was beautiful and for an instant he lost himself in the soothing depths of remembered love.

With a gasp she started awake, startling him. Something briefly flashed through her eyes that he was at a loss to explain and then it was gone. Her tense gaze swept back and forth a few times as she processed where she was before relaxing and sinking back against the pillow.

"Gold? Time for tha next round a'ready?" Sleep slurred her words and her tongue swiped lazily across his lower lip before she nuzzled into his shoulder.

"Shh, Lacey. Go back to sleep." Strong arms cradled her against his heart. He couldn't help the rush of disappointment.

For a time there was nothing but stillness.

His eyes drooping shut, Gold suddenly realized what was different about the bedroom. After Belle had fallen across the town line and forgotten him, he'd returned to discover her things had been erased from their home as if she'd never been a part of his life. All that had remained was their precious chipped cup. On top of everything else he'd been stricken with the unfairness of the loss. Yet now the book Belle had last been reading had returned to the table next to the bed. A few other odds and ends lay scattered within sight: her jewellery box on the dresser, a scarf tossed across the back of a chair. Lacey knew Belle was supposed to love him, that they had existed together as a couple, and so the magic had returned her things to him.

He wasn't sure what to make of it, was trying to sort out both the intense joy and renewed sense loss the observation had created when Lacey suddenly pulled away and slipped out from underneath the sheet. He managed to hide his breaking heart beneath what he hoped was a mask of indifference.

Instead of picking up her clothes as he thought, she began haphazardly slamming drawers open and closed. He watched as she pulled a nightie out of the dresser, held it up then grimaced. It was satin and lace and had hugged Belle's curves beautifully. It'd been her favourite he remembered with a pang. Lacey shoved it back in the drawer with a roll of her eyes then padded naked into the adjoining bathroom.

He heard the same opening and closing; sliding and slamming.

Confused, he reached for his own nightwear; suddenly fielded a moment's hesitation. While Belle had never minded, he was uncertain about his ability to pull off 'sexy' while wearing a button up pajama shirt. Embarrassed that he'd land squarely on 'what the hell are you wearing?' instead, he threw on just the pants, grabbed his cane and followed the sounds of chaos.

She hadn't closed the door behind her so he didn't feel as if he were invading her privacy by leaning against the doorjamb to watch. He discovered her rummaging through the drawers and cabinets: cleaning supplies, toiletries, birth control pills... She found their small stash of toys and smirked a little.

"What are you doing?" Gold finally asked after a few moments.

Lacey turned, brandishing a pink toothbrush at him.

"I would say that it's rather poor form for a guy to bring his one night stand back to his place when the house is cluttered with another woman's things… only I suppose in this case, the more accurate question is… which toothbrush is mine?" Bravado seeped through her stance and in the tilt of her head as she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

He didn't like the supposition that she didn't truly belong here when he'd already asked her to stay. This was her _home_. Gold pushed away from the wall; moved with measured steps toward her. His dark eyes remained locked with her wonderfully blue ones as he stepped into her space, trapping her between his body and the sink. He carefully leaned his cane against the counter. "First of all, the blue one is yours." He traded for the correct brush then shot her a dangerous glare when her amused glance pointedly travelled from the pink one back up to him. "And second, there is nothing even remotely one night stand about this."

Both brushes dropped forgotten to the countertop as Gold grabbed her hips, yanked her close. His palms slid over smooth skin, moulding them tightly together at the waist as he stared down into her upturned face. He bent his head, stopping when his mouth was a hair's breadth from hers. She gently bit her lower lip and he stared, the action deliciously evoking the taste of her mouth on his tongue. He could feel the heat radiating from her body as his own began to stir.

Passion. It saturated the air as they held off on a kiss both needed like oxygen, silently letting the pressure build toward desperation.

Her hands linked across the back of his neck when she settled against his body, breasts crushed to chest. It never ceased to amaze him how well they fit against each other: like a perfect design forged before the beginning of time.

Gold clearly read the thrum of desire flare in her eyes and then build inside the slow bloom of a suggestive smile.

"Good."

Her response seemed to hang between them.

A heartbeat later their mouths crushed together and she was on her tiptoes trying to get impossibly closer. Something had seismically shifted, he thought vaguely. He wasn't sure how he knew this, yet there was an undeniable certainty resonating from within his heart at her answer that he no longer had to worry so much about Lacey wanting another.

She was his.

His tongue slipped inside her mouth, sealing an unspoken deal. His body pinned hers back against the counter. Desire licked through his veins. A palm found her breast; her fingers traced along his jaw.

Suddenly she flipped them around and with a grunt of surprise he found himself the one leaning against the sink. He didn't mind at all. Gold gently stroked a hand over her ass and she instinctively arched against him. There was an eternity of longing in her kiss though he couldn't tell whether it was his or hers or both.

Playfully she pushed back, her palms lingering slightly against his chest as she put inches of air between them. He waited. Lacey let her gaze linger as it slowly travelled down the length of his body and then back up. Gold felt it like a physical touch and the sunburst of heat had him drowning in her eyes.

"Overdressed, Gold." Her fingers dipped below the waistband of his pajama pants and yanked downward. They pooled around his ankles.

"You didn't get enough earlier?" he asked with a smug grin.

"Round Two. Retribution, remember?" The sultry words were whispered in his ear and he shivered. The pad of her thumb languidly drifted up the length of his sensitized cock and he jerked forward, eyes widening.

"I'm in deep trouble, aren't I?"

Lacey didn't bother to answer with words. Her tongue lightly danced across his lips as a firm grip tightened around his shaft. The contrast had him swallowing a groan. The kiss deepened. He wasn't sure whether he could manage another round, but then his body made the decision for him. Whatever she needed…

Fingernails scraped lightly over his chest as she carefully examined her marks from earlier and he felt her touch like a brand. The smug satisfaction in her eyes as she bent her head to taste the bruise just above his right nipple was a shot of heat straight to his groin.

Boldly exploring with hands and mouth, Lacey rapidly zeroed in on just the right spots that catapulted his arousal toward burning oblivion. And watching her learn him all over again was wholly erotic in a way he hadn't anticipated, her touch sometimes rougher and sometimes such a mirror image to that of his beloved Belle that it made his heart ache, the line between the two softly blurring further in his mind.

She dropped to her knees and her tongue flicked against him. He shivered. The anticipation, the sheer _need_… Both burst into flame as fingertips feathered from calf to thigh and she took him into her mouth. There was the light scrape of teeth, the slick rasp of tongue and his hips jerked forward of their own volition.

It was exquisite torture and…

He suddenly sucked in a ragged breath, knuckles whitening as his grip tightened on the edge of the counter.

Where the hell had she learned _that?_

She glanced up, pleased, and her expression of absolute control had him rock hard. He managed to let go his death grip on the counter in order to plunge tense fingers into her hair, caress her face from temple to cheek.

"I… I need…" He couldn't think straight. His knees were jelly and with his ankle, the concern was rapidly gaining traction that he wouldn't be able to avoid toppling over in an ungainly pile on the floor.

"Yes?" Warm breath against his heated flesh had him nearly surging down her throat. "What do you need?"

There was a ruthless glint in her eye that was pure Lacey and he whimpered a little; couldn't look away.

"I…"

"Beg for more." Dark passion shone in her eyes at the order and he suddenly chuckled, deep in his throat, as he realized what she was doing. His palms curled underneath her arms and urged her to her feet.

"More. Dearie."

He purposely clipped the tone, putting a wealth of power behind words that was immediately matched with the force of his kiss. They fought for control with teeth and tongues, finally breaking apart with a wicked smile and an unspoken draw between them.

"Mmm, you taste incredible," Lacey murmured with a smirk as her mouth greedily re-claimed his.

Gold thrust his fingers between her legs. She was born ready for him and this time the need to get off far outweighed the desire for finesse.

"Shower." They staggered sideways and he managed not to trip over his pants before finally kicking them off his ankles.

"You trying to drown me?"

"Something like that," he grinned, his tone dripping with innuendo.

They breathlessly collapsed to the floor of the stall and her legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into her in a frenzy of need.

"This is where you belong, Lacey. Flat on your back with me buried between your legs." He caught her lips in a hungry, possessive kiss that matched the urgency of his assertion.

"I have zero problems with the last part, but as for the first…" She flipped them over; straddled his waist. "I don't always want to be on my back, Gold," Lacey smirked. She rocked her hips a little; sliding slowly against his hard, throbbing cock trapped between them.

He groaned: "Inside. Need you…"

She took him in hand, inserting just the tip. He tried to thrust up, but she teasingly controlled the depth with agonizing skill.

"Witch." His eyes briefly rolled back into his head and they shared a grin.

Relenting, she sunk down, fully enveloping him. Her kiss was sloppy and hot. Sitting together, their hands could reach all of the other and Lacey settled on a quick tempo that drove them toward completion within minutes.

Her head flung back exposing her throat and his tongue lapped from her pounding pulse to the point of her chin before she captured his lips again with her own. Gentle hands touched his shoulders; palmed the nape of his neck.

Gold felt her body clench around his, knew she was so very close. He thrust up as his hand slipped between them, watching again with awe the expression in her eyes when she came apart in his arms and he quickly tumbled after her over the edge.

Belle.

Belle.

Belle.

Surely now he was so very close to breaking the curse.

"I can't move," she eventually gasped when the haze of passion had ebbed somewhat.

With a chuckle, he reached up and flipped the tap on. Lacey languidly slumped forward against his chest, her arms linking loosely around his neck as her face pressed into his shoulder. "Your taste in music is still crap," she mumbled out of the blue as warm water fell around them. "Just so you know."

"So is yours, dearie. So is yours."

She was too tired to laugh but he felt her grin against his skin. Gold tangled his fingers into her wet hair as his lips travelled across her neck to nuzzle a spot beneath her ear. Holding her, he found himself awash in a tidal current of deepest yearning.

Belle.

Lacey pulled back just enough so that she could see his face. Her palm traced the muscles in his shoulders then rested against his jaw. "You can do magic," she murmured with an exhausted yet satisfied smile.

"Yeah." His fingertips softly brushed across her cheek; lingered over her lips. They touched noses, but he wouldn't kiss her immediately. "You too," he whispered.

Then he bent forward to lightly touch his mouth to hers and it was achingly tender. Their eyes drifted closed while his kiss slowly deepened into a gentle exploration. Gold held back, letting her take the lead. The first featherlike touch of her tongue held him spellbound. It was exactly the sensation of melting.

Belle.

His heart ached with need of her. Gold pulled back and stared deeply into her eyes; smiled sadly when nothing had changed.

It hadn't worked.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry, I'm 0 for 2 on nailing a Sunday posting the past couple weeks. But, as we hurtle toward the finale, it's another mega-chapter that doesn't split overly well. Thanks for reading!

**86. Women do not like to be married to cowards.**

Gold stood in front of his armoire and pulled the end of a black silk tie through the loop, carefully adjusted the Windsor knot at his neck then flipped his collar down. He'd previously slipped on his vest, but now did up the buttons and reached for his favourite pair of gold cufflinks.

It was quiet; too quiet. He could no longer hear Lacey moving around in the bathroom and it had him a little concerned. Usually he could tell exactly where she was and they did have plans. It struck a nerve. They'd hardly been apart in days. He fiddled with one of the cuffs then gave up and tucked them into his hip pocket, his mind automatically racing toward the worst: that she'd simply up and left.

It wouldn't be the first time, he thought anxiously. Or the second, cynicism added.

He resisted calling out and instead approached the open door as silently as possible then half hid; leaned sideways slightly to look. Gold wasn't really sure what it was that had halted his steps before making himself known even when the flood of relief drowned his brief bout with uncertainty. When he saw she was there he sighed; focused on inhaling a couple of deep, steadying breaths. Nothing to worry about after all.

Right from the first, he'd always liked to watch Belle. It had begun with covertly observing her dust his collection while he spun, to how her hands would move when she'd made them tea, or the way her head bent over a book when she completely lost herself in a make believe world... Then when she'd grown bolder and hopped up on his table as if she'd always belonged, he'd stared at her smile because it had warmed him like the sun… to more recently: the enticing way she bit her lower lip when she wanted him to kiss her… He grinned. All her moods, from playful to thoughtful to angry and everything in between: she'd enchanted him and he'd memorized them all.

But this? He frowned a little as the sudden swipe of unease roared back, erasing everything else. Something seemed… off.

Lacey was standing still in front of the sink, hairbrush forgotten in hand while staring intently at her reflection in the mirror. The rest of the world could have faded away to nothing for all the notice she gave. It was a stark reminder of the hospital though somehow it was so much worse seeing it in person instead of through an enchantment. He watched the play of emotion cross her face: searching yet still so utterly and completely… lost. She made to reach out for the glass then changed her mind, curling her fingers into a tight fist at her side. He could have sworn she looked disappointed… as if something vital was missing then whispered what sounded like: "I'm not a hero."

And his heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

You _are_ a hero. You just don't remember. He longed to tell her that; to take her in his arms and _make_ her believe. But he knew it would just make things infinitely worse. Lacey was what she remembered now; what she believed. So stick with the plan: True Love's Kiss. And then she'd be his Belle again.

Someday.

Maybe.

Schooling his features, he tucked the sorrow away and Gold shuffled forward into the bathroom, his cane tapping a little harder than usual on the hardwood to give warning of his approach.

He watched as she pulled herself together; pulled herself back from the brink. And dropped behind a mask of her own. He stepped behind and lightly rested his palms on her shoulders, thumbs gently stroking back and forth in silent comfort while she precisely placed the brush next to the sink. Their eyes met and held in the mirror and she smiled Lacey's grin, the sheer vulnerability he'd witnessed rapidly sinking deep out of sight. But he knew it remained, hidden away inside.

She leaned slightly into him, and he understood she needed the connection. "I missed you." It was spoken with an evocative sexual undertone yet he took the words as an inherently deeper truth.

"I was just outside." The corner of his mouth crooked up into a shadow of a smile as his arms tightened around her torso and his fingers laced with hers. She settled back against his chest and he felt the slow drain of tension when she relaxed into his embrace. He remembered the same thing happening whenever she fell asleep, curled in his arms.

He thought it a good sign.

"I know."

There was so much to say yet neither knew how to start, how to take that first terrifying leap off the precipice.

Struggling to figure out how to reach her with words, his mouth feathered across her jaw instead. "Then kiss me like you mean it," Gold whispered and warm fingers slipped from his.

She moaned quietly as one hand reached back to rest on his hip while the other sought his cheek. Lacey leaned sideways, twisting her head around until she met his lips with her own, the touch gradually deepening as her tongue teased the corner of his mouth.

Lacey.

Truth was, being with her had been different… very different than what he'd expected and, if he were completely honest, utterly intoxicating in a way that he simply couldn't verbalize.

Different… yet achingly the same all at once.

Belle.

She moaned softly against his mouth and squirmed until he loosened his grip enough so she could pivot in his arms, her fingers threading through the long hair at the nape of his neck.

Their lips met again and again and Gold fit his hands over her slender hips to tug her close. He bumped her backward against the vanity with a low growl and chased her tongue with his.

Lacey pulled back just enough to scrutinize his expression. He wondered what she was seeing, but didn't have the courage to ask.

Gold hid his own uncertainties behind a guise of confidant indifference; drifted his tongue along her upper lip.

Do you love me now? It was a constant unspoken question that nagged and chipped at the broken pieces of his heart. Obviously not. And every kiss they shared had him balancing on a knife edge between hope that this was the kiss right before the curse would finally break and despair that it never would.

Never stop fighting. Never give up.

He desperately held onto Belle's bravery with everything inside him. He _had_ to keep trying. For her and for him.

With his help, she eased up and back so that she was sitting on the counter next to the sink, her legs wrapping loosely around his thighs. She'd pulled on a skin tight black dress that faithfully outlined every beautiful curve. He could tell she wasn't wearing a bra. In fact, he couldn't spot a panty line either and the thought had his brain misfiring on several different levels. He had to admit that the crude male animalistic part of him liked it… when they were in private and no one else could ogle her exposed body, that is. Oh hell, he'd find Belle sexy dressed in a formless sack, he thought with a mental roll of his eyes.

The hem of the dress rode high on her thighs and he skimmed his hands up nylon-clad legs to her hips; stole an artless kiss then another.

With a stroke of a hand, he could find out about the knickers right now…

Imagination fueled the fantasy and he lingered over both options, somehow managing to control himself even when her fingers feathered over his chest, plucking at buttons all the way down to his belt. She didn't undo any of them. Instead delicate palms smoothed over his hips as he inched nearer.

Lacey leaned back and he watched the sudden swing to bewilderment as she gripped a lump in one of his pockets.

"Cufflinks," he mumbled against her neck. He felt her shiver at the hiss of breath against her skin. At this rate they wouldn't make it out of the house. Again.

With a grin she fished them from his pocket, her fingers drifting uncomfortably closer to his manhood. He grunted a little and tried for distraction. "So breakfast. Granny's?"

Her legs tightened slightly in a silent urge for him to close the sliver of a gap between them. He couldn't help but oblige.

"Nhh uh," she murmured. "The Rabbit Hole. They've started a brunch buffet… almost like they're trying to class the place up a little."

"Huh," he snorted noncommittally.

"You know…" Lacey worked one of the links through the cuff on his dress shirt; closed the clasp. "That man is positively terrified of you," she said with a smirk.

"Who?"

"The bartender at The Rabbit Hole." She fixed the second cufflink and he tilted her back in his arms to press a lingering kiss to the hollow at the base of her throat.

"Ah. Right. I might have said something along the lines that his establishment was vile. Let's go see if we can get him sited for health violations." Gold shot her an impish grin.

Lacey chuckled. "That would defeat the purpose of brunch." Her mouth nipped along his jaw. "Wait 'til after we eat."

He laughed at her logic and couldn't help but sink a little further toward the mean and cruel man he'd been before Belle.

"You don't seem terrified of me." His fingers splayed over the small of her back, pinning them together and he kissed his way from her shoulder to the lobe of an ear. "Should I be concerned about that?" Gold asked with a dark glint in his eye.

Strength and power and a man willing to fight for her. It was what she wanted.

She didn't seem to care that they didn't like the same things: just that he told her what he really thought instead of nervously letting her walk all over him. Music was just the beginning. She teased him and they argued and it was so much like they'd had before only now it was over the utter dreck called 'reality' TV or cheap booze instead of the finer points of literature or doing the Saturday crossword together.

"No, I'm not. Have you figured out whether I'm wearing any underwear for you today?" She breathed the question against his mouth while nestling into his body. Her tongue lightly touched the tip of his. "Don't think I haven't noticed you staring."

The rumble rolled from deep within his chest and he only barely managed not to piston his hips against hers. His fingers deftly probed the hem of her dress, but refrained from shoving the material up.

"Thought I'd wait. I'm in no hurry to find out," he taunted.

Gold felt himself drowning in the darkening gleam of her eyes as the power play shifted back and forth between them.

"Suit yourself," she said breezily and slipped out his embrace like magic, her fingers dancing across his crotch. Lacey tossed a knowing glance over her shoulder as she sauntered toward the door. "Either way, I'm so wet I can feel it slowly slick down my thighs…"

It was a body blow of lust. He stifled a groan and waited to readjust himself until she was safely out of sight in the bedroom. Lacey suddenly popped her head back in, catching him with a hand on his tightening groin.

"Just so you know…" Her pointed gaze angled down over his body as his hand dropped away. When her eyes raised back to his she worried her lower lip between her teeth and he knew damn well it was a planned maneuver.

He grabbed his cane and the limp did nothing to lessen the dark presence of power as he strode to the doorway; dropped a light kiss onto her willing mouth. "Breakfast, dearie."

Twenty minutes later and they were parked outside The Rabbit Hole. It was a quiet, sleepy morning and hardly anyone was about. Gold opened the passenger door of his Cadillac and courteously offered a hand to Lacey, helping her regain her balance in impossibly high heels. His palm automatically centered possessively on her lower back as they moved toward the door of the bar, deep in a mocking discussion about each of the people that owed him money and hated him for it… which was most of the town.

Dr. Whale suddenly strode around the corner, interrupting. He nodded politely and murmured a good morning when he passed, his eyes glancing off them as he stepped from the curb to cross the street. His head had already turned away and then it was as if his brain suddenly caught up with his eyes.

Gold watched the doctor's double take. At another time it might have been humorous. The look was a thousand times more shock than lust as Whale blatantly gawped at Lacey, taking in the revealing slip of a dress, bright red leather jacket and tumbled hair. Suddenly they were thrust into dangerous territory and he wasn't about to let the Franken-doctor ruin Lacey's morning and potentially his plan with a tactless comment of how she was well and truly, not Belle.

It was bloody obvious.

One swift slice of his cane had Whale's feet knocked out from beneath him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Lacey's expression of complete approval tinged with heating desire and it was abruptly the moment with that wanker Keith all over again, in very nearly this exact spot. His grip tightened on the handle of his cane and the darkness swamped his soul with malicious intent. She crossed her arms and stood at his side, all trace of Belle's compassion entirely erased as she stared down at Whale. He could feel Belle's good influence on him warring mightily with that of Lacey's bad.

Whatever it took to win her heart, he'd play the game. And this time the bad was what it took to win.

That's what he told himself.

Plus Whale had _looked_. And she was _his_. Justification came wrapped in many façades.

"Gold! What're you doing?" The doctor spluttered, and rolled flat on his back as the older man approached.

"No, no, no," he warned when Whale tried to scuttle sideways and escape. Gold trapped him with another menacing flick of the cane. "You know perfectly well-" He raised a flawlessly shined leather dress shoe above the doctor's face; silently threatened to smash it in.

He was the Dark One.

Evil power surged through his veins like quicksilver, channeling the rage and humiliation of centuries past when the Duke of the Frontlands had sneered at his cowardice; forced him to kiss the man's muddy boot in front of his beloved son. He'd mirror that moment now and enjoy every second of it in reverse.

He was Rumplestiltskin and no one would ever bully him again… nor steal what was his.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Whale interrupted, fear dancing in his eyes.

His own gaze was flat and hard; his smile, glacial. Rumplestiltskin revelled in making another beg for mercy when there was none to be had. "No. If you won't kiss it, you're gonna taste it anyway."

Though he didn't glance sideways, he could sense Lacey's satisfaction as he defended her honour in such a twisted and violent manner. The display of dominance, once begun, would have only a single conclusion. Like a bursting boil, it tapped into his long buried insecurity that the duke would ultimately be proven right.

Milah hadn't wanted to be married to a coward.

Cora didn't want a coward.

Lacey: definitely not.

What woman could ever truly want to be saddled forever with that?

"Come on, Gold. I didn't do anything!"

"You stared at her and I know how you think. So kiss my boot-"

Suddenly strong arms were grabbing him from behind; yanking him away from the cowering doctor.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bae shouted in his ear. Whale shot to his feet the second Gold was off him.

"Stand aside, son. This doesn't concern you." He shook off his boy's grip while Lacey spun toward them, clearly annoyed that their fun had been cut short.

"Go, go!" Bae yelled and Whale didn't need any further urging, taking off toward the diner without a backward glance.

"Let go of me, son!" He finally threw him off and angrily rounded on Bae.

"I'm surprised you didn't turn him into a snail," he sneered while gesturing with his thumb toward the rapidly retreating form of the doctor.

Lacey laughed a little in confusion, staring at Bae as if he was crazy. "A snail? Wha- what are you talking about?"

Skidding sideways into damage control, Gold ignored the question and the sudden heave of panic settling like a rock in his stomach. This wasn't even remotely how he'd wanted Bae and Belle to meet for the first time and now it was absolutely imperative that he separate them before his son said something else about magic that ruined the whole thing. "Lacey, why don't you go wait for me in the shop? I'll be along shortly."

He handed her his key while Bae finally gave Lacey a proper look before returning his piercing brown eyes to his father. Luckily she didn't argue, merely turned and walked away.

Gold knew what his son had seen even as he knew instinctively what he was thinking; saw the wrong conclusion building in the disgusted expression on his face. Still nursing his fury, Baelfire was clearly in no mood for explanations. They'd barely talked since that day he'd nearly died, neither man able to find a way to bridge the chasm of hurt and anger once the spectre of imminent loss was removed.

All his son knew was that somewhere in the hospital was a woman named Belle that his father had supposedly loved with all his heart yet here he was cavorting around town with some young trashy drunk with a danger fetish.

Some love.

Bae chuckled a little, but it was a sound of loathing rather than humour. "You're unreal, you know that? You spend years looking for me, I come to town; you disappear."

So much for hoping that his son wouldn't notice his absence.

Baring the pain ripping at his heart was now impossible. They'd been apart for so many years and he wasn't a boy any longer, but a man. A man who hated his father. What could he possibly say? That the woman he'd longed to be his son's mother didn't love him anymore? That it was slowly killing him inside and he didn't know whether he could _ever_ get his Belle back?

Bae would believe the worst and who could blame him after what he'd just witnessed?

So he said nothing, burying the hurt deep in his heart along with the rest of his shattered dreams.

"You haven't even bothered to meet Tamara," Bae continued and turned to walk away.

Rumplestiltskin struck out, responding to anger with derision. "Why should I concern myself with her?"

He spun around and yelled back: "We're getting married!"

"It's never gonna last. Not while you carry a torch for Emma." There was a hint of the theatrical imp in the swing of a hand as he flung the words at his son. He couldn't seem to stop it, to respond with anything other than in kind. It was a low blow, but it was the truth. He could see it blaze briefly in Bae's eyes.

He threw his hands up in disgust. "You know, you haven't changed one bit. For a second I thought you might have. I started to think maybe you were worth my time. I guess I was wrong."

With each passing retort, the anger built and the longed for reconciliation seemed ever more remote.

"And yet, you're still here."

There was no fury now, just a quiet certainty that it was all over. There was no apology, no grand gesture capable of healing the agony of abandonment. Some choices could never _ever_ be fixed.

"For Henry. Not you. As far as I'm concerned you can stay the hell away from both of us."

The breath was sucked from his body and only sheer willpower kept him from staggering under the blow. Bae had lobbed the most hurtful words he could and the stuttering flame of hope slowly suffocated into ash. His heart had already been torn to shreds leaving nothing behind but a tattered remnant and so Rumplestiltskin could only watch numbly as his son walked away.

The desertion was complete. And there was nothing further to say.

* * *

**86. Love makes us sick. Haunts our dreams. Destroys our days.**

Lacey twisted the key in the lock and a tiny bell tinkled as she pushed through the front door to Gold's shop. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected, but… Actually, given the chaotic state of clutter in his house, the shop seemed just about right.

She strolled in a ways; tried to take it all in at once, but that was impossible. The sheer volume of stuff was amazing and at first glance Lacey figured it was possible that Gold might have damn near anything in his shop. It was where knickknacks went to die. The man was definitely a collector. Curious and with nothing better to do she started poking around. She'd never been prone to tact or respecting privacy and all that, and besides, wasn't it all for sale?

There were a pair of puppets near the front door. The eyes were eerily real and seemed to follow her movement. She deked back and forth a little, testing the theory. They were absolutely hideous. She loved them. Then she looked at the price tag. Five hundred and seventy eight dollars? For real? Okay, she didn't love them _that_ much. No wonder Gold was so damn rich.

There was a selection of beer steins, a beautiful collection of jewelry and a random assortment of musical instruments along one side… She twisted round; leaned back against the counter. Who the hell pawned a canoe? She shook her head a little in wonder.

Then she spotted something along the back counter near a positively ancient cash register that had her snickering. "Magic wands. Really, Gold?" she asked the empty shop. Maybe antiquities weren't so boring after all.

Lacey strolled across to inspect them, pausing slightly before choosing a blue one with an ornate silver handle from the rack. It was remarkably lighter than it appeared as if it was meant to be much smaller, but that seemed a silly notion.

Deep in thought, she made a couple small test flicks before abruptly whipping her arm out in the direction of the puppets and shouting: "Avada Kedavra!"

Nothing happened.

The puppets had the grace to look momentarily horrified, but otherwise nothing happened.

"Damn it, I'm a muggle." She placed the wand back in its spot on the rack with a small smirk. She couldn't do magic after all.

There must be plenty of other cool stuff around. Lacey swept through the curtains and into the back room. It was just as jumbled as the front, maybe even more so. At least the front had a semblance of things put out on display. The back looked to be somewhere between an over-crowded storage locker and a workshop.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to a spinning wheel tucked into one corner, the odd pull of déjà vu luring her nearer even though she knew for a fact she'd never seen one before in her life.

Her fingers drifted lightly across the wooden fly wheel and down one of the spokes before giving it a gentle spin. There was a soft creak of wood binding against wood as it turned and the sound resonated with a faint familiarity.

"I like to watch the wheel," she whispered to herself, the hypnotic movement dragging the words from somewhere deep within and she turned to sit on the base, her hands clasping demurely in her lap as she did.

An empty stool sat next to her and she tentatively reached out a hand for it. Her eyes closed of their own accord and there was the sensation of lips, firm and warm against hers…

"No!" Lacey suddenly kicked the stool over while hurriedly backing away. Heart pounding, her fingers scrubbed against her mouth, trying to erase the feel of a kiss that hadn't ever happened.

Not real. Not real. Delusions faded in and out with reality: why wouldn't they just leave her alone? She was better now.

Her back collided with a work table in the center of the room and her hands gripped the wood, using the sturdy length to focus her wild thoughts.

Something that was real. Something that was real.

She deliberately turned away from the spinning wheel and forced her mind to calm, using the remainder of the room as a distraction.

There were old vials and beakers, a collection of mortar and pestles and a Bunsen burner of all things hidden amongst the clocks, a prehistoric sewing machine and… a collection of swords? Seriously? It looked more like a chemistry lab than a pawn shop. Better yet, an evil lair.

She grinned at the thought while an ornately carved wooden cabinet on the opposite wall caught her eye.

Something… important. The grainy thought materialized from nowhere, almost like a gentle push from behind as if she were meant to open it. Mesmerized, she couldn't look away and measured steps brought her close. The door stuck a little and she pulled harder.

It was stacked full of odds and ends yet one object grabbed her attention above all the rest. A small cloth sack lay inside: blue satin with gold trim. There was something exceedingly special about the combination of colours, but it was lost to the quiet clatter of jostling porcelain as she pulled it into the light.

Turning back to the work table, she carefully spilled out the contents.

It was a white teacup. Broken. With blue and gold trim.

She couldn't breathe. Lacey's nerveless fingers sorted through the pile of shattered pieces, cautiously turning them over one by one until she found the piece she sought: the leafy end of a blue branch. Her index finger hovered above the painted stem.

Her whole body shuddered in recognition.

_It's magic._

Gold's words from that first horrible night in the hospital came slamming back like a nightmare revisited. His cup. She'd smashed it and it had vanished but now here it was. He had it back.

Belle.

She felt her mind shift and stretch and she scrabbled to hold on. The name haunted; refused to stay dead and buried. It was like competing with a ghost, only one that in some fashion had once existed within her.

"I'm _Lacey_," she breathed as her fingers tensed against the broken branch. "He's mine now. Not yours."

The bell over the front door sounded, throwing her into a swift and blinding panic. She hastily shoved the pieces back into the bag and flung them into the cabinet, managing to turn back toward the table just as Gold called her name and pushed past the curtains.

Lacey held up an intricately embossed lamp cast in gold that had been sitting on the end of the table. She silently willed her heart rate to return to normal; hoped he wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Granted, Gold didn't look all that great himself.

"So is this really a genie's lamp?" she enquired with an inquisitive tilt of her head. There was a curious trio of rubies inlaid down the spout.

He gave her a small smirk and his tone teased: "Careful with that, dearie. Shake it around enough and a giant blue jinn is liable to show up and then you've got wishes."

Lacey pursed her lips, her thoughts travelling in a somewhat diagonal direction to that of their conversation. He did believe that she was worth fighting for. He'd proven it twice outside The Rabbit Hole...

"We don't want wishes?"

Yet was it really _her_ that he wanted; that he wouldn't ever give up? A niggling doubt slipped through her heart, tore at the edges. The thought occurred that with a single wish she could make it so he wouldn't ever look at her anymore and hope she was someone else. Because she wasn't blind. Or stupid. She could clearly see through his heart no matter how he tried to screen it.

He took the lamp from her and put it away on a shelf. "We don't want wishes."

Lacey deftly boxed the uncertainty away. He was here with her now. That was all that counted. Really. She moved into his space and lightly brushed her mouth across his.

"I don't buy it."

"About the wishes?" Gold raised an eyebrow. His arms were loose around her waist.

"About the genie."

"You're right. He's not blue. He's black and he used to run the newspaper here in town before taking the fall for a kidnapping and attempted murder rap by the Evil Queen," he pronounced dryly.

She snorted. "If that's the story you bought, I think you got ripped off."

He just smiled though she noted it didn't reach his eyes. Instead he pulled a bottle of MacCutcheon scotch and a pair of tumblers from a cupboard she hadn't yet picked through; poured them each a generous amount.

"To kidnapping and attempted murder!" Gold raised his hand with a flourish, his voice taking on a slight trill that made her grin.

"I'll drink to that." She reached for her glass and accidentally knocked it over, the amber liquid spreading out in a puddle on the table. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Here." Lacey quickly grabbed a rag from the bench behind her; mopped up the spill. "I got it, I got it."

"Stop! Stop! Put that down!" The order was laced with panic, his eyes growing wide.

"It's just an old rag."

"It belonged to someone very important. You wouldn't understand," Gold practically shouted as he grabbed the shawl from her hands; carefully cradled it in his palms.

"Because I'm not Belle." The wounded words tumbled out before she could think. They held the wicked power of a slap and it brought him up short. Lacey glanced away, then back in the heavy silence that followed. "I said I'm sorry."

He didn't seem to know what to say so she intuitively took a stab at what was bothering him. "So that was your son. Earlier?"

She watched the shadow pass through his eyes.

"Yes. Bae is his name. I lost him when he was a boy. No, that's not…" He sighed, corrected himself and tried again: "I made a dreadful mistake and abandoned him. It took many years of searching, but I finally found him again. Now he doesn't want to see me anymore." He touched her cheek. "I'm sorry. Let's not fight."

Lacey nodded a little, silently accepting his apology. "This was his." She pointed at the shawl, now sitting safely back in its spot on the bench.

"Yes. He… doesn't think I've changed."

"We all make mistakes. People should love you for who you are, not for who they want you to be." At his bemused expression she shrugged and continued: "Real love means loving all of a person, not just the pretty parts you like."

His jaw worked as he mulled over her words. Maybe he'd realize it didn't just apply to his son. He was silent for a long time. Gold didn't seem to know what to say to that either until finally: "Indeed."

The unspoken weight seemed to lift between them, at least a little.

o0o0o0o

Magic was real.

Lacey absently touched her left shoulder then chugged back the remainder of her scotch as she watched David and Mary Margaret exit the shop on some kind of rescue mission with their vial of magic tears. All the inexplicable things that had confused and frightened: they finally dropped into place; made _sense_. The fireball, that damn cup vanishing… Gold had healed her; he'd healed her with _magic_.

She didn't feel remotely guilty over eavesdropping. He should know better than to try and hide things.

Greg had seen it that night on the road… And most importantly, it meant: "I… I'm not crazy," she whispered to herself. And the realization was enormous, easing the profound pressure on her mind to explain and to understand. She could have laughed in relief.

Instead she cleared her throat, slipping past the curtains and into the back room. Her hips swayed as she swaggered toward her lover. "So it's true. I heard everything."

His back was to her as he replaced a small box within the cabinet behind the work table and Gold froze at the assertion. He slowly shut the cupboard door; seemed to brace himself before turning to face her. And though his face remained impassive, she sensed the hidden panic winging off him in droves.

"You uh, you really can do magic," she teased suggestively.

"I think you might want to pour yourself another drink." His smile was tense.

Lacey eyed him critically. Clearly he didn't want her to know about magic… or was worried about her reaction... Maybe both. "Hmm." But she did as he suggested and refilled her glass. As she twisted the top back on the bottle of whisky, her gaze rose to meet his. "Well?"

Gold looked resigned to his fate yet was trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing.

"I am the most powerful sorcerer in all the world. The magic is pure evil. I acquired it by murdering its previous owner with a magical dagger. He goaded me to do it then when I asked why, said that the magic had become a terrible burden. Afterward, my thirst for power… became all consuming."

He waved a hand across a vial of clear liquid and it suddenly glowed lime green. Gold handed it to her for her inspection.

Lacey grinned. It was flat out the neatest trick she'd seen in her life. She placed the vial back in its proper spot in his alchemy case. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because magic always comes with a price. It tends to drive away the people I care about most," he said with a quiet matter-of-factness.

It didn't take magic to read the subtext: his son and Belle. He'd been ostracized by his own family over something that was a fundamental piece of him. That pissed her off. Neither appreciated this side of him like she did. No wonder he'd been scared to tell her. "Well then, you've been caring about the wrong people," she stated lightly, hoping he believed her. "What else can you do?"

Her excitement was at odds with his more muted reaction. Though he smiled, his showing off was tinged with the barest hint of sadness. Still, with a flick of his wrist a beautiful necklace appeared out of thin air and the silver and diamond sparkled brighter than anything else in the room.

She gasped a little in delight.

"Anything. There are many perks to being the Dark One." Lacey stepped closer and he fastened the clasp around her neck while she gently ran her fingertips along the delicate filigree of the silver. His hands were extremely gentle as he freed her hair from within the confining circlet of the necklace; arranged it back across her shoulder.

"Immortality being one of them, right?"

He nodded. His palms were warm on her shoulders, the touch both perfect and right. Lacey couldn't help but lean back until a fraction of an inch of electric air separated them; she twisted a little so she could see his face.

"Could you… Could you keep me young?" she asked, focusing on the most vital, the most precious use for his magic.

"Yeah," Gold whispered.

Lacey pivoted and linked her arms around his neck. "Cause then we can… We can be together forever." It was both a promise and a desire, her voice wobbling with the weight of emotion. "Nothing can keep us apart."

Something flashed within the depths of his chestnut eyes. His hands tenderly smoothed from her shoulder to hip, but that small sad smile was back and it broke her heart. He didn't think they'd have forever. She could see it.

"What?"

"There is one thing."

Her defences crept up, preparing for the blow as he stepped away; braced his hands against the table. "What is it?"

"Immortal means to live forever. It doesn't mean one can't be killed. There was a prophecy that… _someone_ might be my undoing." He shut the clasp on his case.

That was unexpected. "Well do you know who this someone is?" Gold nodded. "Then get rid of them. Stop them." Just turn them into a snail and step on them. It seemed an easy enough solution for a man who could do anything.

"It's complicated." He looked at her. "Something's standing in my way."

"I thought you were a man who wouldn't let anything stand in his way." Her tone was purposely provoking; nearly a dare.

Gold's gaze momentarily locked with hers before he yanked her tight against his body. Desire burst into flame as his hand curled over her hip. She smiled seductively; bit her lower lip in anticipation.

"I am." A powerful current of evil shuddered through them both at his pronouncement, twisting and turning within the darkness.

His expression of utmost concentration had shifted to her mouth and she burned with the now familiar sweep of passion at being the exclusive focus of so much attention. He _wanted_ her. If he dealt with this problem the way he should, they could have their forever. They would be together always. And nothing or no one could ever stop them.

Gold's kiss was a sudden invasion, his tongue plundering between her lips. It wasn't unwelcome and her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. They staggered backward to the small cot tucked against one wall. She already had the buttons on his vest dealt with and he shrugged both it and his suit jacket off an instant before they tumbled to the mattress.

It was an all out war of teeth and tongues, pure white heat fusing them together in a tumult of desire.

Rough hands groped for skin. Words of challenge silently passed between them as they rolled, playfully struggling against the other to come out on top. There was an undignified screech and a tangle of legs as they accidentally landed in a breathless heap on the floor. It might have been his.

Laughing, she mumbled: "You okay?" into his mouth, fingers still working the knot in his tie.

"I think I'm dead," Gold wheezed.

She chuckled and shifted on top of him. His tie vanished in the chaos behind her. They rolled together to the side and her hand reached between them, kneading the hardened length of his erection. "You certainly don't feel dead. Just the opposite, in fact."

"Good point. After that stunt you pulled in the bathroom this morning? It's simply not possible." His palm clamped over hers, increasing the pressure as he thrust into her hand.

Her smile was slow and sultry and he helplessly leaned in for a kiss. "Well, Mr. Gold…" Lacey extricated herself from his grasp and shifted to her knees; urged him to follow so that they were facing each other. "Time to find out. Knickers or not?" Innocent blue eyes narrowed into a taunting stare as she raised her arms above her head in open invitation.

Gold scooted closer so they were a breath apart, his mouth hovering above hers. His eyes were nearly black with passion when he reached for her, palms gently outlining breasts and hips and ass. They shared a look as his fingers hitched under the hem of her dress and he peeled it off, leaving her kneeling in front of him in nothing but sheer black thigh highs, stilettos and… It was a sliver of black lace with tiny navy bows at her hips.

He growled his approval.

"Lacey." His hand was searing hot where it covered one of the bows. He yanked her forward to press a deep kiss to her mouth. "God, you're beautiful."

"You too," she whispered, her hand unconsciously stilling over his heart.

The buttons on his shirt were half undone and she'd dragged his pants to his thighs in an effort to find and exploit skin. Greedy hands skimmed over his chest and circled his hips while her tongue lapped at the pulse pounding in his throat.

"Bend over." At his urging, she turned to face the cot.

Knees pushed her legs apart as he shunted closer, leaving her gloriously at his mercy. His hands drifted down the curve of her back; cupped her ass. Gold slowly tugged on the ribbon, undoing first one bow and then the other. With a gentle pull, the lace disappeared. He left the thigh highs in place though the heels had fallen off.

He curled above her, one hand finding a breast while the other drifted down her abdomen to skim between her legs.

His cock pressed hard into her backside and, rocking against him, it was obvious how much he needed her; how much she needed him. Her fingers gripped the blanket as her body suddenly clenched around his fingers and a heartbeat later he'd thrust inside from behind, fast and hard.

Lacey moaned. "Magic. You're magic."

"I know." She laughed at the smug confidence and his tempo increased.

Strong fingers carded through her hair, the clasp having long since vanished, leaving it a riot of loose curls. He dropped a tender kiss between her shoulder blades and she shivered. Lacey tried to glance over her shoulder, needing to see his eyes.

"Wait." Her hand reached for his waist, stilling his movement. He groaned in torment, one hand tightening on a hip while the other slipped back between her legs. He was close.

"Please," he begged, face pressed into her spine yet he managed to loosen his hold. "Sweetheart."

Lacey twisted around until she was sitting on the edge of the cot leaving him kneeling between her legs. They shared a long, long look until she leaned forward to capture his mouth in a sensual kiss, her raven hair cascading around them in scented waves. His hands drifted across her hips; settled on her thighs.

"Make love to me." Her breathless request hung between them like delicate wisps of curling smoke.

His whole being seemed to shatter.

She slowly pulled him toward her as they fell backward onto the cot. Lacey guided him in, watching in fascination as his body joined with hers. She held her breath until they settled and the whole world seemed to still. In her eyes was an aching vulnerability and gentle fingers rose of their own volition to caress her cheek; her lips.

"Lacey…"

On the precipice of change there was only the other.

It was a tiny whimper that finally sent them plummeting over the edge and he dragged her with him, bodies straining together, spurred by the greedy exploration of hands and mouths as they rocked together in fiery unison.

She ghosted a tender kiss across his mouth, touching yet not quite touching.

Only you. I choose among the entire world.

Neither was sure whether the words had actually been spoken in the blinding heat of passion or if it remained a purely silent epithet to such a fundamental shift in their relationship. Either way, nothing would ever be the same again.

o0o0o0o

He'd fallen asleep afterward, but she didn't mind. They also didn't have much room on the narrow cot, but she didn't mind that either.

A leg draped across his hip as they lay on their sides, curled into the other. One of his hands was wrapped across her back, the other slack against a breast. Realistically, it had only been a matter of days since she'd remembered herself and yet somehow their time together felt like years. Lacey softly caressed his cheek, fingers gently brushing back the greying hair at his temple.

It didn't make sense, this slow steady wash of feeling. And yet on another level, perhaps it did.

She inched closer, her lips scant millimeters from his. There was the deepest sense of belonging as if the universe somehow wanted them together. She smiled slightly at the fanciful idea.

Still… she could dream.

His breathing was soft and relaxed in sleep. Her fingertips found his mouth, traced his upper lip then the lower.

Gold was a man of unusual contradictions: deeply flawed and, at turns shy and uncertain while others, cocky and dominating.

A strange dichotomy of power and weakness. Darkness with a thread of light woven throughout. Yes. That was what she saw.

And it was profoundly beautiful.

"You're the only one that feels real in this entire place," she breathed while leaning in to finally close the gap with a gentle kiss.

"Belle."

The murmured name called out in his sleep was a rushing slam through her heart, instantaneously freezing and burning as her brief dance with happiness tipped into shadow. She jerked back.

They'd made love. He'd made love to _her_. _Lacey_. She was right here with him yet he was… He was _still_ yearning for another.

The hot sting of tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, anger bubbling alongside grief. She looked away, then back. His grip tightened a fraction, but Lacey inched backward, slipping out from beneath the quilt.

Hands shaking, she pulled her dress over her head; straightened the hem. The cabinet across the room was caught in her gaze and she made a beeline to it, pulling out the small satin sack.

She wouldn't look at Gold as she walked out; paused by the counter next to the cash register. Lacey tipped the broken pieces out, staring down at them while her hands clenched into fists.

Why? Why couldn't he just let her go?

After a short hunt she found a tube of glue and carefully began piecing the shattered teacup back together.

It didn't take long.

The mended cup sat on the glass countertop, the cracks still visible though she'd been as neat as possible: all the pieces back in place save that one prior chip in the rim.

Her finger traced the gap.

Love… true love, would lay her bare: eye to eye, heart to heart, soul to soul.

And if Gold looked into her soul and didn't like what he saw? Was she brave enough to take that chance? To love, no matter what?

She didn't think so.

"I'm _not_ her."

* * *

**69756. The future is a puzzle with many pieces to be sorted.**

The first golden rays of a breaking dawn filtered through the broken canopy of maple and fir, warming her skin and burning off the morning chill. It had rained during the night, but now the sky was clear leaving a freshly washed cerulean above while the air carried with it the fresh hint of spring. Taking a deep breath, she drew in the musky scent of renewal and rebirth, and smiled.

Yet the forest remained unnaturally still. Not a bird twittered nor a leaf rustled. There was the heavy feel of momentous import weighing on the land: as if the world had somehow paused to wait.

She strolled with poise between the trees, her steps assured, then supressed an icy shiver at the sudden awareness of a presence slipping silently through the shadow, mirroring her movement with focused intent. She paused briefly, ears straining for sound yet discovered nothing even as she felt it lunge closer still.

Fingers drifted absently across the rough texture of bark when she continued on her way, now walking with utmost care. Something ominous snaked through her mind, but she wasn't sure what to make of the murky thought. Suddenly, as if she'd intersected an invisible barrier, she slammed into an undercurrent of malevolence brimming with boundless power. Her breath hitched. A sinking morass of twisted evil that sought to destroy and possess: it permeated the air and seeped from the ground, escalating rapidly at the approach of the other.

Time seemed to stretch and pull toward infinity and though the sun did not dim, an aura of bottomless darkness yanked at her soul with the inevitability of a path marked out by destiny. There was no escaping it.

The seer, empty eye sockets stitched closed with coarse black leather twine, turned an elegant hand and the brilliant blue eye embedded within her palm finally spotted her stalker when it flit into the light.

Her other hand rose to join the first. Unafraid, she spoke, her lilting voice fully at peace with looming fate: "The future is a puzzle with many pieces to be sorted."

_Yes._ The word was not expressed aloud, forming instead within her mind like a glacial blast of wind. The eyes in her palms widened slightly at the intrusion, but she silently acquiesced. _You know who I am._

"Yes." They gracefully circled the other in an ethereal dance that could have appeared hauntingly beautiful: always in motion, sweeping like the sea. "You shift the pieces." Her hands moved through the air, mimicking the wavering images floating in her mind. "Oh!" She cocked her head to the side as realization swept through her. "Oh. You're shifting them even now."

_Indeed._ The being gestured to the woods; the measured approach of footsteps muffled on the leaf-strewn ground. _Someone is searching for you. You know what you must do._

Her face tilted up and sightless eyes were raised to the morning sky. Her tiny smile hinted of immense relief, of a terrible burden lifting. "Yes. I do."

At her words an impression of darkest satisfaction appeared to her. The seer's companion faded backward into shadow at her acceptance of her role in the bending will of destiny. There was no other choice. One hand held up the tattered hem of her dress, the other outstretched, palm facing outward as she slipped around the trunk of a tree.

"I've been expecting you." She walked toward the visitor, warming his hand above the fire at her small campsite while he waited.

"Then you know exactly why I came!" Rumplestiltskin trilled; gestured showily.

Her voice held the hint of an echo; the words carrying the significance of an age: "What I foretold during the Ogre's War has finally come to pass."

"Well, in a manner of speaking! I hobbled myself on the battlefield." He flicked a finger down at his ankle, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Was branded a coward. My wife ran away and left me. Then my son was called away to the front." There was a fake gasp of shock as he tore through the sequence of falling dominoes that marked the direction his life had taken. "_Then_ I became the Dark One. _Then_ Bae left me." He steepled his fingers as he circled around behind her, the frustration finally bubbling over when he stepped into her space. "So yeah, my actions on the battlefield left my son fatherless. But. Would have been nice to know about all the pesky details!"

The ability to see into the misty haze of the future had long ago left her unfazed by the threatening approach of a coming storm, no matter how dark or cruel. "Knowing would not have made a difference. You still would have been powerless to escape your fate."

He did not yet understand this singular truth. But one dark day… he would.

Rumplestiltskin emitted a twittering giggle as he stepped away. "Just. Like. You!" He spun back toward her, the sudden twist of his wrist clamping unseen fingers around her throat that squeezed with a vicious snarl of strangling magic. "You know exactly why I came here." All guise at humour was stripped away.

The seer struggled for breath; managed a choking whisper: "You want to find your son."

"Indeed." With a flick he released the spell and she bent over, gasping for precious air.

Her hands came up before her, raising then lowering with the graceful flourish of a dancer as the image she sought solidified in her mind. "You will find him." The prophetic announcement was spoken with a quiet hiss of certainty.

"How? And this time don't leave out a single detail." He pointed a warning finger at her now that he knew to close the loophole.

The kaleidoscope of visions in her mind flittered in and out of focus with breathtaking speed; snapping into place with a clarity of purpose they'd _never_ had before. She sensed the lurking presence of earlier; a dark and powerful manipulation of events to come beyond anyone's comprehension.

"It will not be an easy path. It will take many years… and require a curse." Her hands moved, searching for the correct piece from the burying onslaught of many. They began to tremble as the enormity of what she was seeing unfolded and her voice shook at the horror. "A curse powerful enough to rip everyone from this land."

The seer curled in on herself, trying in vain to block the vision, but Rumplestiltskin pressed for more and anyway, once started, it was absolutely impossible to contain.

"Yes, yes. There's more. Tell me."

Her hands jerked back up. Her fate was sealed. As was everyone else's. "You will not cast the curse. Someone else will."

The icy chill of another's revenge slicked down her spine. _Everything you love, everything all of you love will be taken from you._

"And you will not break the curse. Someone else will." Her voice broke as the vivid image tore through her mind like shrapnel, the agony both physical and mental, and she shook; tried once more to stem the brutal tide.

_Do my eyes deceive me or is that the look of a believer?_ There were devastated tears and True Love's Kiss on a deathly pale brow and…

And at the heart of it all… was a boy.

_It's your destiny. You're going to bring back the happy endings._

"Tell me," Rumplestiltskin urged furiously, his patience with the woman rapidly wearing thin.

Exhausted and breathing heavily, the seer responded: "I don't know. Even my powers have limits."

"Ah, ah, ah!" His hand was raised and he stepped nearer, clearly not believing her. "Not good enough, dearie." The clipped words held an instant of warning before his hand sliced downward through the air and the strangling grasp of magical talons once more relentlessly sucked the breath from her body. Her knees weakened at the unyielding pressure and it was only the magic that kept her upright.

The moment she had foreseen was upon her. Time ticked down: an inexorable march. "If you want to see the path you must take there is only one way. Take this burden from me." The seer reached out; freely offered him her hands.

The choice lay before him and the sweeping hiss of darkness and destiny swung precariously in the balance. The deliberation did not take long. "Gladly."

His magical grip on her throat ended as Rumplestiltskin grabbed her hands with his own. The flash of white light was instantaneous, illuminating the forest, and she screamed, long and loud, as her very essence was torn asunder and the spirit drained from her body.

Rumplestiltskin tilted his head back, embracing the flooding swirl of images, but there was only colour and texture without context or substance. "I can't… see… anything. It's too much. Nothing but a jumble."

"The future is a puzzle with many pieces to be sorted. In time you will learn to separate what can be from what will be."

Everything came at a cost. There was never an easy path.

He let go without warning, violently pushing her back and she stumbled to the forest floor. It hurt too much to rise though the leaves were damp. "This is why you wanted to give me your power. To free yourself from this torment!" She heard the cynicism cut his voice as the true price of her power crystalized into focus; he felt he'd been tricked.

The voices were finally silent. For the very first time in her life her mind was blessedly her own. "In time you will work it all out. Wait." Before he could go she raised a tired hand, the eye flickering open and she reached out. "As gratitude, I offer you one piece of the puzzle."

Her hand moved in a final elegant gesture of seeing and Rumplestiltskin edged closer, his face frozen in rapt attention. "You will be reunited with your son, and it will come in a most unexpected way."

"How?" The frustration at her continued cryptic assertions went uncontained. Details. He always wanted details. As if that would change the outcome any.

"A boy! A young boy will lead you to him. But beware Rumplestiltskin, for that boy is more than he appears." There was a final desperate warning to be heeded. It was all she could do. The light was fading to darkness and the slow advancing creep of death was nearly upon her. "He will lead you… to what you seek, but there will be a price. The boy… will be your undoing."

The seer's fingers fluttered with a last gasp of life and then her palm fell to the ground at his feet.

Rumplestiltskin stared coldly at the woman's still form, the grip of fate tightening like an unseen vise around his life. "Then I'll just have to kill him."

The harsh pronouncement echoed through the clearing with a tolling clang of finality and an unrecognized puzzle piece slammed firmly into place.

From somewhere nearby a pair of eyes, white as snow, watched intently from deep within the shifting shadows. And the very earth itself seemed to tremble in anticipation.


	8. Chapter 8

**86. The power became so important that I couldn't let go.**

There seemed a collective held breath hanging on the air as if all were grasping onto the final wavering seconds of tranquility; sensed the brewing of a cold implacable evil moving silently within their midst. Carded wisps of cloud hung in a pale blue sky while a light spring breeze blew in off the ocean, bringing with it the slightest hint of lingering winter chill and the scent of saltwater. He adjusted his black wool coat a fraction, but it didn't slow him down.

A golden eagle drifted high above, lazily riding a thermal before screaming landward in hunt of prey. He smiled a small spiteful little grin when it swept back up carrying a limp squirrel clutched tightly in its talons. The display fit his mood.

Gravel crunched underfoot as Rumplestiltskin strode down a wooded path from the parking lot, twisting and turning determinedly through the scrubby trees toward the coast. He made no effort to disguise his approach. There was no point in hiding and besides, today of all days he wanted to be observed, spurred on by the intersection of eluding destiny and malicious cunning. It hummed in his bones.

Bae didn't want his father anymore and that icy rejection had removed the last vestiges of restraint that ensured his grandson's survival. He would take the boy from Baelfire and his son would know forever the agony of loss of his child. It would look like a horrible accident followed by the doting grandfather trying to revive the boy. Yet all would be lost, binding father and son together in grief.

He _would_ have his son back. And the capriciousness of prophecy be damned. The vision flashed once more in his mind and evil intent wicked through his heart, any slivering remnant of goodness unravelling with dangerous swiftness.

The boy must die so that he may live.

And he was just ahead.

The path ended at a playground and Rumplestiltskin stepped into view, pausing to observe as he cupped his palms over the golden handle of his cane.

Henry.

The corner of his mouth just barely twisted up in an outward expression of an inward smirk. Sharp granite boulders and a cracked skull, the impact alone enough to do him in. This would be ridiculously easy.

Granny was watching the boy as he swung back and forth, unknowingly enjoying his final carefree moments alive. Destined slaughter crept nearer, spinning in like a tornado with ever increasing velocity.

Do it. Do it. Do it.

The malevolent siren call resonated in his head. There was no choice. The boy would spell his own doom otherwise.

Eyes like a hawk, she prowled about the perimeter scanning for danger, her palms cradling a custom composite crossbow. No matter. It would take a power much greater than some old lady with delusions of warrior greatness to thwart the Dark One.

The intoxicating flood of blackness fouling his soul switched from hum to howl, obliterating any flickering semblance of light.

From across the playground they shared a look saturated with mutual distrust and dislike. Granny turned and marched the other way, gaze focused on brush and bramble rather than the true threat lurking in plain sight.

Henry kicked his feet a little harder; swung a little higher. The rhythmic sound of creaking rope stretching and pulling against the wooden frame of the swing focused Rumplestiltskin's attention.

An untraceable accident…

His hand twisted the handle of his cane a quarter turn and strands of the rope frayed near the top with a pleasing snap.

The boy remained blissfully unaware.

Another half turn. More snapping. More fraying. It was nearly done. And the beast inside roared with satisfaction. He could see it all with flawless clarity. The rocks loomed closer. His heart raced. There's be the drenching smash of blood oozing down and a limp body crumpled on the ground.

Dead.

He would win. This Henry would _never_ be his undoing.

Dark magic sang in his veins, a thick suffocating chorus of bass and baritone.

More. More. Just a little more.

The unexpected slam of a truck door broke his concentration and sent the magic skittering away like dropping marbles on a tile floor.

The Charmings' and their daughter. Damn.

"Gold! What are you doing here?" David asked, surprised.

The trio walked over to him from the road, Emma lagging somewhat behind as she stared at Henry while his rhythmic motion slowed and he prepared to get off the swing. "Well my son made it clear I'm to stay away from him so I'm spending some time with my grandson instead." A mental flick of magic healed the rope, erasing all evidence.

Another time, another place, he vowed silently. Henry would not live.

"Emma, it's okay, why don't you go talk to Henry. We'll handle this," Snow murmured, a comforting palm on her daughter's back. She nodded, unhappily making her way toward her grinning boy while he called a greeting.

Mary Margaret continued softly: "Mr. Gold we have some news we need to share with you and it's not good."

"Not interested," he responded shortly, mind already awhirl with possibilities for future 'accidents.' Gold had no time for the Charmings' or their insipid blather. He rudely turned his back on them and made to walk away.

"It's about your son," David interjected.

"Yeah, what about him?" Bored, Rumplestiltskin watched as Emma drew Henry to a bench; sat him down. Her whole being radiated tension.

"Tamara shot him."

The prince's words refused to tally up. The world tipped beneath him and his first though was that he'd dropped into some hideous farce masquerading as reality. Rumple rapidly pivoted on his good heel; searched their eyes.

"What? He's dead?"

It must be a mistake. A dreadful, hurtful lie… But there was nothing in their expressions but deepening compassion and sorrow.

"She used a bean to open a portal. Neal was hurt so badly he fell through," David explained concisely.

His fists tightly clenched the cane in his hands, the hard embossed texture of the golden handle giving him something tangible to grasp in a world that had gone suddenly black. He couldn't breathe, as if a clamp was progressively crushing the life from his chest. And for the first time in his existence, he thought that might be the better option.

"He's gone."

Rumple gasped. His son. His beloved Bae. Wave after wave of suffocating darkness was a dagger plunging through his heart. He staggered a little; barely remained upright.

"Bae wasn't supposed to die." There was complete and total incomprehension. In all his centuries culling the fleeting and murky images of the future for what was to come… _this_ was never an alternative.

The stinging memory of Bae's small boyish hand slipping through his: now nothing more than a stony epitaph to a horrible choice and a lifetime of regret. There would never be forgiveness now. No redemption. And a piece of himself withered and died along with his son.

On the bench, Emma held Henry close, tears streaming as they shared their grief.

"Greg and Tamara, they took something from Regina. A magical trigger. A failsafe in the curse that can destroy Storybrooke."

"If they activate it, it's a self-destruct. Everyone not born in this world will die," Snow continued for her husband. They alternated sentences with an almost telepathic connection born of true love.

"I know this is hard, but we need your help."

He heard their plea but it was little more than an incessant buzzing in his ears. Bae was dead. And nothing else mattered. It was all over. Everything was over.

All his power… All his plans... All for naught.

He'd failed.

"No." Resigned and numb, Rumplestiltskin moved to walk away, feeling every single second of his magically extended life weigh on his blackened soul.

The boy would be his undoing. So this was the end. The gaping maw of oblivion beckoned.

Fate would win. Fate always won. There was no escaping a stacked deck.

"They killed your son in cold blood and you don't want to stop them?" David asked incredulously.

"They didn't kill my son. I did." Rumple's voice broke, the hardened visage of the Dark One shattering to reveal the heartbroken papa underneath. His eyes filled with eons worth of unshed tears. "I brought magic to this world to find Bae. And now he's dead. Magic always has a price and this is it. But I'm prepared to pay it."

Empathy for a grieving father battled with Snow's unwillingness to simply give up. "But we'll die; you'll die!"

David added urgently: "You'll never get Belle back this way. You could still get her to fall in love with you. True Love's Kiss! Don't let her die as Lacey."

There was a passing consideration and then the hopeless surrender of a coward unwilling to fight. "I was never going to get a happy ending. I've made my peace with that."

The best he could hope for now was a quick end to the swamping surge of anguish. Let them scurry and fret. The seer was right. The details wouldn't matter any in the end.

He turned and slowly limped away down the path he had come.

She was leaning, arms crossed, against the hood of his Cadillac in her skimpy black dress and red leather jacket: waiting for him. He dredged up an approximation of a smile at what he supposed could count as comfort in the worst of circumstances.

"Lacey."

There was no welcoming greeting. "You're trying to get rid of me!" Her expression smeared between intense paranoia and bitter agitation.

Comfort quickly submerged beneath further misery that demolished his heart. Inwardly he screamed at the heavens. Wasn't taking Bae away from him enough? Now he couldn't even spend his final moments in the arms of his true love; pretend that she loved him back?

"That's not true," he murmured in a quiet attempt to calm her.

"Don't lie! You're lying to me! I heard it all." Her voice rose an octave and he accepted with sinking inevitability that his last remaining sliver of happiness would be ripped from him as well.

"Dearie…" Gold stepped closer but she backed away, raising her hands as if to ward him off.

"I'm just some trashy drunk with a danger fetish. That's what you think isn't it? You don't want me. It was never about me. You want to get rid of me so you can have your precious Belle back!" Her eyes brimmed with tears at the treachery of his deception. "That's all this has ever been, hasn't it? Admit it."

"Lacey, I…" What could he say? He did want Belle back with all his heart. He _needed_ her. And maybe he hadn't thought enough about Lacey as a person in her own right.

"Why? Why her and not me?" she implored, fathomless hurt melding with spiraling anger. "Belle _never_ loved the dark sides in you, did she? The ugly and warped pieces inside that crave supremacy and influence over others. Money, land, titles: all greedily collected to create a man beholden to no one. The mangled pieces that lead that man to choose power instead of his own son. Because don't kid yourself, Gold: the dark magic may accentuate, but those pieces exist irrespective of the Dark One. She could _never_ truly understand that, _never_ truly love that, could she? And you tossed her away like trash!"

Gold stared, dumbfounded, uncertain how to respond.

"No one can ever, ever love me." The stinging betrayal underscoring her defeated tone ripped him to shreds. It was like a vicious reversal of roles, his own words from that long ago night of their first kiss ringing back at him with the sickening swing of an unseen fist.

Tongue-tied and heartbroken, he watched Lacey turn and flee from his life.

"I'm sorry." But the soft apology was far too late and no one heard it but the twist of dust on an ill wind. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

**86. You can't tell what's in a person's heart until you truly know them.**

Rumplestiltskin staggered through the door of his shop, heading straight for the back without a sideways glance.

Alone.

Waiting for the end.

The excruciating loneliness wrung out his heart, leaving him weak and afraid. He'd been by himself for so many long years he ought to be used to it by now and yet the haunting isolation still stung.

He'd never been well liked: shunned and tormented as a boy followed by shunned and the tormentor as a man.

Lame. Friendless. Now at the end, Rumplestiltskin found himself back at the beginning: reliving an anguished conversation with an old beggar.

Without his boy, and now without his Belle, he would truly soon become nothing more than dust. And no one would mourn the loss.

Maybe the back room was a horrible choice. The blankets on the cot were still a tangled mess from earlier and all it did was remind him of Lacey cradling him close after she'd wanted them to make love; the same cot where he'd lain dying while he and Bae had struggled to reunite.

Too many searing memories.

A bottle caught his eye, still sitting on the work table where Lacey had left it.

He ran a considering finger over the clear glass then filled his tumbler with the remains of the scotch, slugged it back in a single long swig, the fiery liquid burning a trail down his throat while he blindly hoped for the numbing stupor of oblivion.

Anything to dull the pain.

Bae.

Belle.

There was no use wishing for a happy ending. He'd spoken the truth earlier to the Charmings'. The clock was inexorably winding down. He could feel the remaining seconds tugging on him, knew that shortly the pain would be erased. Perhaps it would be a blessing. He wouldn't remember he'd ever crossed realms to find a son that hated him and had lost the love of a beautiful princess.

His hand trailed lovingly over his son's timeworn shawl. "You weren't supposed to die," he whispered regretfully.

Rumplestiltskin then turned to the cabinet next to the bench; pulled the door open and reached for the little blue sack he'd discovered upon his return from New York. His two most cherished possessions… If he couldn't have his family, he'd at least keep them both close in his heart until the abyss claimed him.

He frowned. The shape was off and there was no more clattering and shifting of broken pieces. Concerned, he spun toward the table while shoving a hand inside.

He pulled out the mended teacup; stared at it in shock as his heart compacted into a tiny ball inside his chest. He timidly set it on the table in front of him. It'd been carefully glued back together: shattered no longer though the cracks remained, flawing the white porcelain.

Lacey.

It could only have been Lacey.

He didn't know what to think. His mind was a muddled blank.

Then a powerful earthquake heaved and rolled through the land with a swiftness unlike any natural phenomenon, shifting foundations and tossing what was not bolted down. A hand shot out to protect their precious teacup as his collection tumbled and smashed about him.

The diamond had been enacted. It wouldn't be long now. Rumple could feel the magnetic pull yanking on his magic like a powerful swirling vortex: dark, unstoppable and inescapable.

The forest would reclaim the town and then Storybrooke and all not born here would die.

He glanced around after the wave had passed, his first coherent thought one of fear for Lacey that had his heart rate spiking. The idea that the woman he loved was in danger; that she might be wounded… that she might already be gone filed him with dread.

_You tossed her away like trash!_

His mind stumbled and staggered over her accusation then backtracked in confusion, suddenly questioning what he'd been too distracted to notice before.

_What?_

How would Lacey even _know_ that?

Ruby? Possibly... Regina? Maybe…

Still… It seemed a stretch…

Unless… No it didn't bear thinking about, his clever mind sifting through the puzzle pieces and wholesale rejecting the most obvious conclusion as absurd.

Rumplestiltskin picked up their cup; clasped it carefully in both palms while one thumb drifted across the chipped rim, Belle's never give up attitude warring with his natural tendency to do just that.

The abruptness of an image shoving into his mind struck him sideways: a ship and a heartbroken goodbye before a long sea journey. All else was a scattered tangle of colourful threads and shifting knots.

His head jerked up. What can be or what will be? He… he had to know for sure.

For now Lacey was alive. He was as certain of that as he was of her current unwillingness to talk with him.

"I need to choose a different path," he mumbled to himself, his voice gaining confidence toward the end.

The hospital: if there was anything to know, it would be there.

The townsfolk were in a state of panic as he strode through the main entrance; hurried toward the locked door that led down to the basement where she'd been hidden away from him for all those years. No one paid him any attention. He swiped a hand across the keypad. The magic was becoming harder to control, but the door swung open revealing a flight of stairs. He took them down as quick as he dared, deep into the bowels of hell.

The magic knitting Storybrooke together was methodically unwinding with terrifying consequence. What had once existed before the town was magically carved from the Maine forest was now reappearing at ground level: towering trees thrusting toward sunlight while brush and fern crept over an expanding carpet of rock and mulch.

Below ground was another matter entirely and he found himself stepping into a chasm already beginning to fill with a suffocating tangle of plunging roots and roiling earth. He ploughed forward anyway, desperation making him brave.

At the base of the stairs was a compact reception area, but he didn't pause more than a few seconds, focusing instead on a small records room in behind.

For twenty-eight years Belle had been the Queen's only captive in the asylum. It at least made finding the correct reports relatively easy. He grabbed what he could carry from the first overstuffed drawer he yanked open as a crumbling wave of cement gave way to the tumble of sand and gravel, burying the opposite side of the room.

Rumple recognized it was folly to stay down there, let alone plunge further away from his escape hatch up the stairs, yet the need to see Belle's cell this one time drove him instead down a darkened hallway to the left.

The heavy steel door pushed open at his touch and he stepped inside the tiny room; was greeted by dingy grey padding and a grill over a covered window. His stomach churned. Twenty-eight _years_. The floor was a tight mat of roots and rock and he had to step carefully over the shifting morass to the built-in cot beyond, unable to avoid picturing Belle sitting alone and scared and without even a name as solace to stem the isolation.

Sitting down heavily, Rumplestiltskin dumped the folders in a pile next to him then quickly started scanning paperwork.

He knew the dates would be a useless mess and no surprise: she'd relived variations on the exact same day just like the rest of them. Plus they'd kept her on a truly frightening cocktail of antipsychotics and anti-anxiety drugs among a host of others. His anger toward Regina burned.

But it was the psychiatric notes that truly grabbed his attention. Paranoia… Delusional… Hallucinations… The rate of page flipping accelerated as his heart leapt to his throat. He flung folder after folder aside.

It was the same thing over and over and over again in startling black and white: a cup and a kiss and someone who loved her.

How? How? Why? _How?_

More pages yielded more of the same. It simply wasn't possible that she could... she could remember… anything, his face twisting with the unreality of what he was seeing.

Yet the tangible proof in his hands indicated otherwise, the memories – for that's all they could be – coming both while awake and when she dreamed.

Dreamed.

"Fuck." He'd _seen_ her dream those memories of Belle's and the realization left him reeling. He'd _felt_ Belle: had kissed her awake yet hadn't managed to kiss her back to him.

The lights sputtered and died, plunging him into darkness as part of the ceiling and the grilled window vanished under an onslaught of roots and rocky soil. He lurched sideways. A flick of wavering magic threw up something of a shield and illuminated the cell once more.

He needed to flee; to find her.

One more page.

More than halfway through the stack yet not quite two thirds was a police report that had his blood icing in his veins. Signed by Graham, the Queen's pet, it told in a handful of succinct words of an escaped mental patient captured on the beach. And she'd had a teacup with her.

The paper crushed between his fingers as the rage took hold and Rumplestiltskin shot to his feet.

The memory appeared swiftly. Regina had brought the cup to him; had used it as a test not once, but twice. The first: within days of their arrival in this new land and he hadn't known it was special. It had sat in his shop untouched for twenty-eight years until Emma's appearance had awoken him. The second: he'd nearly beaten Moe French to death in order to get it back.

Yet he'd never questioned why Regina would have had it in the first place. The cup came through the curse with Belle. And there was no way Regina would know just how special it was to them unless… unless Belle had known it was special to them.

His already tunnelled vision reduced to a handful of whirling spots and there was no way in hell he would let this end without the fight of his life. She was his true love and the shifting swing of something eternally deep and destined rippled just beneath the surface.

David had told him that in spite of The Curse, there was a sliver that remained of him and Mary Margaret. This was… this was orders of magnitude greater than a sliver.

Belle.

He needed… Belle.

Rumple bolted for the stairs as fast as his lame ankle would allow, the padded cell collapsing in a choking cloud of dust behind him.

And there it was, a blazing truth shining him in the face. Love takes many shapes. Lacey didn't have to love him in the same way Belle did. He suddenly realized that Regina had miscalculated badly. Sure she'd turned his sweet Belle into a boozy caricature of her callous mother, Cora, crossed with his unfaithful drunk of a wife, Milah, and laced with a frightening amount of his own cruelty… In fact, Lacey was a mirrored image reflecting back the worst qualities of all three… But she was also drawn to dark, powerful men. And he'd made damn sure Mr. Gold was the darkest, most powerful man in all of Storybrooke. If Lacey had been free for those twenty-eight years of The Curse… she would have been drawn to him above all others. They'd have been together anyway. Fallen in love in two worlds.

Even with minds full of cursed memories… True love finds a way.

* * *

**86. Just because you believe something, doesn't make it true.**

A pair of trees and a bounding deer shot up out of the sidewalk in front of her and she screamed, terror slicking through her gut like molten iron and she backpedaled in her spikey heels, nearly losing her balance. She didn't understand what was happening. Not even one tiny little bit. She'd overheard David and Mary Margaret say something about a curse and that everyone would die, but it didn't truly make any sense at all.

Nothing had made sense since the blurring, heart breaking moment that he hadn't chosen _her_.

The frenzied panic of people in the streets fed Lacey's own chaotic fear, amplifying it to fever pitch even as the town was slowly chewed up by an advancing forest front. The whole world had slanted into lunacy and every single thing seemed to be slowly unravelling before her eyes.

Or maybe it was just her and nothing, none of this, was remotely real. Her damaged mind had finally imploded and this apparent time spent outside the confines of her little cell was fake: nothing more than a last desperate attempt of an unwell mind to reclaim a semblance of sanity.

Because magic? Who would believe that? Sane people didn't believe in curses and a town vanishing as if it had never existed.

She fled around a corner, dodging a blackened stump half covered with moss then ground to a halt. Near tears and horribly alone, Lacey turned, uncertain which way to run. No one else seemed to know either. Nothing was safe and there was no one who gave a damn what happened to her and the thought cleaved her heart in two.

The brief flickering fantasy that she was loved had disintegrated into wafting ash. Gold didn't truly want her. He wanted Belle. And even the comforting presence in the mirror had deserted her. It was a pretty pathetic sign when she couldn't even count on an illusion of love to paper over the depth of her isolation.

The Rabbit Hole was locked up tight when she tried to twist the knob and she slammed her fist against the door in frustration. She thought briefly about going to the diner, but Ruby was Belle's friend, not hers, and she just couldn't handle yet another person that wished she were someone else right now.

She was Lacey. Why couldn't anybody _like_ that fact?

She pivoted blindly, nearly tripping over a grey nylon backpack lying on the ground and swore. She hadn't noticed it there seconds before; glanced both left then right. It didn't seem to have an owner and she absently picked it up.

Suddenly a mat of leaves and vines tore through the red brick wall behind her and she whimpered, taking off with a petrified glance over her shoulder. Leaving the town behind, Lacey stumbled down a narrow path through the woods, the trees almost seeming to close and corral her route while she was chased by undulating roots that snaked and snapped before plunging into the earth.

Breaking free of the forest, she found herself on a curving stretch of beach. It was at least marginally more stable though the sand seemed to quiver underfoot and she thankfully staggered forward, heart racing. Her heels were no use at all and she quickly kicked them aside; rolled off her thigh highs to go barefoot.

Maybe if she turned her back on it all, she could simply drift off and forget… everything: everything that had ever hurt and terrified and left her so dreadfully alone. She crumpled to the ground, staring forlornly at the foaming waves as they swashed ashore across the sand. Her fingers still clutched the forgotten bag in her hands. The ocean was a roiling mass of surging grey whitecaps and it felt as if an immense storm was brewing.

Looking for a diversion, she pawed though the backpack. There were some comics, half a mangled candy bar, a single walkie talkie and a large leather bound book. Lacey didn't particularly like books, but it was at least a distraction from the shit with Gold. Oh, and the end of the world. Aimlessly, she flipped through the collection of stories then began to read.

_Once upon a time…_

* * *

**86. Do you believe in other lives? Like past lives? **

Gold threw himself from the assaulting forest using the same path she'd taken herself. Her back was still to the claustrophobic press of trees, yet she could sense both his sudden appearance and advance. She was sitting, legs tucked to the side, gently rocking back and forth while she stared fixedly at the waves crashing on the beach. They seemed larger than they had earlier, she thought inconsequentially. Rougher. And like the trees: with a furious intelligence determined to reclaim and reassert.

He slowed when he approached and her arms tightened instinctively around her midriff, an unconsciously protective motion. He doesn't want _me_, Lacey reminded herself sharply. Deep-rooted anger and hurt marred her expression.

"Lacey." He was out of breath as if he'd rushed to find her though his tone remained warm and soft.

When she wouldn't look up or acknowledge him in any way, Gold hovered for an indecisive moment then sat down heavily, setting his cane and her abandoned shoes and stockings next to him. The book of fairy tales was lying on the sand between them, open to a colourful illustration of a couple sitting at a spinning wheel while Beauty leaned close to gently kiss her Beast. There was a mystical aura of woven magic held in the picture as if it had been captured in the very instant an unshakable bond was forged… and everything changed forever.

Gold glanced from it to Lacey, his face carved from regret. She still wouldn't look at him.

Though he'd been in a ridiculous hurry to find her, now he didn't seem to know how to start. The wait was interminable and finally she just gave in to the nauseous churning in her stomach and said the first thing that came to mind.

"Have you read it?" She tilted her head at the book, her tone veering toward harsh.

"I know the story," he answered guardedly.

"True love. It was working," she mused softly. "Why didn't he believe her?" She didn't hide the accusatory hitch in her voice; the searing blue of her gaze.

For a long time Gold was silent, seeming to struggle with the truth; with the naked vulnerability it would demand. His fingertips ghosted across the cheek of the drawing of this Belle on the page in between them and he answered in a broken whisper: "No one… No woman had _ever_ looked at him the way she was. Not even his wife who was supposed to love him, but didn't… had abandoned him and their son. Belle was everything he wasn't: strong and brave and beautiful. What on earth could she possibly love about him? He was nothing but weak. And cowardly. And ugly."

His haunted words hung on air that had suddenly stilled and his shoulders slumped forward a bit, the cost of his admission leaving him bereft and so very much alone in his misery.

Or was that just an illusion born of her own heart-wrenching loneliness?

Even as the name Belle instinctively made her recoil and her stomach churn, her fingers fluttered towards his then self-consciously jerked back. Lacey nursed her anger. It was just a fairy tale. And anyway, it didn't have any bearing on them even though aching familiarity somehow vibrated through every strand of the story she'd read: a chipped cup and a tender kiss and…

_No one can ever, ever love me!_

The shout, the Beast's sheer pulsating fury resonated from somewhere buried deep within, leaving her shivering at the howling rush of icy cold. Lacey clenched her fists, arms wrapping tighter around her waist while she fought against the shadowy sensation of palms and knees scraping against a rough stone floor while happiness shattered into a murky swirl of dust.

No. Not truly her rejection. Just eerily similar.

Fear brewed in her chest, settling near her heart and tunnelled into her soul.

She'd hurtled those exact words at Gold earlier though why should that matter? And what had made her so damn certain that he'd carelessly tossed Belle's love aside as if it wasn't valuable? Something extraordinarily special? It wasn't _this_ Belle in the story. Coincidence, she feebly explained to herself when inexplicable fragments of thoughts and images shifted and merged with their fight from earlier.

That's all it could be…

Dreams... Delusions... Her head throbbed and pulled in a hundred different directions while her eyes briefly unfocused. Control seemed a wavering exercise and Lacey mentally girded the barriers; wasn't sure what to believe any longer: was increasingly unable to separate the blurring line of reality from insanity.

She glanced at her lover; saw the bleak etch of sorrow on his face and it sliced across her heart like the hot slick blade of a knife. She couldn't look away. Gold clearly didn't expect a response to the Beast's hopeless query, but one came to her anyway: a low whisper in a fated wind. It rang with endless truth and the dull, heavy ache of longing.

"She… She saw that his heart was true. And that made him beautiful to her."

A quiet gasp and a bowed head told her she'd hit the mark.

"Sweetheart." His voice was so soft she almost missed it. Gold carefully pulled the mended teacup from his coat pocket and set it on the book between them.

She screwed her eyes shut; choked on a shuddering gulp. Not that damn cup again. She wished she'd never seen it before, let alone pieced it back together.

"I went to the hospital; read your file."

"What?" Lacey whipped her head round, anger rushing and swirling at his unexpected presumption. "Y- you, you had no right!" she hissed.

"Oh I have every right," Gold responded evenly. His hand clamped around her wrist, keeping her from escaping as she attempted to fling herself away. "Tell me about the dream. Tell me what you remember."

"It, it's not real." Her mouth was set in a thin line as she purposely stared down at a dried piece of kelp half buried in the sand, yet her eyes pricked with tears. "It doesn't matter."

"Please," Gold begged quietly. He let go her wrist to gently twine their fingers instead. "Tell me. That first night we were together, you were dreaming something when I kissed you awake…" He let his soft lilting voice trail off beseechingly.

When she didn't say anything, he rolled up onto his knees; knelt before her. Gold gently squeezed her fingers then asked once more: "Please. Tell me."

Their eyes locked and she witnessed the depth of his suppressed hope, the look alone enough to magnetically draw the words from her heart.

"I'm kissing someone. It's sweet… gentle. All I can feel is the flutter of his breath against my cheek and the press of his mouth to mine. There's a cup just like that one. It's damaged, but it was ours and that's what made it special… valuable. And then a rush of something deep and true." Her voice faltered a little; now she wouldn't meet his gaze. "Love. It was, it was someone that loves me."

"Oh." His eyes scoured her face and Gold sank back on his heels, utterly staggered. His thumb brushed back and forth across her wrist. "Sweetheart-"

"But no one loves me," she added bitterly. Lacey ripped her fingers from his and stumbled upright. "It's not real. It's just a stupid dream. It was never real."

"That's not true." Gold followed her lead, awkwardly getting to his feet and leaning heavily against his cane while he brushed the clinging sand from his suit. "Where did this kiss happen?" he probed.

"A… a grand room. I don't know. I'm… it's… it's _home_." The tears started to fall then and she cursed herself for being stupid and unable to stop them. Because try as she might, she still didn't have a real home.

"And the man?" He held his breath. His fingertips feathered against hers and she snapped her hand away, the scalding sensation of skin against skin creating a burn of longing that wasn't helping. Why couldn't he love _her?_ Lacey? Then it would be perfect.

"I don't know. It's not real," she repeated vehemently, parroting years of psychiatric therapy to bring her hallucinations under control. "It doesn't matter." Lacey flat out refused to explain the humiliating truth that the man's face had morphed from shadows into his. Not even the worst of torture would pull _that_ from her.

"You remember," Gold murmured in awe. When she made to flee, he snatched her hand once more, keeping it tucked safely in his. "There was a powerful curse. It brought us all to this land and you shouldn't be able to remember anything from that life, but you do." He pointed to the book and the cup sitting on the sand. "It's made you think you're crazy, but you're not. It _does_ matter. It matters because it's a memory. A _true_ memory. It is _very_ real."

The ground shifted and flexed beneath their feet while the entire forest appeared to lurch and flow behind them. The end was coming faster now and both could sense the hurtling sweep of impending extinction. Soon it wouldn't matter.

"No!" Lacey shook her head in sharp rejection, stepping back a pace though he wouldn't slacken his grip on her fingers. Her face wrenched with escalating panic. "I remember. I remember I'm _Lacey_. I'm better now. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I need you." His expression crumpled then shattered with the truth of his words. "I need you so much."

"You need _her_," she shot back, terribly wounded. Lacey pulled her hand from his but didn't turn to run. Instead she absently scrubbed her palm against her hip as if to remove the feel of his touch.

"I need _you_."

"No. I heard. You didn't choose me and now you're just stringing along the lunatic. What next, my imaginary friend in the mirror is real?" Her voice hurtled toward hysteria.

"How-" Gold started, appearing genuinely confused at that. "What?"

Fuck. Mortified, she mumbled: "Nothing," while inching backward.

He followed, but was careful not to crowd too close. "No, not nothing. What are you talking about?"

Embarrassed, but figuring it was far too late for a sidestep now: "It felt like someone was watching me in hospital. Someone that…"

"Loves you?" Gold finished faintly when she wouldn't say the words. Her expression betrayed the truth behind his guess.

"That was me in the mirror," he admitted slowly and it was like watching him mentally sort a waterfall of pieces until they tumbled into comprehension. "It's enchanted. You didn't ever want to see me again, but I desperately needed to know that you were all right. So I watched from afar…" His voice trembled under the weight of remembered grief; momentarily trailed off. "But this morning I wasn't watching. And you knew it."

_You missed me._

Gold didn't say the thought aloud; didn't have to. It was obvious as the tears smeared down her cheeks. Like a vulnerable little girl, she used the heel of her palm to swipe them away.

"You liked magic. You liked that dark, ugly side of me," he murmured quietly.

Her bravado had long ago washed away. "That was before I knew you're trying to use it against me. I'm not brave and I'm not a hero. You're just wrong about me."

He reached out; appeared agonizingly close to wrapping her tightly in his arms. Only prudence held him back.

"Sweetheart. It's The Curse that's made you weak and afraid; shaped the harsh ugly pieces inside. That's not who you truly are. You are the bravest person I know. You sacrificed your own future for the people of your village and… and you once loved a beast of a man who _never_ deserved to be loved."

The tears were coming harder now. "That's not me."

"You've promised me forever twice now. It is you." There was a watery smile. "True Love's Kiss can break any curse. That's what you heard David talking about. It's not about getting rid of you… or changing you. It's about freeing you. Do you see the difference?" His dark eyes pleaded frantically for belief.

It was crazy. Every word he spoke fed her insanity, inciting and pushing and heaving her over the edge. She blinked; was desperately holding on at the top of a bottomless cliff with burning and shaking fingertips… the way the Beast had held on to his magic, refusing to let go.

"I love you," he vowed softly. "All of you. Forever."

The pounding surf was sucked away from the beach then all was still, waiting, waiting; waiting for that last final crushing blow.

"Lacey is who I remember."

"Yes."

Gold's eyes were brimming with truth, with yearning; with boundless love. And she felt her mind slide sideways, the desire to believe, to be loved like _that_, slowly sending out tender shoots.

With a shuddering crack of magic deep inside the earth, the pitch of invading trees and brush ended as abruptly as it had begun and the sea quieted, serenely lapping back up the beach.

Neither noticed the shift.

Her face tilted up to his while bare toes curled into cool sand. "No one decides my fate but me."

His broken smile was filled with a world of painful longing and regret. "No one ever has." Gold tenderly touched his fingertips to her cheek; brushed away the streak of tears; tentatively stepped closer. "Sweetheart. Who does your heart say I am to you?"

The whispered question floated between them for an age, hovering on delicate fairy wings.

Her lower lip wobbled. "The man I love." With a tiny whimper Lacey careened into his embrace and her mouth slanted across his, hands gently cupping his cheeks as she stretched up on tiptoes to reach. Thumbs stroked against the slight scratch of stubble while hungry lips kissed him with short butterfly kisses that steadily deepened until they were locked together.

There was forgiveness and yearning and trust and…

Love. Truest love.

It flared between them, eternal, powerful and passionate. Gold's free hand brushed restlessly across her lower back in a silent need to draw her nearer and her body melted fully against his. She hadn't realized how on edge she'd truly been until he'd folded her into him and her mouth had touched his. Lacey sighed at the sensation of perfect completeness. It was her final fragment of thought.

Inside the span of a heartbeat was a buzzing surge of electricity then a colossal blast that shattered through barriers, an exploding starburst of white gold that rocked them to the core. Her grip tightened around his neck while a wave of magic rippled and surged across the land from its epicenter on the beach: a rainbow scattering of pure white light through a prism of deepest love.

And then the memories crushed and jammed inside her skull in an onslaught of interminable seconds that sent her reeling: a magical kiss and a broken cup shared with an equally broken man that couldn't see his worth, yet he loved her truly... followed by an agonizing pain that tore through her shoulder leaving her spirit slipping in the road…

Lost, but now found.

Belle. I… I'm… Belle!

Her brave love: he hadn't stopped fighting for her.

She jerk backward just enough to break the kiss, gasping deeply as her clear blue eyes finally widened with real recognition.

"Rumple."

* * *

**86.** **Find your hope. Find your dreams.**

He heard his true name through the hissing howl of receding darkness. His curse. At long last, it was breaking too.

"Belle."

She _remembered_. And she _loved_ him.

She was _his_ Belle again and he couldn't take his eyes from hers, drinking her in as a thirsty man craved water in the desert. The deep-rooted agony of their separation had turned his expression as fragile as their mended cup and he shuddered in a shallow breath.

He _needed_ her.

Emotion spilled between them: relief and loss and love. Her fingers gently carded through the hair at the nape of his neck; brushed it back from his temple and her touch eased the excruciating pain that had knotted in his heart ever since those first hellish moments when he'd cradled her close, shouting her name, only to have a stranger stare back at him in terror.

"W- what's happening?"

Her confused question drew him back to the present even as her love swashed straight through his heart like a beacon of light illuminating the cancerous evil burrowed deep into his soul.

Freedom. It was so close he could taste it and it tasted like Belle: all sweet sunshine and beautiful wildflowers. And though his precious boy wouldn't ever see it, she would be his redemption before the end.

Scales tipped in the balance. His two worst mistakes could never be undone yet with this single choice he could be a better man: the man his Belle needed and the father his son should have had. A second chance to make the right choice.

He leaned closer.

The rising crescendo of evil droned in his ears like the baffling buzz of overlapping voices in a crowded room. It was blinding, deafening chaos and he couldn't tell whether destiny was swaying for or against him.

A sudden garroting clamp of darkness jerked tight around his neck and Rumple couldn't breathe.

He dropped his cane in order to cling to her with both hands. Still processing her swamping crush of memories, Belle struggled under his added weight.

"Kiss me again," Rumplestiltskin managed in a tight, suffocated wheeze. "It's working." His fingers closed over her shoulder.

Her eyes widened in understanding. Their lips were a fraction of a millimetre apart. He was so close…

A dark surge of power shrieked with a sentience clawing for preservation.

"Mr. Gold! Help me!"

The shout sounded from nearby and surprise shocked a sideways glance from him, the strangling grip immediately loosening from his gagging throat. His bound grandson struggled as he was quickstepped up a ridge along the edge of the forest in between a pair of adults.

Glancing about, Rumplestiltskin swiftly realized the diamond had been deactivated. They would not die after all. The fleeting half thought formed: he supposed he ought to know by now not to underestimate the resourcefulness of Emma and her parents.

"Shut up, kid." It was the outsider, Greg. And Tamara. And they had…

"Henry?"

He blinked, confused.

His grandson... Baelfire's son… The one destined to be his undoing…

He'd tried to destroy the boy less than a couple hours ago and now here was a pair that might do it for him. And all it would require from him was… nothing. The keening darkness inside willed him to succumb to the stench of bloodlust and death. How simple a solution; elegant even.

_That boy is more than he appears._

An eerie shiver tore down his spine; pooled at its base. Henry was also the only living piece of his son left in this world: a prophecy folded over into many layers.

Fate.

The pieces were snapping into place quicker now and a looming crossroads in an unnamed wood appeared as a wavering image in his mind.

"You lost your son." His attention returned to Belle, drawing insight through the veil of Lacey's memories. There was a fresh wave of heartbreaking tears in her eyes as she read his broken heart. Her hand tenderly cupped his cheek and it was only then that he realized how deeply he had missed her soothing presence.

"I failed." Rumple struggled against the harsh sting of reality, his face creased with a lifetime of sorrow. He had yet to fully grieve for his lost boy.

The itch of magic swirled and swelled. He had not lied when telling her once it was his crutch, and there was a rapid glance that skidded from Belle's mouth to his palm to the boy being hurried away from them both.

A choice. It was an impossible choice.

Belle or Henry.

Redemption or death.

His hand clenched into a fist then he flung his fingers wide and the dark magic roared in his ears. Henry was Bae's son. And he _would_ save the boy.

Decision made, Rumplestiltskin hurtled a massive fireball toward the trio, but the magic merely skimmed and bent around them and he saw Greg's smirk as they vanished over a rise.

Some kind of shield…

"Go, go!" Belle urged him to hurry ahead while she grabbed her shoes to follow.

With a showy flick of his hand, he seized her wrist and they vanished in an eddying whirl of purple smoke, reappearing an instant later at the top of a set of stairs in the seawall at the far end of the beach. The harbour was laid out before them.

Belle staggered a little while leaning over to slip on her heels. "I still hate that part," she grumbled. "Walking: a better option for us mere mortals."

He smirked at her discomfort then pointed: "There."

Greg and Tamara were hauling Henry around a corner near the cannery, but how to get close enough to deal with them without magic was somewhat problematic. He supposed he could always drop a building on them though it would be harder to control the collateral damage…

"Emma, you don't even know where you're going!" Snow shouted.

They hurried toward the distant sound of voices as fast as they could, but it was slower going with his limp and her death-defying heels.

"It doesn't matter, I'll track them down in hell if I have to!" That could only be the persistent Ms. Swan.

Rumple and Belle turned a corner just in time to see Regina and the Charming family come barrelling out from between a pair of warehouses. The unlikely allies didn't see them; were focused instead on the pair of kidnappers running toward the end of the pier, Henry still tussling between them.

Greg pulled a magic bean from his pocket, reared back and threw it into the water, a spinning green whirlpool immediately developing with the capacity to suck them through to a different world entirely.

"The last bean!" Regina murmured, horrified. "They've opened a portal!"

"HENRY!" There were multiple shouts from his mothers and grandparents, but they were too far away and far too late.

Greg and Tamara spared a sideways glance at their captive's family quickly closing in before leaping Henry off the pier. The group were close, but not nearly close enough to make a difference.

"No, no, no!" David wrapped his arms around Emma, holding his daughter back from hurtling herself through the last dying dregs of the closing vortex. "We have to follow them! There has to be a way!"

"Not only do we not know where they went, but Hook stole the last bean," Regina noted negatively.

"I don't care!" Emma shouted back, panic clearly destroying her ability to reason.

"Without it there's no way to follow," she replied logically, but Emma was well past logic. They had her _son_.

"There has to be." The blonde continued to struggle against her father's grip. "We can't let them just take Henry!"

Rumplestiltskin and Belle hurried to join the distraught group as David turned, spotting them. "You're the Dark One. Do something!"

"Gold. Help us." The desperate pleading in Emma's eyes struck him to the core. They now shared the worst of experiences: seeing a son drop away through a swirling green vacuum to another world. But there wasn't anything he could do about it now.

"There's no way." He could feel Belle's eyes on him and hoped she wasn't remembering how he'd tried to kill the boy; was wondering if he was lying. "I spent a lifetime trying to cross worlds to find my son. There's no way in this world without a portal."

"So that's it? He's gone forever? I refuse to believe that," Regina vowed.

Belle spied something on the horizon; slid between David and Mary Margaret to get a better look. "What is that?"

"Hook."

Sailing through the entrance channel to the harbour was the Jolly Roger. The pirate had returned.

The others rushed on ahead leaving Belle and Rumple to follow along behind and he was eternally thankful for the extra few minutes alone with his love. With every step he took, there was an impending sense of walking a path already preordained for him. His hand settled comfortably on her lower back.

"You let me leave the house like this?" Belle's cheeks had flushed an alluring shade of dusky rose as she pulled ineffectually at the hem of her dress. Realizing the direction of her thoughts, he rapidly maneuvered her behind a small shed, giving them a smidgen of privacy.

Rumple smiled: a shy, happy little thing that he felt was the first true one he'd given in months. Belle hadn't taken the time to tug her thigh highs back on and he stared downward, stroking gentle fingertips across smooth bare skin just below the indecently short hem. "Check your memories. Do you really think I could have stopped you?" he teased softly.

She chuckled a little while her gaze widened with wonder at his touch. It was a sweet melodious sound without any of the harsher overtones of Lacey. They leaned into the other and her fingers played with the buttons on his vest.

"No." Teasing turned thoughtful, the sharp painful time apart lingering like a shadow over their hearts. "You never gave up; never stopped fighting for me," she whispered. In her deep blue eyes was all the joy mingled with sorrow he was certain she saw mirrored in his own.

His palm slipped around her waist; he tilted his head toward hers. "Not in the end, no." And he knew she'd understand that it hadn't been an easy journey for him.

His vision from earlier in the afternoon was haunting this precious interlude of happiness. Rumple stared across her shoulder, spotting the mainmast of the Jolly Roger as it quivered and stilled. The captain had berthed his ship.

Not quite yet, he thought to himself. They still had these last treasured moments together.

He swept a hand in front of her torso and a swirl of purple magic replaced red leather with a tailored blue coat that dropped to a more respectable mid-thigh.

"Better?"

"Much." Belle gestured with her head in a silent indication that they shouldn't linger any longer. Henry was the priority right now.

She slipped her arm through his, hugging it to her side and they were truly a united front once more.

The group was in mid-discussion when Belle and Rumple strolled up to join them. With newfound purpose they finished sorting details and the group prepared to leave, striding single file up the gangway to the deck of Hook's ship. They would follow through a portal of their own and rescue Henry from whatever lay beyond.

His fingers closed around Belle's and he focused on memorizing each digit; how they fit against his. Sometimes he hated being able to see the future. He'd told Henry it was never what you expected only in this instance, he knew with heartbreaking certainty that it would be exactly what he expected.

Lagging behind, Rumple turned to his love: "Belle, I have to go. You have to stay here."

"No! Why? I, I, I want to help!" she spluttered, pointing confidently at the ship.

"The town is no longer safe," he explained.

"What?" Her eyes narrowed in confusion as a mooring line was thrown over the bulwark next to them. David echoed the word a half beat behind on his way up the gangway. He paused to listen in.

"Well Greg and Tamara weren't working alone. Others will follow."

"No," David agreed, suddenly realizing where Rumplestiltskin was leading. "We can't leave people in danger."

Rumple turned his attention back to Belle; handed her a small parchment scroll tied with red ribbon. "After we've gone, follow these instructions. It's a cloaking spell. It will shield the town; make it impossible for anyone to find."

Finally resigned to staying, Belle nodded glumly while tucking it in her pocket. "Well then how, how will you find your way back to me?"

Rumple glanced pointedly at David. This was not something for his ears and the man took the hint, immediately hopping aboard to give them privacy.

She'd always been brilliant. It was one of the first things that attracted him. And he saw it in her face as she connected the dots, the most innocent of questions leading to a horrible conclusion.

"You're not coming back, are you?" Wide blue eyes begged it not to be the truth, but he knew it wasn't to be.

He'd just gotten her back and now he would break her heart.

"The prophecy. The boy is my undoing. But he's also my grandson. I _must_ save him. I _must_ do this to honour Baelfire. He's gone. And I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye."

His heart yanking painfully in opposing directions, Rumplestiltskin found that doing what was right wasn't always what was easy. But in this instance he was determined to be a man who made the _right_ choice no matter the cost: for Baelfire and for Belle.

Henry's life over his. And Belle's safety over their happiness.

"I understand, but I also know that the future isn't always what it seems." Her hands settled on his shoulders as she stepped closer. Imploring eyes locked with his when she made her promise; etched it onto both their hearts. "I _will_ see you again."

She sealed the vow with a kiss, her lithe body fitting snuggly against him as her mouth found his for the first time since her curse had broken. Part of him held his breath, waiting to see, but after a moment he understood with sinking certainty.

Belle's kiss was pure magic followed by a fleeting instant of calm when her lips stilled and he touched his forehead to hers, leaving them locked inside a bubble not of fiery heat or passion, but the gentle blossom of true love. She stifled a sob and he knew her heart was shattering next to his.

Yet there was no soul-changing burst of light to chase away the darkness. That window had shut and this time he knew it would not open again. He'd made his choice.

She pulled away, letting him leave because it was what he needed to do. And because when you love someone, you let them go.

He could see how she was trying to hold back the tears until she was by herself, but she turned one last time to tell him: "Baelfire would be… be very proud of you."

He hoped she was right. Rumple watched until she disappeared from view, then, like a man walking to the gallows, he stepped up the gangway.

* * *

A/N: Didn't think it would be quite that simple for Rumple, did you? Onward! :D


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: If you're reading along and trying to stay away from S3 spoilers, no worries here. My life is an ongoing Dilbert comic strip and I've been way too busy navigating the corporate angst to pay any attention, so at this point I don't want to know either. Besides it's rather mean spirited to slap on a warning partway through, not to mention – it's _my_ puzzle now, I've had this plotted for months and have zero desire to let some incoming canon shot of reality mess with it. Heh. Of course, if on the off chance something turns out only later to have some tiny basis in reality, well that's just coincidence. Or you know… fate, lol. Thanks for coming along for the ride!

**85. Harden up and get ready to set sail, mates! There's bumpy seas ahead!**

The whirlpool spat them out over the swelling crest of a wave then vanished with dizzying swiftness and a final flash of light. His stomach heaved mercilessly at the sudden shift in direction and his grip tightened on the rope in his hands until the swaying rush of nausea passed. There was nothing to be seen in any direction but a vast expanse of undulating grey ocean. It was depressing, really. And the sky was too damned big.

No matter. It wouldn't be long now.

The scent of salt water hit his nose next along with the lingering gamey smell of… malevolence. Evil saturated this world to its core, darkening even the suns high overhead to a dull muddy crimson. The poet in him thought they could have been painted with blood. The imp knew it as a looming omen and the blood, the sacrifice, would all be his. His composure hardened while he stared upward. Fate was set.

Rumplestiltskin stretched and cracked his neck. The flood of magic soared toward him on unseen tendrils of darkest power. Corded muscles in his shoulders coiled and tensed as he extended greyish-gold fingers capped with blackened nails. He flipped his palm over and let the magic flow in swirling curls of navy. His eye caught that of Regina and he knew she could feel it too.

"Holy crap." Emma was staring at him in shock and he smirked at her expression. She was seeing the monster for the first time: stringy lank hair, scaly skin and glinting eyes marked by evil. An imp in three piece Armani.

"A land with magic, Miss Swan. A land with magic. Surely you can sense it."

He held up his cane; danced forward a couple steps. His limp was gone.

"What do we do now?" David asked practically.

"Well. While our captain figures out where the hell we are, I'd suggest you suit up," he responded with a manic giggle. "I'm expecting a call."

David frowned a little as Rumplestiltskin gestured elaborately toward a wooden box tucked against the port bulwark then practically skipped off below deck.

"Expecting a call?" Emma instinctively reached for her phone. Of course there was no service. She was in the middle of a flippin' ocean. In _Neverland_.

Her father gingerly lifted the lid on the box the Dark One had indicated then grinned boyishly while snapping it fully open.

Sitting on top of a neat coil of rope were a pair of weapons he knew well. Snow stared round his shoulder then inched sideways as he passed his wife her quiver and bow.

David rapidly shrugged out of his holster; tossed it aside.

The tainted sunlight glinted from a straight steel sword and curved golden hilt, reflecting back in pure hero's white as he swung it upward before his face. Delicate fingertips brushed along the flat of the familiar blade while a small formidable smile toyed at the corners of his mouth.

"Better?" Snow asked with a knowing grin.

The blade snicked back inside the leather scabbard now belted at his waist; hung comfortably against his left thigh where it belonged. "Much."

* * *

**85. We found something more important, something that changed everything. You.**

Lime green light spun with a tornado blast of wind through a winding, whirling, disorienting passageway. They'd jumped into the water, but not a drop had gotten anywhere near them, the vortex yanking them magnetically into its clutches instead. Once inside, it became impossible to escape as it sucked him kicking and screaming toward another land, away from his family and everything familiar and loved. He could still feel a hand grasping at his arm and he struggled against the grip.

They were tumbling over and over and spinning and spinning and Henry had no idea which way was up if there even was such a concept within a portal between worlds.

The fingers loosened and then he was falling faster and faster, vaguely realizing that solid ground was rushing up at him, but there wasn't a thing he could do to soften the blow.

The landing was a painful thud into sand that carried the consistency of concrete, leaving him winded and dazed. While he could vaguely hear the gentle lapping of water above the buzzing in his ears, no warmth was given from the suns above as they passed their zenith. Henry glanced up, only allowing himself a momentary heartbeat to shake his head clear and note he was lying at the treed edge of a long curve of boulder-strewn beach. Lengths of knotted driftwood were stacked haphazardly along the storm sculpted berm to his left. Greg and Tamara were nearby, also plainly in the midst of trying to regain their bearings.

Run.

The thought cannoned through his brain like a swift shot to action and he staggered to his feet, wrists struggling uselessly against the sturdy nylon zip tie clamping them together. Henry bolted for the cover of forest, aiming to put as much distance as he could between himself and his captors.

_We came here to destroy magic, Henry, but then we found something more important, something that changed everything. You._

He'd been brought to this land on purpose. That much was obvious. Greg's words pounded a reverberating tattoo in his ears that matched his hammering footsteps as he thrashed through the forest, branches whipping at his cheeks and brush seemingly jumping into his path. Henry had _no_ idea what the outsiders meant, but instinct told him it couldn't possibly be anything good.

Get away and hide. It was all he could think until he could figure out a way home.

He believed for a second he heard the beating flicker of wings somewhere over his left shoulder, but when he turned his head there was nothing there. Unseen eyes seemed to watch him and he swallowed the metallic taste of fear.

Murky shadows deepened as the woods twisted and thickened with bramble and vine, the canopy closing out the unnatural reddish glow from above. He didn't like the feel of this world: like all the happiness had been sapped away to a scourge that burrowed and destroyed.

Heavy footsteps sounded somewhere nearby and he ducked right, losing his balance and tumbling down a small rocky incline before hurtling back to his feet. It barely slowed him down. Henry wrenched once more at the nylon binding his wrists and it dug painfully into flesh before he stopped.

"See him?" He heard a shout from farther away: mostly behind and a little to the right, he thought gladly. It was also Tamara. That left Greg as the immediate problem…

He didn't answer his partner. Smarter, perhaps. Didn't want to broadcast his location.

Rustling to his right had him catching a glimpse of a dark brown coat weaving through the trees. Henry threw himself to the ground, rolling sideways until he tipped over a ledge, landing on a narrow rocky outcrop below. Footsteps stilled somewhere above him and he pressed himself flat under the lip, holding his breath.

The seconds ticked by with infinite slowness and his muscles began to cramp.

Finally it sounded as if Greg had moved on and he breathed a sigh of relief, slipping as quietly as he could down to the base of a narrow tree-filled ravine. It was darker down here and the whispering touch of shadow brought a sudden sense of icy premonition.

Everything happens by design…

There was a cool hint of breeze before the forest stilled. He lurched to a halt. Powerful evil lurked in this land. And the shifting link of destinies twined together for eternity.

A prick of unease slithered across the back of his neck.

Cautious now, he wove upstream through the gloomy half-light before hopping across a burbling creek to start up the opposite bank.

Greg appeared out of nowhere and Henry jumped, startled. "Found you." The smug look in the man's eyes was what immediately threw him into motion.

Henry pivoted. Without the use of his hands, he instead lowered his head and barrelled hard and fast straight into Greg's abdomen, the impact leaving them both reeling. Greg stumbled, tripping backward over an uneven mound of moss-covered deadfall.

He grunted as Henry scrambled to get away.

Strong hands yanked on his ankle, then his coat, swinging Henry to the ground and he struggled against the grip that shifted to his arms. "My family will come for me. Kidnapping won't work out well for you. Just sayin'!"

"And how exactly do you expect them to follow without any more magic beans?" Greg hauled the flailing boy to his feet.

"They'll find a way. My moms are _very_ resourceful. And neither reacts well to someone pissing them off," he snarled.

"Good luck to them then."

He shouted for his partner and Tamara bolted from the bushes. "Good job. Let's go. He won't want to be kept waiting." They shared a smirk and made to march Henry back the way he'd come.

"Got that right."

A tall lanky youth dropped from the branches above, followed by a handful of others that rapidly spread out to encircle them, hands already on weapons and seemingly itching for a fight. The first had a dark hood pulled low over his face, but Henry could make out hard eyes above a pointed chin and streaky brown hair. The end of a gnarled wooden club rested lazily over his shoulder.

Henry wasn't sure what to think… except that the locals didn't appear a friendly bunch.

"Well, well, well." Ignoring Greg and Tamara completely, he sauntered over to Henry; tipped his chin up with the blunt end of his club. "I do believe it's the one _He's _looking for."

Thrown, but trying not to show it, Henry refused to glance away from the older lad's piercing gaze.

Another, his face half hidden behind a coarse fabric mask, reached into his vest to withdraw a small rolled parchment. His skin was the colour of rich mocha and he held up the drawing in the murky shade to get a better look.

"It's him."

The group instantaneously closed ranks at the announcement and the first yanked Henry to his side. He didn't even have time to register shock or confusion. Those came a heartbeat later.

Suddenly Henry had the feeling of being a bone fought over by two very surly packs of dogs. Not good. And his wrists were still bound.

"Hey, hey, hey! The kid's ours!" Greg tried to muscle his way back in only to find a sword pressed to his throat by one of the others. He quickly threw his hands up in submission. "Okay, okay!"

"Bring them all," the leader commanded. He personally marched Henry downstream himself. Fingernails dug deeply into his shoulder, even through the thick wool of his black pea coat, and he struggled in vain against the iron grip. "Looks like you're having the unluckiest of days, boy!"

"My name is Henry," he enunciated darkly.

The leader merely snorted and hauled him across a sequence of slippery algae coated rocks in the creek bed.

"What do you want with me?" Henry asked, hoping to gain information, but seriously doubting he would get it. His eyes darted nervously. Yet the stranger pulled them to a stop beneath the bowing limbs of a gigantic oak and pinned Henry with a malicious stare. Spanish moss dripped from the branches above and he shivered when shadows flickered in the gloom.

Something… watched…

_"He's_ been looking for you for far longer than you can imagine, boy. And now you get to die. Do you know how he'll do it?"

A wild callousness flit across his face while the knobby end of the club brushed lightly across Henry's cheek in warning.

He carefully shook his head in the negative. The older youth was unmistakably relishing the cruel taunting. Still, the question plaguing Henry's mind was not 'how' but 'why'?

He was just a boy: not anything special…

"He rips your shadow _right_ from your body. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiip." He'd made a rapid slicing motion across Henry's throat at the last with his club. "It's excruciatingly painful," he then hissed slowly into his ear.

Henry refused to show his fear though it sank like a stone to his toes. His family would come. He had unshakable faith in that. Until then, he knew he hailed from a line of heroes. And today he would show his worth. That was _his_ destiny. He could feel it slip though his soul though every step brought him closer to an otherwise uncertain future.

They continued their enforced march and he returned to an earlier thought. "What's yours? Your name?" His grandfather believed that to know a person's name held immense power. He wondered if it was true.

The lad smirked as if it didn't really matter. Henry wouldn't last long enough to need it. "You can call me Eric."

* * *

**85. Oh. I'm uh… I'm so sorry, but uh, it's… It has a chipped.**

Belle gingerly stepped inside her library for the first time since she'd fallen across the town line. Scattering dust motes danced in the dim sunlight filtering through the blinds yet she didn't open them or flip on the overhead lights. Preferring the gloom as it suited her mood, she continued on toward the stacks to drift loving fingertips across the spines. Everything carried a thin layer of neglect and she knew she'd have more to clean before the delayed grand opening could occur.

Yet that wasn't what skated through her thoughts, haunted her dreams.

Rumplestiltskin.

Belle turned; leaned back against the shelves. It was the same place she'd stood when he'd finally opened up and shared the depth of his pain at losing his son. And though it was mostly implicit… the loss of her as well. He didn't need to fully spell out what she'd seen in his soulful brown eyes. She'd always been adept at reading people; at looking deep into their heart no matter how they tried to hide who they truly were. Though she fully understood she could have handled it better and it'd flat out terrified him to do so, he'd ultimately trusted her with a piece of his heart that day. That was the most important fact. And if she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, she could still feel his soft touch on her cheek when he'd said goodbye.

There was a broken sigh, a whispered name under her breath and the keen wash of loneliness struck once more.

Knowing on some level she ought to go find those friends that remained here, she'd found she couldn't face anyone. Not quite yet anyway. There was an intrinsic need to consider and cope on her own first. Every place in town seemed to hold some lingering reminder of Rumple and it tore at her heart. She knew she'd been selfishly dragging her heels; hadn't yet even loosened the red ribbon around the scroll he'd given her to find out what she was supposed to do.

In her heart, Belle had secretly hoped they'd quickly grab Henry and return within a matter of hours and then she and Rumple could enact the cloaking spell together, locking no one outside forever. It was a fanciful idea even though she knew perfectly well that the group didn't have a second bean and it was wildly unrealistic to think they'd coincidentally stumble upon another means. There was no way back for any of them even if there was another path for the man she loved than sacrificing himself for his grandson.

They'd spent more time apart than together and that was patently unfair. Now without word and with every single moment that passed, hope faded just a little bit more. Seconds piled into hours, hours were rapidly building toward a day and each one hammered home the fear that whatever might have been between them was over before having a chance to truly blossom into what it was meant to be.

The future wasn't always what it seemed. That was the only remaining flicker of light in the unending darkness. She'd once thought hers involved marriage to a handsome if superficial man; had seen it stretch before her only to watch as it all fell apart to a bloody ogre siege then rebuild in an entirely unexpected way with another. She hadn't given her heart to Gaston: or certainly not with the depth and power she'd found with her beast. A relationship as superficial as the man himself. That had all changed with Rumplestiltskin.

Her fingers curled around the bookshelf pressing against the back of her thighs; let the painful memory lift to the surface. Because to feel it meant she was alive and whole and she was herself.

After the Jolly Roger had vanished in a flash of aquamarine, she'd stumbled back to the beach to let the tears flow unchecked. He'd broken her curse, shattering _that_ dreadful isolation only for her to find herself alone and cast adrift once more.

Their cup and the book of fairy tales were still sitting on the sand as if nothing heart altering had changed.

Only everything had changed.

Seeing it though uncursed eyes, Belle realized when she'd strode barefoot through the sand that, as Lacey, she'd somehow returned to the exact site where it had begun in this world: where she'd lost her brief taste of freedom to a man once bound to the Queen. Part of her wondered what might have been: if she'd miraculously found him then, if Mr. Gold had been walking on the beach that morning decades ago…

She shook her head. In its place stood a real memory of her love battling both his inner doubt over the strength of their love and The Curse's hold over her mind. And that precious kiss at the end was worth far more than a lifetime's worth of moments that could have been.

His curse had begun to break as well. More than that, he _wanted_ it to. But he'd chosen Henry and Belle couldn't really fault him for that choice. Instead, she'd sat alone at the water's edge while her fingertip traced each and every new crack in their treasured cup.

Her heart had fractured anew when she remembered the expression on her beloved's face at the sound of shattering porcelain and the pile of broken pieces on the cold hospital floor. They had stretched apart in so many dreadful ways when she didn't remember how special and important he truly was to her.

She'd shivered and hugged herself tighter.

Belle knew if Rumple were here he'd offer to fix it: to make their cup like it was before with the single chip in the rim. She wouldn't ever allow it. It was what it was now and they wouldn't cover over the cracks. She'd destroyed something precious that day and in the ones that followed, and though she trusted the scars would heal, they would never entirely vanish.

The chip was Belle and Rumple. The mended seams were Lacey and Gold. And both were now inextricably woven together into their love: impossible to separate.

She hadn't felt able to face the others. Glancing around the darkened library she knew it was now past due. Rumple loved her strength and her bravery. It was time to be just that and trust that whatever happened, true love would find a way to bring them back together.

A deep cleansing breath later and she'd locked up; was on her way across the street to Granny's.

The dwarves, all seven of them, along with Ruby and Granny tumbled out of the front door of the diner just as Belle turned into the patio. Sneezy was surrounded by his brothers and the celebratory atmosphere was clear. Happy teasingly smacked the pharmacist up the backside of the head while Doc's arm was draped across his shoulders. All quieted when they spotted her, but there was an ocean of hopeful expectation in their stares.

She was dressed like herself in a mid-thigh length brown flutter skirt, blouse and tailored black coat with her hair flowing in loose curls around her face.

Ruby stepped toward her; tentatively asked: "Belle?"

She nodded; only barely managed to hold back the tears. "Yeah. It's me." Even when she hadn't been good company or had lashed out in anger, Ruby had never stopped coming to the hospital and trying to be her friend. And for that, she was eternally grateful.

With a laugh from Ruby, Belle suddenly found herself wrapped in a tight bear hug by the taller woman. "The end of the world was stopped and then we thought, I mean we hoped when Sneezy remembered and there was that ripple thing of true love that you too…" She left the thought open ended.

"That would have been Rumple and I," Belle confirmed. "He broke my curse. Our curses, apparently." She smiled at Sneezy, but felt it probably didn't fully reach her eyes.

"That's what we figured and... well uh, then we thought it would be a bad time to bother you. Both." Ruby smirked and waggled her eyebrows. Her heart clenched at the less than subtle innuendo. If only the evening had gone that way with two broken curses and a fresh start…

Instead she explained about Henry and the rescue mission and how Storybrooke was currently short a sheriffing trio, a pirate, the Dark One and their mayor.

"Oh," was all Ruby could say, yet her eyes held sympathy. She may not particularly like Rumplestiltskin, but had always been accepting and supportive of her choice. Plus she knew a breaking heart when she saw one. She placed a comforting palm on Belle's shoulder.

They would have shared another hug except her face suddenly scrunched up in concentration instead. "Do you hear that?" She was staring upward, eyes searching the sky as angry slate coloured clouds slowly obliterated the sun.

"No," Belle murmured uncertainly. "What?"

"There." It was Leroy. He was pointing at a small speck turning offshore before rapidly hurtling inland. It was incredibly hard to spot.

"A plane? It's kinda small," Ruby noted.

"That's not a plane. It's a… UAV." He was squinting into the sky, his face quickly taking on a look of horror.

"A what?" Belle felt like the slow kid in class.

"Girls," Leroy muttered under his breath. "A drone. Optical cameras, infrared, radar… Shit, they'll know more about the town in a single pass than if we laid out the damn welcome mat."

It shot nearly directly overhead, looking like a tailless flying wing at less than seventy-five feet across.

"Greg and Tamara. Who the hell _are_ they?" Ruby questioned.

"I think the more appropriate question is who the hell are they working for?"

"The town isn't safe anymore," Belle mumbled half to herself as the reality of what they were facing began to sink in. Her fingers closed around the unread scroll in her pocket. "Others will follow." The guilt over waiting was staggering. She shouldn't have lingered. They could have been securely hidden away by now and if anyone got hurt it would be all her fault.

"So we protect the town," Granny stated emphatically; hefted her crossbow.

"That's high grade military hardware, not something you pick up at Target!" Leroy thrust a thumb over his shoulder in the last direction they'd seen the drone. "And Belle said magic didn't work against Greg and Tamara. If _that's_ their first pass, an old lady with a crossbow is not going to instill any fear whatsoever in a tactical armed strike force!"

Granny huffed. "We set up blockades. Guard the town line."

Belle was grateful Granny at least sounded like she knew what to do. The drone made another flyby, further to the north this time, while half the company stumbled back inside the diner and out of sight.

Leroy goggled. "Are you crazy? We have no castle walls to hide behind let alone defend! We're surrounded by forest on one side and ocean on the other. They could stroll in from any direction they wish!"

"Rumplestiltskin gave me a way to hide us. I just… Look, get the Sisters and the townsfolk working together. Do as Granny says." Belle was already impatiently hopping from one foot to the other while inching away from the group.

"What are you going to do?"

She ignored Ruby's question. "Just buy me time!" Belle shouted over her shoulder, fleeing for the pawnshop in order to figure out what the hell a cloaking spell entailed and hoping all the while that it wasn't difficult. She didn't know the first thing about how to cast magic…

* * *

**85. You better be hoping he dies. Because if he doesn't? He's gonna be driving tour buses up and down Main Street.**

Scudding clouds parted to momentarily reveal a glorious full moon hung low in the sky and Ruby sported a feral grin. Let the attack come. They'd all pulled together to make it as difficult as possible and Storybrooke would not go down without a fight. She and Leroy huddled together on the high point of a ridge overlooking their valley about a quarter mile north of the main road; the town spread out behind them. Dopey, Granny and Blue held position about fifty yards to their right while the yellow school bus, along with a handful of other vehicles, were parked sideways across the pavement just inside the _Welcome to Storybrooke_ sign.

If there was one thing her Granny knew and knew well, it was how to defend her home. She had them organized and fanned out in teams along the town line throughout the forest and whatever could be physically blocked off, in short order, had been. The harbour was harder, but lookouts and teams were posted there too including a number of fishing boats out past the breakwater. Secondary defences marked a small core of buildings downtown surrounding the hospital. And in a cunning piece of genius, the fairies had turned their roadblocks invisible while Leroy had taken a page from Rumplestiltskin's book and seeded them with homemade explosives. The internet was a truly brilliant invention. Welcome indeed!

As for what Belle was up to, they just had to hope they'd know it when they saw it. The Dark One was nothing if not a showman.

There was nothing to do now but wait.

A bird cawed in the distance. A twig snapped in the bush nearby. And there was the distant sound of a vehicle approaching from outside. A white panel van appeared along the snaking line of asphalt, driving fast toward the town line.

She twisted round, barely catching the flash of dying sunlight glancing off the dull black barrel of an advancing rifle before the van crashed into their unseen barrier setting off a chain reaction that rocketed a fireball high into the evening twilight, followed quickly by a second.

And their sleepy little town exploded into a hail of bullets and flame.

Leroy grinned maniacally. "Impressive, if I do say so myself." She nodded in agreement. The team closest to the road was already swarming the burning out hulk of twisted metal.

"Doesn't look like our next guests will be a tour bus carrying little Aunt Betty and her quilting crew," Ruby murmured determinedly. She pointed a pair of fingers toward their incoming target. It had stilled just outside the border.

"Careful you don't cross the line. They have to come to us," Leroy warned softly. His grip tightened instinctively around the handle of his pickaxe.

The breath-taking influence of the moon above sang in her soul and she slipped off her red cape, embracing the beast within. "Don't worry," she whispered. Her eyes flashed yellow as Ruby lunged up and forward before quickly dropping back down onto all fours.

And the wolf roared.

A pair of commandos materialized from the scrub a little to his left and then there was no more time for thought: just pure gut instinct and the will to survive, to protect their home.

There was a wrenching scream from one of the invaders as pouncing claws and ripping teeth found their mark. The body was limp and silent before hitting the ground and Ruby spun, wild eyes panning the deepening gloom for the next.

It was all a blur of action and reaction. His axe swung and a flash of sapphire whistled over his shoulder. Reul Ghorm stood with wand outstretched, but the blast seemed to have no effect on the wave of soldiers.

"Get down, get down!" He yelled in vain; watched with horror as automatic gunfire chewed through the ground toward his brother as he hurtled between Ruby and the swinging barrel of another rifle. In a terrifying instant all that he held dear tipped toward blackness and hell sliced open beneath him. "NOOOOOOOOOO! Dopey!"

In the distance Leroy saw Dopey tumble forward clutching his shoulder and he lurched forward on his knees, scrambling along the ground, utterly heedless of his own safety. His entire being was focused exclusively upon the crumpled form of his brother.

The wolf snarled and attacked as Leroy rolled the fallen dwarf over. He was twitching, his eyes rolling backward and Leroy pulled a tranquilizer dart from his brother's body; let it drop to the ground from suddenly nerveless fingers. He didn't know what was worse: that the unknown assailants weren't yet aiming for all out slaughter… or they wanted live subjects for what would undoubtedly form the basis of some sick science fair project.

Blue was instantly at his side, her wand out and passing over Dopey until the tremors passed and he gave them a goofy grin.

"C'mon Belle. Any time now," Leroy muttered under his breath; glanced up. They wouldn't last much longer. The surprise of the resistance was wearing off and it was inevitable the tide would turn.

He looked over to see Ruby wrestling with an attacker in a flurry of fur and gouging paws. She took a blow to the head from the stock of an assault rifle, sending her sliding sideways and she and the soldier rolled dangerously close to the town line. With a howl of rage, she shook off the hit. Powerful muscles rippled and she bounded forward as the man scrambled for safety, simultaneously pulling the trigger on his weapon.

"Ruby, watch out!"

There was a shimmering flash of blue magic as she flew across the line, the wolf instantly bleeding back into human form and she tumbled and fell, shocked inertia skidding her forward into a mounded heap at the base of a tree trunk.

One of the commandos spoke into his headset.

Five minutes later a pair of F-22's roared down the runway at a top secret air base then banked northeast in echelon formation as they climbed into the sky, the groundcrew silently watching until the bright glow of their afterburners disappeared into the gathering dusk.

* * *

**85. I always wanted to be brave.**

Belle sprinted through the forest as quick as she could go, the little parchment scroll clench tight in her right fist while tendrils of hair stuck to the back of her sweat-drenched neck. She hoped she could find the way; find the right path to a place she'd been only once before. So many were depending on her to do this right or lives would be lost. The danger drove her forward, well past endurance and she struggled to suck in enough oxygen to soothe her burning lungs.

Faster.

Faster.

It hadn't seemed this long before. Shadows lengthened and merged in the twilight throwing the forest into twisting shapes and murky textures. The blustering wind kicked up a tiny swirling dust devil that meandered across the path but she blew straight through with barely even a notice. Her tattered mind tried to slip through to thoughts of Rumple, of his mission to destroy himself to save his grandson. With a choked sob she pushed the unbearable image away.

_I will see you again._

Focus.

Focus.

Focus instead on the people of Storybrooke.

When she couldn't take it anymore and every muscle in her body was screaming for respite, Belle finally spotted the old wishing well and staggered the last painful steps toward it. Steadying fingers closed around the warm stone rim of the well and for a fraction of a minute she stopped to breathe deeply, letting her eyes drift closed and her muddled thoughts settle. The importance of her mission couldn't be waylaid long though. Following Rumplestiltskin's written instructions, she hauled a bucket of water to the surface; carefully balanced it next to her on the rim.

The water was said to have magical properties; to restore that which was lost.

Belle jammed her left hand into the water. At first it was icy cold then quickly warmed to tingling hot as the magic raced up her arm to envelop her heart. It was searching. She could feel the gentle probe of power as it ebbed and flowed within. A pure white light that twirled and danced, now taking on subtle hues from gold to blue and back: it appeared in her mind as a beautiful swirling vision and the strength of the emotion contained in the connection left her gasping. She suddenly recognized the feel of her lover within the bond just as the magic found what it needed and released.

There was a sudden wrenching heave of loss and she wished with all her heart to get it back. Her lips wobbled and she fought the stinging surge of tears. Now was not remotely the time. "Rumple." His whispered name was imprinted deep within her soul. But right now he needed her to be strong.

A swirl of indigo smoke poured from the bucket as if an unseen lock had been turned and her first instinct was to jerk her hand away, but she stilled the thought.

Carved ebony shimmered, solidifying against her palm and she curled her fingers around the knobby hilt; pulled the dripping wet kris dagger from the bucket.

He'd learned to be wiser with his hiding spot after the debacle with Cora that had nearly cost him his life. Only his True Love could make the dagger appear now. The vision: a manifestation of their love, she realized with a sorrowful smile. She half wondered if he would see its beauty in exactly the same way as she.

Purest love used to conceal purest evil. There was irony there. And an infinite trust.

Belle stepped back a pace; examined the knife. Rumplestiltskin. His name was emblazoned along the flat of the blade in decorative script. Here was the mythical weapon Hook had been looking for when he'd come to her prison cell in the Queen's tower.

A weapon designed to control. Or to kill.

She shivered.

It was heavy with the weight of so much more than burnished steel. Eons of brutal bloodshed and crushing cruelty were embedded within the fabric of the blade and it positively hummed with darkness and power. A consciousness of evil coursed through the hilt into her hand and it felt almost… alive in a way that escalated with the corruption of each and every life it ruined.

There was a gust of wind and the scurry of darkening clouds. A sliver of fear slipped through her veins, but she resolutely tamped it down.

Be brave. Rumple wouldn't let anything bad happen to her.

Taking a deep breath, Belle held the dagger aloft above her head and uttered strongly: "Rumplestiltskin. I summon thee."

At first she thought nothing had happened. Then the whistling surge of power hit her like a soul-stealing crush of tumbling stone and she staggered backward against the onslaught; toppled to her knees. She tried to pry her fingers from the hilt, but they wouldn't budge and the panic howled inside her chest.

A pair of tears squeezed from her eyes when a rush of deepest darkness enveloped the shimmering white and gold and blue: light fading against the onrushing black. There was a simultaneous stab through head and heart of what felt like a blade heated to thousands of degrees in a forge designed specifically to kill. A piercing scream rent the air and Belle didn't recognize it as her own.

She was falling, falling: was both above and within herself and it was hazy and dark. Every terrified thought, every desperate feeling she'd ever had in her life: exploited by the consuming evil that shredded her mind while her slack body crumpled to the ground.

Her cheek pressed against the mossy stone step at the base of the well. Their mended teacup. It bounced in slow motion in front of her, skidding to rest just out of reach. Odd. She thought she'd left it at home. She could see the fading image of forest beyond: of precious life and beautiful light filtered through a canopy of trembling leaves.

But the evil: it fed on desperation; on the seedy, hideous, corrupt underbelly of humanity and it was sucking her below.

"Belle?" There was a voice, disembodied and lost: lost in the heavy, dank dark. She could have sworn it sounded like her beloved Rumple, but she was too weak to respond. "BELLE!"

Not even the panicked holler of her name could rouse her from the terrifying slide into inescapable quicksand. It was too easy to drift away toward the shroud of blackness: to welcome the darkness that smothered and obliterated the flickering light within.

_I'm here._ The last gasp of fight. The reply wouldn't form on her thickened tongue. _I'm…_

Gone.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I had a bad feeling I'd butcher a timely update on this, making that cliffhanger much more evil than I'd intended. Thanks for your patience as I've been off racking up a new tier of frequent flier miles. Enjoy! :)

* * *

**11251. You have to ask yourself a simple question. How far are you willing to go?**

"Rumplestiltskin."

His name drifted delicately across the eternal black: a broken, haunting whisper that seemed almost without source or substance.

"Belle?" he murmured while jerking his head round, eyes straining, but unable to pierce the night. Still, he'd know her precious voice anywhere, the soft lilting cadence of word and tone washing over him in a way he couldn't ever forget. He was ugly and dark to her beautiful light yet she'd irrevocably bound herself to his heart by the truest of loves. He called once more, slightly louder: "My darling. Belle?"

His claws curled around chipped porcelain and he knew in his heart what it was. He stepped forward a pace: tentative at first then quickly giving way to worry and a flat out run. There was a rhythmic slap of water against the hull of an unseen boat along with familiar hiccupping sobs and he knew if he could only see, that her pale cheeks would be swept with tears.

She was lost. Just as lost as he was.

He staggered a little, nearly losing his balance. If only he could find her… Hurtling blind through the pitch dark, Rumplestiltskin desperately tried to let his ears be his guide; to follow the sounds, but they seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He spun left, then right.

Confusion melded with impenetrable blackness and his breath hitched in his chest.

"I love you." Though snuffled and faint, the emotion carried within her declaration remained pure and true, slicing straight through his heart with the precision of a master sculptor.

_You just don't think I can love you. Now you've made your choice. And you're going to regret it. Forever. _

He hadn't trusted her words before; had carelessly tossed her love aside as if she didn't matter… As if she wasn't tremendously special.

_All you'll have is an empty heart. And a chipped cup._

But he did believe now. Oh how he believed. With heart-destroying vengeance the blinders had been ripped away: he'd finally read the depth of truth inscribed in every remembered look and gentle touch she'd ever given him. And each moment he couldn't find her stabbed anew with unrelenting loss and unending guilt.

It couldn't be too late.

"Sweetheart?" Curling panic set in and he finally yelled: "Where are you?" His shout faded into smothering shadow.

The roaring slosh of water mixed with an echoing scream: he fought off a cruel vision of scourges and flame, of hooded men and a tall darkened tower dripping with evil. It hurried his steps as he twisted and turned in the inescapable black.

Not this time. If he could just get there in time…

Death stalked the light, creeping nearer within the darkness.

"Belle!"

A wavering image of his beloved lying broken and bloody at the base of the tower gripped his soul, sightless blue eyes and delicate fingertips outstretched to him at the end. He threw himself forward, rushing blindly toward he knew not what. Feet sloshed through wet surf and the fleeting burst of distant starlight illuminated a vast empty ocean before the seething darkness enveloped it once more.

There was no one there.

Rumplestiltskin screamed in agony, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling forward, expecting the rough, wet impact of churning sand beneath extended palms. "BELLE!" There was a painful thud of skull cracking against flagstone and reality stole away the dream.

His tower laboratory. He curled to his side on the cold, dank floor; the overturned stool at the work bench lay next to him. He blinked; shivered uncontrollably. With knees tucked to his chest, he rocked back and forth, anguished and alone as the tears streaked unchecked down his scaly cheeks.

Eventually Rumplestiltskin staggered to his feet. Their precious cup sat on the cluttered tabletop and he grabbed it close before pivoting away: a feral animal trapped in a cage of his own making, pacing back and forth in the open space between table and rounded wall.

Icy sweat dripped from his brow and he palmed it away. Agitation had him rhythmically clenching and unclenching his free fist, his breathing coming in erratic gasps. The empty gaping hole in his heart pleaded to be filled, but there was nothing; no one left to fill it. Then his shoulders sagged and he leaned his forehead against the leaded windowpane, a desolate picture of defeat and loss.

"Belle. _My_ Belle." He'd never breathed the words aloud before: "I love you too." Rumplestiltskin cradled the damaged cup next to his broken heart. His other hand trembled as he slowly raised it to press against the glass, eyes desperately searching the darkened road to his castle though he knew it was hopeless.

She wasn't coming back. She was gone. His Belle was gone forever and all that remained were the haunting nightmares that visited each time he collapsed in restless sleep.

It could have been hours later: his cheeks were still damp with tears and he absently scrubbed them away while the first painted scraps of indigo transformed the shadow of night into a new dawn.

Rumplestiltskin turned his back on the empty road. Instead, he stared down at their cup clutched his palms, eyes bleak and lost.

There was a vivid memory of a broken chip and a tender kiss and the spellbinding rush of someone who loved him deeply. Only… he'd made the wrong choice. And the torture of that truth lashed his soul with profound regret.

If only… His eyes momentarily drifted shut. No. There was no point in wishing for that which was now impossible.

He slowly walked over to carefully place their teacup back on the work bench before continuing on to a ceiling-high set of shelves. Among the haphazard clutter of vials and stacks of books was a roughly carved wooden chest. At first glance it was nothing much to look at and perhaps that was the point: his most cherished possession hidden in plain sight. He gently lifted the lid and removed a threadbare shawl, raising it to his nose to smell. The enchantment still held and he breathed in the lingering scent of his young son: lamb's wool and fallen leaves overprinted with the sting of wood smoke.

Belle was gone. Yet Bae remained.

A tremulous smile was tinged with heartache and loss instead of joy. His boy was still out there somewhere in a land without magic. And Rumplestiltskin would do whatever it took to cross worlds to find him… and beg forgiveness.

There was further regret along with the tacit acknowledgement that Bae had been right all along. He realized that now; lived the gnawing guilt each and every day. His palm fluttered over the coarse material; traced a small tear along the hem where his son had caught it long ago on a bramble.

Rumplestiltskin returned to the table and placed the folded lump of fabric next to the cup. Gnarled, leathery hands braced against the edge of the table on either side of his pair of talismans: all that remained of the two people that meant everything to him.

His own eyes closed while he focused on the exact shade of Belle's; on the ringing sound of Bae's laughter.

Great power requires great sacrifice.

Her kiss had sliced clean through the yawning darkness and he'd felt his curse slip. Was that what he truly wanted? For the first time there was the faintest whisper of 'yes' secreted deep within. Yet he hadn't trusted her love and now he'd twice lost everything to cowardice: to the dark corrupting chasm of evil. Twice now, he'd made the same wrong choice. And both plagued his mind with equal intensity.

_My power means more to me than you._

His head bowed low and his breath shuddered as he recalled how he'd sneered at her love. The power _didn't _mean more than Belle; couldn't ever be that. Even so… He'd selected it nevertheless and… he needed it to find his son. And what then? Despite the desire not to play what if games, Rumplestiltskin found he couldn't help it. He _could_ have called her back instead of sending her away to her doom. They _could_ have been a family. But he hadn't been remotely brave enough to take the chance: to reach out for Belle's hand and step off the cliff together into the unknown. And now it no longer mattered. It was too late and fate had taken her away. There was the wrenching recognition that the price of finding Bae was now smeared with the blood of the only woman capable of truly loving the monster.

One, but not both. Cowardice over love. Sacrifice for power.

Destiny was infinitely cruel and his crumbling heart wailed against it, yet there was a hardening resolve as well. He _would_ find his son. The seer had foreseen it. And that terrible cost would _not_ be in vain. He _would_ fix at least one mistake.

Somewhere deep in the castle a clock chimed. Then a candle guttered and snuffed itself out throwing the tower room into shifting shadows that lurked and hovered among the hidden dark places. He cocked his head.

Magic was emotion; he could feel the slow incremental build of it intensify and amplify in the inmost reaches of his soul. It swirled and hummed, having been refined repeatedly through the fire of agonizing love and loss into a steely force of unimaginable potency. His heart thudded against his ribs.

Rumplestiltskin hadn't been capable before, but in that instant he could sense the stark difference slipping headily through his veins; suddenly craved the newfound power like an addict needing his next fix… and dove heedlessly toward the bottomless dark. His fingers flexed and released against the table. He stared, fixated on the chipped cup and worn shawl visible in the faint peach gloaming streaking across the sky through windows facing east.

This was his fate: this singular defining moment.

Bae.

Belle.

Both cup and shawl were broken in their own way, as were the two broken and shattered relationships they represented. Only one held the potential to be healed.

A wicked smile graced his mouth. At long last… after centuries of careful research and colossal effort he was strong enough now: finally strong enough to cast the curse to end all curses. He _would_ find his son. _Nothing_ could stop him now.

He could see it unfold in his mind and it was glorious. Greedily, he zeroed in on the deepest magic of all, the monster within drawing on an infinite well of power as darkness and evil knit together the horrifying scourge that would rip them all from their land. The feral look returned to blackened eyes; twisted his expression into one of utter malevolence. His lips mouthed words that would bring about unspeakable suffering and torment: a prison of time and the Queen's revenge.

Shaking palms slowly twisted so they faced upward while the violent torrent of magic sluiced through his body like a blazing inferno in a tinder dry wood. Dark purple smoke churned and poured to the floor where it spun into an enveloping typhoon. And the beast screamed.

A blinding shot of white light nearly yanked him to his knees and he staggered under the terrible onslaught. Then it was gone, vanishing into the ether inside a fraction of a heartbeat and he gasped, tightly clutching a small decorated scroll of parchment in his clawed hands.

The Dark Curse.

It was finished.

Rumplestiltskin carefully unrolled it to view what he'd wrought and the pulse of satisfaction was worth all the heartache and long lonely nights.

A vial of swirling purple and the strongest potion ever created: he strode across the laboratory to collect its precious contents from a special shelf. He was so close: each piece falling into place with measured care.

As the sun broke the horizon, bathing him in a warm golden glow, he placed a single drop onto the parchment; watched it fizz and fade. The saviour would come. A child born of true love would break this dark curse. And after centuries of patience, he'd finally be free to piece his family back together.

* * *

**85. Do the brave thing and bravery would follow.**

Nothing.

There was nothing: nothing but the stomach lurching sensation of falling through inky black so thick she could feel the flaying burn of acceleration.

She thought she might have heard her name once more but it was hopelessly muffled. Then all was deathly silent but for the shrieking inside her head and there was nothing, nothing, nothing but suffocating darkness crushing her toward extinction until only the deepest and final fragment of her spirit remained.

She couldn't breathe; desperately gasped for oxygen, but there was absolutely none to be had.

Perception displaced vision and she felt her hand rotting with a plague that rapidly rushed up her arm toward her heart. Skin, muscle, tendon: all peeling away into vanishing dust, leaving only desiccating bone to tightly grip the hilt of... Rumplestiltskin's dagger. The mystical dagger of power. The dagger of the man she loved.

Rumplestiltskin.

Grasping fingers tightened fractionally around the ebony hilt.

The dark. Pure evil churned about her in the terrifying dark.

But that wasn't right.

She _liked_ the dark.

Her lips curled up into a sultry smile and the banshee roar at the discovery of an obstruction nearly deafened her. Suddenly jerked sideways, she thrashed end over end until her aching body could have been shattering into thousands of tiny shards as if she'd been tossed clean through a mirror to lie broken and scattered on the other side.

This.

And no further.

Embracing the magic, she forced the consuming darkness to submit, bending the dreadful power to her will and hers alone.

Eons of cruelty flooded her mind with images of filth and bloodshed and she saw her own end; battled to ignore the deceptive rip and crush of her glowing heart by the hand of her beloved. The dagger positively howled with torture and death.

And magic.

It was glorious, addicting lust and she craved more. So much more. She understood his hunger now; his _need_.

Time unrolled oddly in that place of infinite black and the battle for supremacy could have lasted seconds or years. There was no past, present or future. There was only survival.

The tiniest flickering ember of light sparked to life within the black and the evil pounced, but she fought back against the onslaught, shielding the precious glow.

Light with a thread of darkness woven throughout. Yes. That's what she was now.

And this power was hers!

An explosion rocketed her backward, throwing the area into erupting starlight and skittering shadow and suddenly she could see. Only instead of a forest and a wishing well at dusk she was unexpectedly aware of her cheek pressed against polished teak and she gulped down a breath of clean salty air, chest heaving and heart pounding.

Fingers drifted briefly along the curved plank in front of her nose before she comprehended the dangerous pitch and swell beneath her.

A boat. She lurched downward, riding the wave and her heaving stomach tore after it. Gods, she hated boats. There was a jarring smack of water against wood and the heavy pounding of feet splashing through surf. "BELLE!"

Someone was shouting her name and it seemed all too familiar.

_I love you._

It echoed from within.

She raised her head a fraction as the tiny rowboat was violently cast ashore and it splintered into pieces leaving her dazed and winded and thrown from the wreckage.

Her fingers were still tightly clenched around the dagger's hilt. "Gold?" He was flinging himself toward her with blinding panic shining from demented eyes. There was something distinctly different about him, but she couldn't quite place what.

Boggled uncertainty had him tentatively testing: "Lacey?"

Still, he skidded on his knees through soggy sand and his flailing hands passed straight through her shoulder blade. She was shivering from head to foot. "Y-y-yes. No... B-both?" She paused to think, to remember. She screwed her eyes shut. "Yeah. I, I… I'm… both." She remembered she'd loved him twice; loved both the light _and_ the dark. And so had he. She'd kissed him and she'd become one.

The sucking water churned about her, but when she staggered to her feet she was perfectly dry.

They stood on a darkened curve of beach next to a vast, empty ocean and… Belle instinctively knew it from before. Her shattering heart sunk to her toes; remembered it as nothing but the trappings of a horrible nightmare of unending water before tumbling awake to thick chains and a lonely prison cell at the Queen's palace. And marks. The dream meant another mark scratched on the wall.

She was wearing her pretty golden ball gown from the day they'd met while he stood before her clad in leather and a ruffed silk shirt; physically whole and yet… every inch the broken beast she'd first fallen in love with.

"It's just a dream." There was a lifetime of deep heart-breaking resignation in her tone. She didn't know what it meant, but it wasn't real. This wasn't real.

For a moment he looked perplexed then shook his head as if to clear it. "Yes. But it's also so much more." He was cradling their little mended cup in his palm and Belle stared for a beat.

"Rumple." With a soft cry she launched herself toward him, arms raised. There was a soft shimmer and she passed straight through instead of ending up crushed in his embrace. Pivoting, she tried again. Same thing. They couldn't touch and her heart screamed.

"Sweetheart." The agony in his voice told her it was just as much a torture for him.

Her lip wobbled and there was a prick of tears. She willed them not to fall as he carefully placed the cup next to her feet in the sand. "I never made it to shore before. Just drifting on the swells. Floating forever in the dark." Though she'd vowed to never stop fighting for him, there'd still been the deep soul crushing loneliness of a true love who hadn't wanted her.

His voice tensed; the hesitation was palpable as he looked to make sense of her words. "And I couldn't ever find you, no matter how hard I searched. _Always_ out of reach. I ran and ran and you were just… gone."

This isn't your first time here. The unspoken truth tolled between them like the solemn ring of a church bell.

The implications were mind-blowing and later she'd let herself dwell on them. Now, however, they stared for what felt like an eternity, lost in the other's eyes. They didn't need words when a simple look could convey so true a love.

"When I said I'd see you again, this wasn't exactly what I meant." Her laughter was watery at best and a single tear slipped free.

"My beautiful Belle," he murmured longingly. Rumple stepped closer so there was only an inch or so of charged air between them; slowly raised his fingers to hover as near as possible to her glistening cheek.

They could have stayed that way forever yet he inclined his head toward the dagger hanging limp and forgotten against her thigh. He at least, recalled why they were there even if she was having a hard time of it. "You called, my mistress?" She recognized a wholly manufactured grin as Rumplestiltskin placed a teasing impish edge to the words. "Although I would be grateful if you allowed me the discretion to do as I wish with my magic."

A thought bubbled to the surface. Escalating power hummed through her veins and she quirked an eyebrow. There was something deliciously wicked about having the Dark One in her thrall. Her voice dropped a notch and she eyed him speculatively; chewed her lower lip. "Or what?" A finger drifted downward, a fraction above the ties lacing together his leather vest then paused at his abdomen. "This way you have to do as _I_ say. I could make you beg… for all sorts of things."

"Lacey!" He jerked forward in shock then yanked his hand from where it had accidentally plunged through her cheek. His expression was a mixture of horror and desire. Mostly horror.

She chuckled at that and her expression softened. "Relax. Granted."

Relief flooded his slight frame, completely eradicating the sharp grip of tension from his shoulders. Rumple's shaky smile warmed her and they inched nearer, the bond of trust between them deepening and strengthening under the glowing starlight. It was followed by whispered words of love and desire that sent the darkness scattering aside. Belle reached up with the renewed yearning to stroke his jaw; couldn't.

"What happened, sweetheart? I was shouting for you."

"It tried to kill me." She brandished the blade. "I… Lacey, she…" Uncertain how to explain, she glanced away then back, and finally started again. "When I called for you it was l-like… like the evil was trying to annihilate me. It was pure darkness; _so…_ so powerful. A-and… It did." Belle shivered. "Mostly. But the part of me that's Lacey, the darkness couldn't destroy that."

Any words he might have spoken turned to an unintelligible garble that caught in his throat; terror sheened his eyes. Forgetting they couldn't touch, his swiping arms crossed through her waist as he lunged forward to grab her close. "Nothing like that happened when I took the power from Zoso!"

She shrugged, not knowing what else to say and they shared a desperate, needy look.

"_I_ could have killed you. It was my fault."

The aching guilt in his whisper broke her heart. "Shh." Her fingers hovered over his lips. "Shh. It's okay."

Rumple shook his head as if to say it wasn't, _couldn't_, ever be okay.

His hands floated near her hips. For a long moment he wouldn't look her in the eye, then: "It's time. You have to be brave."

At first she didn't understand what he was talking about then Belle glanced down; found the little parchment scroll he'd given her on the docks clasped tight in her fist.

Belle nodded once sharply in comprehension, but couldn't halt the tremble that shook her entire body. "Rumple." She breathed his name and he shuddered; stared at her with hungry longing.

There was no way she could halt the silent track of tears now, knowing that once she cast the spell, she'd be trapped forever behind an untraceable barrier… and that when it was done he would be off to sacrifice himself for the life of his grandson.

"I love you."

He nodded a little. "Yes. And I love you."

It was both a declaration and a benediction and it rang with a haunting finality that shattered her heart into fine glassy shards inside her chest.

She briefly closed her eyes, drawing strength from their love. She _had_ to do this. She _would_ do this. It was the brave thing to do even though the terror felt far stronger in that instant. Her breath hitched.

Then Belle slowly raised the dagger above her head and began to read aloud. It was as if she were both there on the beach with Rumple yet also standing before the wishing well all at once and his magic pooled within her, building in strength until her spirit soared with the intoxicating accumulation of power.

The final words died away on a gentle breeze and smouldering blue eyes raised to lock fiercely with his, imprinting the moment on her spirit forever.

She mouthed her love and his jaw twitched under the heavy weight of emotion. There was a slight pause in which his hand rose once more to cup near her cheek. It didn't last nearly long enough before the brutal body slam of darkness hurtled straight through her soul in a seething torrent of mingled gold and blue that left her gasping.

* * *

**85. So whatever has kept random people from stumbling into Storybrooke for the last twenty-eight years… It's gone.**

There was a commotion behind her. That was all she seemed certain of for a long hazy moment. Tentative hands pressed into soft loam; she stretched a stiff ankle. Dazed, she lay there an instant longer then slowly raised her head, gave it a quick shake.

She was lying in a faint patch of filtered light at the base of a sturdy oak and she glanced up at the full moon, partially visible through the forest canopy and it appeared…

Familiar.

Pounding feet hurtled toward her from behind and she rolled to her knees with a feral grin and flaring nostrils. Long slender fingers extended then clenched while her eyes blazed with yellow fire. There was a shout of a name, but it wasn't who she needed to be right now.

The commando she'd been fighting darted close as her Granny ploughed out of the forest, eyes flat and cold. Her crossbow arced confidently in her grip while she gracefully tracked her running prey; sighted expertly down the laser scope.

Intrinsic power howled through Ruby's veins and she remembered. She remembered she'd crossed the line yet…

"I am the wolf."

The whizzing bolt found its target with deadly accuracy, the man landing in a skidding slump before her.

With a mighty growl Ruby drew on the might of the moon and the transformation took hold once more. The wind ruffled through her fur and she lunged toward a new wave of attackers with vicious intent.

Still, the invaders pushed forward and their defence struggled until Reul Ghorm realized that while they seemed to have some form of protection against spells, indirect magic could work wonders.

Her wand arm slashed a broad arc in front of her and a closely spaced wall of trees sprung from the ground, corralling a pair of commandos.

"You did put a lid on it, right? Otherwise they'll just climb out."

"Seriously?" The blue fairy flung Leroy a baleful look, but she waved her wand again anyway. A muffled thud and a curse emanated from the box and he shrugged.

Another commando appeared to his left, but Granny ducked and pivoted, clocking him in the chin with the butt of her crossbow and they all goggled in shock when the man dropped unconscious to the leaf-strewn ground like a sack of potatoes.

"Uh… Wow. Nice shot, sister."

She merely harrumphed. "I was taking down ogres long before you hatched from your egg, Grumpy."

He didn't have time to comment as Dopey tugged urgently on his sleeve and pointed. A pair of F-22 fighters flying in fighting wing formation hurtled up and over a rocky ridge then straight down the valley, their sonic boom trailing across the town like a portent of death. There was a hiss and whoosh of incoming ordnance and Storybrooke exploded into an inferno of chaos and crumbling rubble.

Leroy stared, immobilized with horror.

A fireball rocketed into the sky, followed quickly by a second, painting the night with an angry orange glow. Afterward they banked north in tandem over the bay, clearly preparing to circle back for another run.

"Oh. Fuck." Their home... They were done for now. They were going to make the national news. And not in a good way. He thought vaguely about shouting something about American pride and not bombing your own then thought better of it. Was there even a box on the illegal immigrant form for 'Enchanted Forest'?

Then he prayed to the gods that it no longer mattered.

A twisting column of intertwining blue and gold light soared straight up into the air from somewhere out in the forest on the opposite side of the valley, reaching an apex high in the clouds. The glow of a shimmering dome rapidly began its arcing decent over the town just as those damn jets returned for another pass.

"Belle." Her name was a grateful murmur under his breath then he shouted: "Ruby! Inside. Now!"

A distant growl of affirmation was all he got.

Leroy tossed a hunted look behind him and thought he saw open bomb bay doors as he shouldered the heavy lunk Granny had taken down back across the town line. He vaguely saw Reul Ghorm do similar to those she'd captured. The magical barrier plunged toward the earth like dripping water across a rain-pelted window and a pair of bombs was obliterated before they could reach the ground.

Ruby hurdled across a fallen tree, chased by yet another black clad commando as she made a beeline home. It was nearly in place. She accelerated faster. There was a tackling leap and the dodge of gunfire as the wolf skidded sideways underneath with a whisker to spare; her pursuer, not as lucky. Ruby lay panting next to her grandmother's feet and the older woman knelt to place a comforting palm on the back of her neck.

At first they weren't sure the spell had worked as the man seemingly slammed straight through the glimmering barricade after their friend. Then it became clear with his wild spin and haphazard looks that he couldn't see them any longer. There was a soft puff of wind and it was as if they were viewing him from behind a gauzy veil of scattering light.

Leroy walked up and waved a hand in front of the soldier's face. Nothing. A punch to the man's gut passed straight through, effectively yielding the same result.

Cloaked.

They breathed a collective sigh of relief. They were safe.

* * *

**11242. I have a deal to discuss. A certain… mermaid.**

Rumplestiltskin picked his way through a dense forest of towering pine. Thick fog blanketed the area in gloom while droplets of moisture clung to branches and needles; collected in fern filled hollows on the ground. Fully obsessed with his task, he failed to feel the damp chill that gripped the land in a cloak of dreary lead and faded bronze. Instead he strode with an unerring sense of direction, confident of a destined path already carved out for him. His boots squelched through the mossy underbrush.

Bae. He focused exclusively on Bae. This was all for him and he would do whatever it took.

Sorting through the medley of shifting pieces – making any sense whatsoever of the mystifying jumble of shattered images of what would one day come to pass – had taken him decades then years longer to discover the particular one he needed to bridge this gap… The day after he'd learned Belle was gone: a shimmering vision unexpectedly tumbled into his mind. It'd been crystal clear, melding seamlessly with the fateful memory of a prophecy foretold him many years before.

_You will not cast the curse. Someone else will._

Impatient, he broke into an easy trot. The Dark Curse to end all curses was shaped: lay snug in a hidden pocket against his heart. Now there was a deal to complete.

For a brief handful of minutes the whipping wind tore the roiling clouds apart to bathe him in the harsh burn of sunlight and he found himself on a craggy headland overlooking the sea: a forlorn and forgotten place where few ventured and fewer returned. Waves crashed against the sharpened rocks far below in a churning mass of foaming grey and then the view was obliterated.

He paused.

A branch snapped behind him and a snakelike smile twisted at his mouth. "Show yourself, dearie."

He spun around, eyes pinned on the exact spot he knew his prey to be hiding. After a time, a teenaged girl stepped from behind a crumbling pillar of basalt. She approached him, nervous and wary, while leaning heavily against a rough wooden walking stick that reminded him starkly of his own. He pushed the random thought aside. His days as a cowardly spinner were long since past.

She was beautiful in spite of the coarse peasant garb hanging loose against a slender willowy frame; deep auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. The girl pointed at her throat.

Reptilian eyes narrowed. "Yes, yes, you're mute. I know. Oh, Regina!" he then called in a sing song voice. "You're laaaate!"

The Queen immediately swept across the uneven promontory, appearing from inside rapidly vanishing eddies of violet mist. "I'm never late." Head held high, she inched up the hem of her ebony skirts while arrogantly striding toward the pair in order to form a triangle.

"As you say." He smirked and gave her a grand bow that reeked of embellishment because he knew it would aggravate her further. "Well then. Lovely. We're all here!" Rumplestiltskin chirped, fingers steepling together in front of his chest.

"Funny, you weren't at all interested in dealing when I came to you _months_ before." Regina's hard gaze bore into his, belying the dismissive flap of her hand.

The pointed referral to the vulnerability she'd witnessed was a sideswipe to the gut.

Belle.

Nothing remained of his beloved but a memory and their little chipped teacup. Raw grief and the unending crush of nightmares pounded against his heart, but he refused to let it show. The imp's mask was firmly in place this time and nothing the venomous witch could say would shift it. A withering glare was all she rated.

"Oh. Well, if you've given up on your petty revenge against the princess and her twoo wuv then I might as well go home; warm up by a cheery fire. This _is_ a dismal hunk of rock after all." He gestured at their general vicinity then pranced away a couple paces, knowing full well Regina wasn't truly serious. They'd play their little game and he'd win because he always won.

Their companion didn't know that however and her worried stare ping ponged between the two. She anxiously hopped from one foot to the other even though it seemed to make her grimace in excruciating pain.

"Fine," Regina acquiesced and he immediately halted his retreat; shot her a roguish grin.

"A deal can always be struck if someone has something the other wants dearly enough." He flamboyantly waved a clawed hand then spared a fleeting glance at the girl. Sheer desperation seeped from every pore in her body and he knew this would be easy. "Do you have it?" The question was directed at the queen.

Regina snapped her fingers and a brown leather hatbox appeared at her feet. "Of course," she murmured as if it ought to have been self-evident.

She stooped to flip open the lid and the girl stared greedily when Regina pulled out a black felt top hat. Her staff thudded dully against the ground when she inched a fraction nearer, lips compressed together in a thin line that screamed of longing.

Rumplestiltskin cocked an eyebrow at the girl. "Well?" he asked leadingly. "Nothing comes for free, dearie."

As if suddenly realizing her part, she dropped heavily to a blackened rock, propping the walking stick next to her then pulled a polished obsidian box from the cloth sack slung across her shoulder. She quickly worked to open the lock as if her life depended on it or in case her companions might capriciously change their minds. Maybe both.

After extracting a small glass jar, the girl scrambled back to her feet and held it out to the imp. He nodded in agreement, masking his excitement behind bland indifference. If only Regina realized what he was doing right in front of her face. The irony was truly delicious. He pulled the small decorative scroll from his pocket, passing it blindly to the queen while his fingers closed around the coveted jar.

His mind was already focused on the next phase of his plan to bother with ceremony.

The girl quickly shut and shoved the box back inside her sack while the Evil Queen knelt to give the hat a spin. A portal opened instantaneously with a ferocious swirl of purple and the girl's lips twitched upward though her eyes widened with what looked like unease. He sensed she was too frightened to smile properly. Still, she nodded once in silent gratitude then threw herself into the spinning vortex.

With a hiss the hurricane faded and she was gone. The portal had sealed shut. Their transaction was complete and everyone had gotten what they wanted: squid ink for… The Dark Curse for… passage home.

"Use it well." He giggled and gestured at the parchment Regina held clutched in her hand.

With a maniacal grin, Rumplestiltskin tucked the small jar safely into an inside pocket of his dragon scale coat. Then, spinning on one heel, he vanished into his own swirl of purple smoke.

One step closer…

* * *

**84. That's the thing about children. Before you know it, you lose them.**

The view was absolutely spectacular: an unimpeded three hundred and sixty degree panorama of a precipitous sloping drop from rocky crag through undulating forest green toward a tumbling river of milky turquoise and the expanse of sea beyond. There were no trees at this altitude. Instead an alpine meadow marked treeline far below, covered in nothing larger than a handful of scrubby bushes and a thin carpet of native grasses. A muted blue shimmer roofed it all in a lofty frozen palace of contorted glacial ice. Other islands dotted the distant horizon in a curving archipelago, but none could rival the towering majesty and untamed beauty of Neverland's soaring central peak.

Still, it couldn't mask the blatant track of evil clawed deeply into the land: a corrupted outward display of natural splendour tempered powerfully by lives lived in the shadow of savage oppression. He could feel the depth and breadth of it permeate this inner sanctum like a plague and it shook him to his core.

Rumplestiltskin suppressed a shiver.

Baelfire. He was here to honour his son's memory.

Though an utter failure as a father, his grandson would now receive what his son no longer could. He would break the vicious cycle of cowardice that had defined his pathetic excuse of an existence for centuries. His life for Henry's: he could at least do this one final thing right in the end.

"Gold! What the hell are you doing?"

He'd just barely caught the spiralling churn of purple magic out of the corner of his eye before being lambasted.

Emma and Regina. Lovely. Just what he didn't need.

The blonde woman yanked her wrist free from the queen's grip and strode across to him, glaring eyes full of fiery brimstone. He easily read her escalating fury at being left behind.

"How did you find me?" Rumplestiltskin snarled through clenched teeth. This was _his_ sacrifice to make and his alone. It would all be for naught if Henry lost both his mother as well as his father. "You need to leave. Now."

"Hook told us to aim for the tallest mountain," Regina supplied coolly. She glanced around, taking in the fact they currently found themselves in the center of a palatial Great Room carved from ice: circular and wide open to the bone chilling cold.

Before they could descend into a bickering argument an ornate curving staircase sunk open in the floor and a hooded teen appeared with Greg and Tamara trailing hot on his heels. The youth's hand lay heavy on the shoulder of a younger boy, forcefully propelling him forward.

"Eric, you don't have to do this-" Henry abruptly spotted his rescue party and whatever he was going to say ground into nothing. The boy's blossoming grin shone like the sun and Rumple's heart clenched. It was Bae's smile. How had he not recognized it long ago? That piece of his son would live on. He would see to it.

With little more than half a thought, the zip tie binding his grandson's wrists was slashed and fell in pieces to the floor. He was pleased when the boy immediately tried to wrench himself free from his captor's grip. "Moms! Mr. Gold!"

The burning heat of a fireball formed in his palm as the group descended into bumbling confusion and scattered shouts. There was a tumbled pile of bodies and Emma rushed forward blocking his shot. He swore under his breath. Greg pitched himself toward his struggling grandson though he never stood a chance, his rapid fire spell swatting the man aside like the pitiful insect he was.

Faint movement sparked just out of sight yet Rumplestiltskin didn't need to glimpse firsthand the looming crush of destiny. Instead he felt the chilling approach of evil deep within his bones an instant before the shadows morphed into petrifying substance.

He instinctively skittered sideways though it didn't delay the inevitable one iota. And then he was face to face with the shadowed Pan of legend: a darkness greater, stronger, more powerful than anyone there could _ever_ grasp and without a doubt Rumple knew that they were on the precipice of dropping straight into the fiery abyss of hell.

_Rumplestiltskin._

The booming voice slashed through his thoughts and he could tell from the terror-stricken glances that his companions had heard it too. It nearly struck him to his knees; the ambush of fear left him a quaking puddle inside.

Bae. He focused on Bae though his end was near. And Belle. He needed to be brave like his Belle. A lifetime of effort to find his son would _not_ be wasted.

"Wha-"

"Who?"

The pair of kidnappers vanished with an imperceptible flick of a shadowy finger. There was no puff of smoke, nothing. They were simply gone.

Rumplestiltskin glanced at Henry. The boy was his undoing and he strove to keep his voice steady. "I will save my-"

_Oh I know exactly why you are here,_ the voice interrupted. _Do you truly think you can hide anything from me?_

The shadow flitted about before him and as their eyes locked together a sudden vision of his death shredded Rumple's mind like the icy grip of a hammer blow shattering his frozen corpse. He couldn't tell if what he saw was what was to come or merely a possibility and the instant he tried to grasp hold the details, they slipped away into shadow.

_Bring me the boy._

"It's him: the one from the prophecy!" The lad named Eric hauled a thrashing Henry to his feet.

_Indeed._

"Don't you dare!" Regina tried tossing a spell, but it bounced harmlessly away and as she pivoted, suddenly found herself frozen and struggling in place.

Henry whipped around in the melee that followed, briefly finding freedom until Pan swooped toward him. For a heartbeat they stared straight at the other before shadowy fingers plunged directly through Henry's forehead up to the wrist.

All seemed to drift into haze as if the world hung balanced on a tipping knife blade. He couldn't think. There was a combined yell from both mothers that sounded distant through the onrushing roar of darkness in his ears. No magic came to him and Rumple could only watch helplessly as the boy's eyes widened with fear, mouth forming into a silent scream.

His vision tunnelled.

And Henry gradually faded out of existence leaving behind nothing, a clawed hand extending into the vacant space once occupied by his grandson.

He'd failed: failed Henry; failed Bae. Both were now gone. And his heart crumpled into dust: that smile, his son's smile, would not live on.

"WHERE IS MY SON?" Emma shouted. She tore past Rumplestilskin though he didn't have a clue what she hoped to accomplish. He dropped to his knees in agonizing defeat.

An incendiary blast of white heat tore from her outstretched palms and it was like watching shadow and light vie for dominance. Only there was absolutely no effect, the magic of true love disappearing upon contact as if into a gaping black hole.

_That is not the appropriate question,_ the shadow answered cryptically. White eyes pinned Rumplestiltskin where he knelt. _Have no fear. In time we will meet again._

Upon that menacing promise a hand was raised. Next thing they knew, the trio was back on the deck of the Jolly Roger.

* * *

**84.** **I will never stop fighting for him!**

Belle sat on the darkened beach with her legs tucked up underneath her, just out of reach of the lapping water; arms wrapped tightly around her midriff to ward off a chill. The waves lazily sloshed back and forth across the sand as she stared pensively out over the open ocean. She supposed there was a certain amount of logic in her feet magnetically returning her to this spot once again; had a feeling it was far from being the last.

A shooting star hurtled across the clear night sky and she sighed, unable to find it within herself to even make a wish for she knew it wouldn't be granted.

She'd hidden Rumple's dagger back inside the wishing well before hurrying back to town the other day and no one was any the wiser about its location… nor that she'd used it to summon his dark power. While the part of her that was Lacey had exulted in the electrifying surge of magic, Belle wasn't entirely convinced. She wasn't sure how to reconcile that particular dichotomy now existing within herself… Still, the depth of trust he'd granted her was astounding and that, in and of itself, was worth any misgivings. She hoped.

The town had begun cleaning up the destruction. They'd lost some to the fighting and a handful more to the blasts, but thankfully none to fighting the resulting fires, meaning it was also a time to come together and mourn, giving a sombre colour to the celebration of safety.

There was much to ponder. Except none of those pressing issues was where her heart and her thoughts currently lay. Belle missed him terribly, as if part of herself had been torn away. And the not knowing whether he was safe: she was sure it would drive her insane.

Rumplestiltskin.

And dreams.

All those long lonely nights apart while she'd been held captive: her spirit reaching out for his. They'd been searching for each other in their dreams and that was a truth nearly incomprehensible. She'd never heard of such a thing before, not even in her precious books.

It hadn't happened while they'd been together in Storybrooke, she assumed because of lack of need. When they were both themselves, they'd curled peacefully into each other in sleep, arms gently draped and legs twined.

And when she hadn't known him? There was a shiver of realization. A hand slowly raised; pressed forward slightly in remembrance. She'd felt him through a mirror's glass: a bond of love so profound that it transcended time and space and even memory.

Her heart fluttered.

Their new connection through the blade: would she be able to feel it if, if… she didn't even want to think it… if he was gone? Would they be able to bridge this separation even while awake and though worlds apart? She didn't even know where he was… Yet as his mistress, she could call and he was forcibly bound by deepest magic to answer.

Their cup was sitting next to her on the sand and Belle ran a considering finger around the rim, pausing at the chip. She closed her eyes. If he happened to be just as still as she, then perhaps, just perhaps…

Reaching out with her mind and her heart, she focused on the man she loved: on the tender smile he kept just for her; the way his face lit up with wonder whenever she told him she loved him… Then softly whispered: "Rumplestiltskin. I summon thee."

As with before there was a quiet pause as if the world stilled. Only this time there was a gentle burst of starlight and when she opened her eyes she was on a different darkened beach, warmer, and with golden silk swishing about her feet while she slowly turned in place.

"My darling Belle." He looked weary and drawn, as if a dreadful weight had been thrown on his shoulders.

A couple quick steps had Belle flinging herself toward his embrace. "Rumple." They still couldn't touch and it killed her inside not to be able to offer comfort in that way nor to receive it from him.

They didn't mention it aloud. A single look was more than enough to convey their shared suffering. What was there to say anyway? Instead, her hand hovered over his heart as she asked what was wrong and he shared how they'd lost Henry; how he'd failed. Again.

His anguish tore her heart to ribbons.

"And you? Storybrooke is safe, yes?"

She squinted a little and compressed her lips together, aiming for humour to lighten a darkened world. "Well… you can tell Regina that we're _dreadfully_ sorry, but a fighter jet blew up her house. Also, the sheriff's station."

He snorted. "Couldn't have happened to a more deserving woman."

"I thought you'd like that." Belle looked as if she were trying to suppress a grin then any brief flit with happiness slipped from her face. "Where are you?"

"Standing alone on the prow of the Jolly Roger. I am persona non grata right now."

Her rolling eyes told him that wasn't exactly what she'd meant and it earned her a small smile.

Rumplestiltskin silently urged her to turn with a gesturing finger and a palm placed near her hip. Standing behind, he inched closer then reached an arm over her bare shoulder to point a clawed finger up to the heavens stretching majestically above the shadowy ocean swells. Gentle waves lapped just out of reach of their toes and the yearning to feel his strong arms wrapped tightly around her was so great that it took everything she had not to lean backward into his embrace.

"See that constellation there? Now slip just a little out of the dream so you can see the same one from Storybrooke." His gravelly voice was a soft breath in her ear. "Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning. Neverland. I'm in Neverland, sweetheart."

She did as he asked and it was the oddest sensation of being in two places at once. Her lip quivered. "It's so far away."

Momentary forgetfulness had delicate fingertips reaching for his outstretched hand and she sucked in a disappointed breath when they slid through his.

"And this place?"

"A dream world is as apt a description as any. It only exists between us."

The silence stretched between them at that, but it wasn't uncomfortable, merely thoughtful.

She sighed: "I need you. So much." Belle finally turned to face him then quietly admitted what she hoped he'd already realized: "I'm just as lost and alone without you as you are without me."

They were supposed to have forever. She'd promised and he'd accepted. Rumple nodded an unspoken acknowledgement of the sorrow etched on her heart. She deliberately raised her right hand; he mirrored with his left.

Touch: a phenomenon as fundamental as breathing. Slowly, oh so infinitesimally slowly, Belle inched her trembling palm toward his and their eyes locked in a fervent gaze that neither could break had they even the desire to try.

Her heart thudded loudly against her ribs, willing it to work as Rumple followed her lead, edging his own hand closer.

Closer.

Pushing ever closer.

Two millimetres apart then one…

Her face scrunched with deepest concentration, unconsciously latching onto something strong and powerful surging just beneath the surface while they murmured heartfelt words of love and need and deepest devotion.

A weak smear of white light appeared around the edges, gradually growing ever stronger as distance decreased. She paused for a brief second; focused on the first time he'd told her he loved her: the utter joy when he believed she loved him back.

"Rumple."

Then with a tiny flash there was the solid pressure of skin against skin and they were through the barrier.

He quickly laced his fingers through hers, gripping tightly as her breath shuddered and she was rapidly jerked into his embrace, his free arm securely encircling her waist.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Her cheek pressed snug to his shoulder, the heady scent of his leather vest tickling her nose, and Belle gently stroked her fingertips up his back to card the hair at the nape of his neck; thumb caressing precious skin just above the burgundy collar of his silk shirt. She'd wondered for years what the texture of scales felt like and now she knew.

"Dance with me?" He nosed dark hair out of the way to press a soft kiss to the base of her throat and she laughed a little in agreement; squeezed his hand.

Bubbling joy burst forth from within and Belle's feet had wings as they spun and swayed to the music of the waves until finally all they could do was stand still together under the stars, silently holding on for dear life while she stared across his shoulder at the dual trail of footprints strung together in the sand.


	11. Chapter 11

**79. You are not the kind of man to leave a child fatherless.**

Penicillin was a marvelous invention. So was Demerol. Hell, he'd even kill for an aspirin right about now.

Neal shared a nod with Mulan, standing guard in a tree high above, as he teetered past. It ought to only be spring, yet wave after wave of stifling heat and humidity shimmered upward through air so thick he could feel it. The sun was gradually sinking lower in a cloudless azure sky, though so far the soaring temperature had refused to budge downward. It was particularly oppressive that day, sapping his strength and giving his forehead a sheen of sweat. Still, cabin fever and the harsh cut of homesickness drove him onward.

Grimacing, he finally broke through a line of trees and pressed a hand to his throbbing chest while plopping thankfully onto a fallen log. He was moving around much better now, but damn it all, a gunshot wound still hurt like hell.

He sat, staring morosely at the curving spit of sand leading away from their island haven. While he was infinitely grateful to his new acquaintances for saving his life, he desperately needed to go home. Now.

His family was waiting for him: Henry. And… Emma.

_I need you. I love you._

The threat of losing him had ultimately dragged the truth from their hearts and the terrified look in her eyes had not lied. His hesitant smile quickly bloomed into a full on grin. Even after all the shit between them, she still _loved_ him. Neal pulled a key fob hanging on a silver chain from his pocket; lightly touched a finger to Emma's swan. She'd kept it all these years. That meant something special and he wanted more than anything to see it hanging back around her neck where it belonged.

He'd done everything wrong with her: had made a dreadfully bad choice and then been too scared to find her and explain. Yet maybe… just maybe she could forgive him and they could have a second chance. A chance to do it right; to make up for his abandonment and Henry spending his first decade without either of them. But he had to get back first.

His fist clenched around the necklace at the thought of their son. _He_ was the one good thing that had come from their love: all messy brown hair and beaming smile coupled with a forgiving spirit and a fairy tale optimism that good will always triumph in the end.

The silent vow formed deep inside his heart: there was no way he'd let Henry grow up without him. Not while there was still breath in his body. Neal was a father now and that unbreakable bond of love meant everything to him. He'd run the gauntlet of hell itself if he had to in order to get back to Storybrooke. There was simply no other option. Emma and Mary Margaret had found a way to cross back. There just had to be another portal and he _would_ find it.

A swish of feathers interrupted his thoughts as a scrawny sparrow hurtled downward and flicked a beak at the barren ground near his feet.

He never thought he'd set foot on this world again; breathe this air once more. It was and it was not what he remembered. Before it had been a fertile land. Now it was clearly a world wrecked by a powerful curse and seeing firsthand the destruction his father had wrought in order to find him filled Neal with mixed emotions.

He idly scratched a fingernail against chipped bark. Rumplestiltskin had sacrificed every single person's happiness in this land in order to find him. The reality of that truth was boggling and the aching sting of a young boy's loss cut anew through his heart. His papa had loved him once. But that was before he'd succumbed to the evil. Afterward, Baelfire had become nothing more than something to possess. And… when the choice was made, the love of his son was not what mattered.

The conflicting image of an apparently remorseful Rumplestiltskin watching from afar as he'd played with Henry nagged at his conscience. He'd wanted to reach out, to invite him over, but had been unable to figure out how to begin. Later, he was infinitely glad he hadn't bothered.

Neal grasped at the familiar surge of anger; nurtured it deep within his heart. Family was important to Rumplestiltskin… but not nearly important enough. He closed his eyes and all he could see was a swirling green vortex and his father's cursed face as he purposely let him drop.

He shuddered.

"I will _not_ do to Henry what you did to me." The muttered words were lost beneath the blanket of heavy, humid air.

When it had come right down to it, the man had vanished, and instead of spending time healing the breach with his only son, was found terrorizing people while running around town with some tramp Emma's age. It was unbelievable! So much for that heartfelt deathbed call to his _true love,_ Belle. Poor woman. It was probably a blessing she no longer remembered the horror show she'd fallen in love with.

He'd been a fool to ever consider, however briefly, that he could get his papa back. He hadn't changed. Not really. It simply wasn't possible.

"Glad to see you up and about."

Startled, Neal unobtrusively tucked Emma's swan back inside his pocket and glanced up as Robin settled next to him on the log.

"Yeah. Still hurts like a bitch, but I'll be good to go tomorrow as planned." There was no way he _wouldn't _be ready. He hated all this sitting around; gave him too much time to think about all the shit he was trying to forget.

"Thinking about your family?"

It couldn't be more blatantly obvious, Neal supposed. "Yeah. Emma and Henry. They need me. And I… I need them."

"You'll find them," he stated confidently. "Fatherhood changes everything, doesn't it? I can't imagine life without my own son."

A boy of nearly four sporting a tousled mop of unruly brown curls and eyes to match scrambled through the sand atop a low dune. His burbling laughter carried across the distance between them and Neal stared transfixed at the sight. He wondered sadly if Henry had been just as rambunctious at that age: a moment now lost forever that could never be reclaimed.

"Me either. Henry… has a true gift for bringing people together."

They shared a smile. "Maybe every father believes their child is special. Yet in my case… let's just say magic saved my family."

"Magic destroyed mine," he returned bitterly. At Robin's questioning gaze, Neal added: "The Dark One is my father."

"Really? That's an interesting coincidence."

"How so?"

"Marian took gravely ill while pregnant. I knew magic was the only way to save them both and the desperation drove me to break into the Dark One's castle for a cure. I was caught, brutally tortured… The monster was inches away from killing me…" Robin shivered in spite of the heat then his tone turned contemplative. "There was a woman there. She freed me at risk of her own life, but wouldn't come with me when I offered because it would have meant the destruction of her kingdom.

"Later, your father had tracked us into the forest; shot at me with my own enchanted bow. You have to understand. An arrow shot from that bow _never_ misses its target. Yet instead of death, it appeared as a warning embedded in the wagon carrying my wife. The Dark One _could_ have killed me, but he didn't. It had to be her influence."

"A woman who finds goodness in others." And when it's not there, she creates it, his memory finished silently.

Robin tilted his head to the side as if in agreement. "I believe our lives intertwine together for a reason. My little John wouldn't exist if she hadn't intervened. And… now you're here." He stared thoughtfully at his small son, romping happily through the tufted marram grass while chasing after a beautiful golden butterfly. "I never even knew her name."

Neal's heart twisted a little at this unsought glimpse into his father's life. "Belle. I expect her name was Belle."

* * *

**76. If there's one thing I know about you, you don't stop 'til you find what you're looking for.**

"Where the hell is my phone?" Greg rummaged through his backpack then gave up; upended the entire contents out onto the forest floor. "It was here just a second ago."

Tamara stared at him like he'd just lost his mind. "You're worried about a phone that doesn't even work here? We're lucky we're not dead!"

"Your luck just ran out." The hilt of a sword flashed in the moonlight as Emma bashed it across the side of Tamara's skull sending the woman stumbling to the ground. Dazed, she reached for the taser strapped to her ankle, but the sheriff was too quick and had the flat of the blade pressed against her throat. With a quick flick, Emma sent the weapon skidding sideways out of reach.

Greg didn't even have a chance to scramble for his gun as the contingent from the Jolly Roger materialized from the forest, rapidly surrounding the duo with weapons drawn. He rocketed to his feet only to find David's fist slamming into his jaw with the ferocity of a train wreck.

Charming and Hook quickly had him pinned to the ground, twisting his arms painfully behind his back while David jammed a knee into the nape of his neck.

Emma jerked her kneeling prisoner round by the hair. "How'd you find us?" Tamara asked while Snow cautiously shuffled forward a little, an arrow nocked and pointed directly at her chest.

"Fate." Rumplestiltskin slowly sauntered toward the group, his face twisted into a terrifying parody of a smile.

Outnumbered and outmuscled, Greg still couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Magic doesn't work on us, remember?" The squirming belied his nervousness.

"Ah, yes. About that." Rumplestiltskin made a show of pushing back his cuffs an inch or so as if he were about to get to work. "It would appear that your boss had no issues flinging you both here…" His lilting voice drifted off as if he were contemplating a particularly complex puzzle.

Rumple then stooped and an indigo cloud poured from outstretched fingertips over the prone kidnapper; he carefully observed the ebb and flow of magic as it skimmed and slid away like oil over water. Greg struggled harder, kicking a leg free and Hook grunted as a knee jammed into his kidney.

A punch and scrabble with renewed force had Greg back under control, but there was no hiding it now. Rumple's feral grin widened as he watched the waterfall of magic cascading away like rain flowing off a dome, the crest situated over one particular part of the man's body.

Without warning, Rumplestiltskin yanked a small dagger from thin air and jammed it into the back of Greg's thigh through the heart of the cascade; sliced downward until there was the scrape of steel against bone. The scream could have woken the dead and Greg's entire body jerked in reaction.

"Whoa, what the hell are you doing?" It was Mary Margaret, but her outrage went ignored.

"If you struggle, it will hurt more." Darkest violence dripped from his expression as he reached a clawed pair of fingers into the wound; poked around until he found what he was searching for, buried within the meat of muscle.

"What is it? Magic?" Regina squinted at the tiny silver capsule, dripping with blood.

The tone was derogatory: "Not magic. Science." And he dropped it to the forest floor; grimly crushed it underfoot. With the flourish of an outstretched hand, invisible fingers clutched at Greg's throat, silencing his whimpering cries as the man was hauled free of Charming and Hook's grasp. Magical bonds slithered and snaked, tying him upright to a tree. "Checkmate. Dearie."

Glittering eyes then pivoted to where Tamara knelt and he relished the smear of panic in her frightened gaze. The woman had killed his son and he would mete out his revenge, starting now. "Your turn."

She struggled and screamed, but it was in vain. Rumplestiltskin briefly considered prolonging the act until deciding there was much worse to come. Expediency at this juncture would not matter in the end. A short moment later and it was done leaving her trussed up next to her partner.

"Now. I believe you two are in possession of information we require."

"You get nothing." Mendel still could not understand the precariousness of their position.

"I have ways of making you talk," Rumple threatened softly.

"Go to hell."

"What are you expecting? A common beating? Or some kind of shock treatment? Electrocution is for amateurs and bruises heal. I promise, I can wield much worse than your worst nightmares." The savage beast roared to life inside his blackened heart and it was as if the evilest magic of Neverland itself had aligned within. He would enjoy this immensely and there would be vengeance for Bae.

With demonic swiftness his hand shot out and the blade nicked an artery in Tamara's throat before she could even so much as flinch. A thin trail of bright red blood trickled down her neck; stained her tan coat a dull crimson.

"_That's_ your worst? This scratch?" She seemed less than impressed.

His eyes narrowed imperceptibly. He knew the bravado would not last.

"Why did you take my son?" Emma barked impatiently, pushing past Rumplestiltskin to grab the lapels of Tamara's coat; gave her a jaw-rattling shake.

"Answer the question, dearie." Rumple slowly twirled the dagger between his fingers with hypnotic effect and the bound woman couldn't take her eyes from it. Though it would leave no exterior marks, he knew the exact instant the curse took its burrowing, squirming hold. Her gaze widened with pure goggling terror, skin crawling as the magical poison flowed through her bloodstream like acid, setting nerve endings on fire with the sensation of being flayed then incinerated from the inside out.

Writhing painfully against the rope holding her still, "We do what we're told!" Tamara finally gasped, her eyes watering in agony. Truth was the only option.

"Little pawns. Is that all? No free will of your own?" The sheriff slugged their captive in the jaw, the pure venom catching her parents by surprise. He suspected it had mixed origins due to the loss of her son as well as… his.

"Tamara!" Greg shouted, yanking ineffectually at his own bonds as her head lolled forward. Rumplestiltskin easily recognized the desperate slick of fear. Mendel loved the woman.

Interesting. That could prove useful as well.

Rumplestiltskin trailed the tip of the dagger across her cheek without breaking skin. He didn't need to. The cool blade would feel like the blistering burn of a brand and the Dark One grinned maliciously as a scream rent the forest air.

"Are you sure you don't have anything to add?"

"Our Home Office has been looking for him for years."

"How many years?"

"That's classified."

"How. Many. Years?"

She whimpered as excruciating pain shot through her limbs then seemed to dissolve internal organs one by one. "I, I, I don't know! It's above my clearance level."

Hook stood to the side; sarcastically chipping in with: "Well we certainly wouldn't want you to overstep your pay grade, love."

"They gave us a picture. Told us to bring him in."

Tamara nodded vaguely in the direction of her bag and Snow went to retrieve it. A couple minutes later and with a few clicks, the group was crowded around a tiny screen looking at a scanned pencil image of Henry drawn on what looked to be fading parchment.

Tension thickened exponentially. Emma grabbed the smartphone from her mother, her voice painted with uncertainty about her boy. "What is this?"

"Magic d-doesn't belong in our world. It, it's our mission to see it exterminated."

Regina sidled in next to Emma. "So your answer is to kidnap my child?"

"The boy is more than he appears," Greg snarled, interjecting.

Rumplestiltskin jerked his head round to stare. He felt his blood ice over; schooled his face into a perfectly blank mask.

A clammy sheen of nervous sweat erupted across a body suddenly edgy with apprehension, the unexpected declaration carrying with it the reverberating impact of nuclear holocaust though no one else could recognize the blast. That exact warning had been given him once before and his palm unconsciously moved next to his thigh in an elegant mimic of a long dead seer.

There are no coincidences.

Realizing what he was doing, his fingers abruptly clenched into a tight fist.

"How so? What does Pan want with Henry?" If they knew some detail, even one seemingly inconsequential piece of the puzzle… it could prove vital to his survival… or… merely the acceleration of the end, he countered pessimistically.

_Knowing would not have made a difference. _

He pushed the thought aside. Damn, aggravating seer.

"W-Who?"

"Your boss." The words were ground out like gravel underfoot. "The shadow."

"Oh. That was…" Muddled, Tamara briefly shut her eyes against the agony. A twitch had developed in her neck. "We came to Storybrooke to destroy magic. And Henry is the k-key," she murmured faintly.

She would lapse into unconsciousness soon and death would not be far behind. He needed answers.

Clearly confused, Snow repeated, "The key?"

"The key to the destruction of magic," Greg finished with a growl. "Now lift whatever the hell it was you did to Tamara!" No one paid the demand any mind.

Regina tapped her foot impatiently, plainly not believing a word. "That's ridiculous. He's just a boy."

"He did try to blow up the wishing well that time you wanted to curse him. Said magic was destroying his family."

The Queen curled her lip in derision at David. "You're not helping."

"I'm just saying." He shrugged. "It fits."

Rumplestiltskin let them argue on, his mind working furiously on his own concerns; chewing over the details.

The future was never, ever what you thought. Until sometimes it was plain as day.

The prophecy. The puzzle. He could see it blending seamlessly together with this new information and the picture it painted was a terrifyingly, horrifyingly grim ripping of his soul. He, Rumplestiltskin, _was_ magic. It was his crutch, but after centuries it was also an intrinsic piece of his being.

His undoing. His destruction. His grandson.

It made perfect sense.

The sound of a tornado howl of wind tore through his ears, blocking all else. It took every scrap of control he possessed to conceal the swamp of emotion in front of the others. "What?" He blinked. Miss Swan was saying something. He wasn't sure what.

"What does this mean, Gold? He vanished. Is Henry…" Emma still couldn't bring herself to ask; to voice the terrible question aloud.

Had death already claimed a life?

The unending love of a mother for her lost son hit him squarely in the chest as their eyes met and held in the gloom. There was a single blazing certainty flitting amongst the shadows. He could at least give her that much.

"No. Henry is not dead. This game is far from over."

She was ready to grasp onto anything if it meant even the tiniest kernel of hope. "How do you know?"

"Let's call it intuition," Rumplestiltskin smirked, the chaos of doom hiding behind a detached façade.

"Then where is my son?" Emma pivoted back on Tamara with angry fire in her gaze. He had to admire her spirit. She wasn't ever going to give up this quest, no matter the cost… or the consequences.

"I, I don't know what you're talking about." Of course they didn't know. They'd played their part and been sent away before Henry had disappeared. "He wasn't supposed to be hurt. We weren't going to hurt him. Please. Mr. Gold." Pleading brown eyes pivoted back to him; begged for mercy. Too bad he wasn't merciful. And their usefulness was at an end.

Instead, the boiling surge of fury hurtled outward. The dagger vanished in a dark puff of smoke then both hands swept up with flaunting showmanship. Clawed fingers squeezed together into loose fists, violently heralding the suffocating grip of death.

It wouldn't ever ease his own staggering guilt over Bae's death, but revenge could still taste sweet. "I'm not the forgiving sort, in case you never got the corporate memo."

Hacking, gasping fear: it seeped from their pores and the evil darkness inside soaked it up; savoured the cruelty. Neither kidnapper could breathe, each fighting desperately for even a single draft of air as skin frayed and bled against a prison of ropes. He stepped a pace closer so that they would see the murderous gleam in his cursed eyes before the end.

Horrified, "We can't just kill them," Mary Margaret asserted, lowering her bow in shock.

"As I recall, you were quite willing for me to extract my revenge when we were all in imminent danger of being snuffed from existence," Rumplestiltskin trilled, glancing in her direction. "You might want to re-check your moral compass, dearie. It's suffering from a case of misalignment."

He suddenly stared across her shoulder into the woods; frowned a little in distraction. The back of his neck prickled with uneasiness.

She stepped forward, placing herself in between him and the kidnappers. "No. We're not killing them! It's wrong." The audacity had him losing focus; the distraction: uncertain where to look.

"You wish to make a deal?"

Exasperation had her rolling her eyes. "What's your price?"

"This will do." He filched Tamara's phone from Mary Margaret's coat pocket; tucked it inside his own.

"Fine."

"I liked you better before your blackened heart suffered a relapse." His face warped into a sneer yet he released the black flow of magic and the two collapsed into a heap on the ground, Greg immediately inching toward his barely lucid partner.

"Let's get back to the ship. We've lingered too long. We're not safe out here in the open."

Rumplestiltskin gazed once more at a certain patch of trees, twisted thickly with palms and creeper. Had Hook sensed something as well? The outer atolls were rife with all manner of magical traps… No matter. It was still a wise course of action.

He turned, unable to shake an elusive feeling of… something. The forest seemed to have eyes.

* * *

**75. That's how we did it. Hard work and being honest with one another. **

The soothing swash of waves and a brilliant canopy of twinkling stars welcomed her return. Still, Belle blinked and stared. He was sitting cross-legged on a blanket, elbows at his knees and steepled fingertips raised before his chin.

She gestured, "What's all this?" A wicker picnic basket sat on the edge of the sand, their teacup perched on top, while a crackling fire threw off comfortable waves of heat. The splinter and pop of burning driftwood spit embers and ash that swirled upward on rising eddies of air, but oddly, there was no smoke.

The corner of his mouth rose slightly at her puzzlement while the brandishing sweep of a palm invited her to sit. "Magic," he trilled. Wasn't it the most obvious thing in all the worlds?

With a quiet chuckle of amusement, she joined Rumplestiltskin on the blanket, tucking her legs and billowing full skirt to the side. Her searching fingers found his and the gentle surge of relief that they could touch showed on her face.

"Of course it is." She inched closer so they were pressed thigh to thigh and his hand automatically fluttered across bare skin, fingers threading through her dark hair as he tucked it behind her shoulder.

He'd already popped the cork on a vintage bottle of champagne and he poured them each a glass, handing her one with the flourish of an expert sommelier. Rumple carefully adjusted the position of the bottle while Belle watched his movements; quietly sipped the bubbly liquid. As a final point, a long-stemmed red rose appeared in his outstretched hand, mirroring a precious moment from years ago. The shared memory lived in their eyes.

There. Perfect.

"If you'll have it."

Her heart swelled. He really had the sweetest romantic streak not to mention a flair for presentation. Belle leaned a fraction closer; reached past him to place her champagne flute out of the way on the sand. He always went that extra step… trying to make her happy, she recognized. A hint of a smile ghosted across her face when she accepted the proffered flower. She suddenly didn't feel quite so disappointed that this was only a dream and they remained separated in the world outside.

"What?" He noticed her expression.

Her hand brushed from elbow to calloused fingertips, silently appreciating his effort. "I love you." Their palms then moved and flattened together in a tender dance of touch.

That secret little smile he kept just for her played around his mouth, magnetically drawing her gaze. "My darling Belle." She breathed in the scent of her rose. "Where are you now?"

"At home. In our bed." His grip tightened on her hand; brought it to his lips to kiss her knuckles.

"So no longer maintaining even a vague pretense of the apartment?" The blandly asked question didn't fool her.

"No. I knew you wouldn't mind." And she could see that he didn't, not in the slightest. It was where she'd always belonged, and especially now, it was where she needed to be. "And you?"

"The bunk in my cabin."

A semblance of being alone together: it could never be enough, but she'd take what she could get. Belle placed the rose down next to her. "Private?"

His affirmative rumble was lost as her free hand pressed lightly against the back of his neck, drawing him closer so they could nuzzle and nip. She missed him so much, his presence a comfort that pierced straight down into the marrow of her being. Her arms lingered around his shoulders.

"What are you wearing?" he asked softly, slipping easily into the companionable banter of lovers and best friends.

"You don't believe it's this dress?" She waved at her ball gown while donning a teasing grin.

"Not really, no."

"Perhaps I'm wearing a selection from Lacey's wardrobe." Her eyes went mock wide. "Did you enjoy watching me so scantily clad?"

He paused for a beat. "There really is no way for me to answer that without sounding like a lecherous old man. Or a blind monk." At her raised eyebrow and suppressed humour, he finally confessed: "Well… When it was just us… Some things…" Rumple wouldn't quite meet her gaze and she choked on a snicker.

"Ah, you like my legs." She guided his palm up the outside of her thigh, currently buried beneath reams of satin.

"And your arse."

Desire flashed in his eyes. Belle flushed a little, but it had nothing whatsoever to do with embarrassment. She pursed her lips while contemplating a wardrobe change. Here it _was_ just them… No one would know. Why not put the dream to good use?

The little gold number with spaghetti straps and plunging neckline that unexpectedly replaced the gown from their world had Rumplestiltskin doing a double take followed by a hissed intake of breath when he discovered his palm pressed to bare skin. It would have made an elegant cocktail dress but for the slightly flared skirt that barely kept her covered.

"Oh. Wow."

She smirked, feeling she'd struck a fine balance between Belle and Lacey.

"Should I change too?"

"Mmn no." A smoky gaze locked with his. "The suits are fabulous, but I've always been partial to you in leather… pants."

"Really?" His surprise was entirely endearing and she suppressed a chuckle, her palm lazily wandering across his abdomen; around his waist.

"You _never_ caught me staring at your backside in all that time at the Dark Castle? I didn't think I was very subtle."

Rumple shook his head then visibly threw the conundrum aside as he hauled his mind back to the present. "You haven't tossed the knickers with the little bows, right?" Gentle fingertips skimmed across her hips and the hopeful expression actually did make her laugh out loud. "I want to see you in those again."

_You're not coming back._ Their shared smile died a swift death as the agonizing realization hit with fiery force. If the worst happened, he wouldn't ever see them or her again in the flesh.

"I- I'm sorry," Rumple stammered, trying to fix the misstep though it was too late. The damage had been done to their precariously balanced attempt at normalcy. "I shouldn't have said… anything."

Her heart crumbled along with the mood. If that was the last time they would ever share together… "At least we enjoyed ourselves as Lacey and Gold," she murmured quietly.

He was silent for a moment. "It was always better when you loved me."

The stark sorrow etched in his tone struck her with an avalanche of guilt, the whispered blow landing with arrow-like precision. Belle carefully laid a palm over his hurting heart; knew in her own that their time apart was a slowly festering wound lurking just beneath the surface.

"Rumple." Be brave. And deal with it before it's too late. "About Keith-"

He jerked sideways so fast they were no longer touching and the sudden abandonment sliced deep. "You were cursed. It wasn't you." Rumple studiously wouldn't look at her and his wavy hair fell forward obscuring his face. A clawed index finger carefully traced one of the mended cracks in their cup.

"That seems a poor excuse." He didn't respond beyond a slight shrug. "It _was_ me and I _did_ know," she admitted softly. Rumple cringed as if she'd struck him. "Not all the details of course, but I knew we were supposed to be together; how important and special that bond was. I have a sense about people, remember. I knew when you called me on your deathbed."

"You didn't want me. The nice part. The good part."

His finger had moved upward to hover over the broken chip. She'd long ago forgiven his cowardice in not trusting that first kiss, knowing deep down that their love was true. He had broken her heart and sent her away, empty and alone. Yet they were worth fighting for no matter the obstacle. She offered up a silent prayer to the gods that she could heal the same hollow emptiness now ringing in Rumplestiltskin's voice.

"No. I didn't." Belle instinctively reached for him then changed her mind. The choice needed to be his. "What you saw with him was the extent of it. I gave in to the frustration and struck out with rebellion instead of looking harder for the reasons we belonged together."

It was an ugly, ugly truth.

"I, I didn't want to be Belle." She sighed, "I _am_ sorry. So… very… sorry. For everything."

"I know."

Encouraged, she continued. "That last time in your shop: I _did_ love you then, Rumple. Don't think different. And the next time we kissed…" Everything had changed for the better.

"You were searching for me: for the dark part of me, only I was too blind to see it. And after you found it, you only wanted me." He looked up then and she saw confidence mingled with receding hurt. "We would have been together anyway. If Regina hadn't locked you up and neither of us knew anything else. Lacey and Gold... We would have found each other and been together."

Rumple picked up their teacup, now cherished in two worlds, for two loves; cradled it in his palms as he held it toward her. "True love. It always finds a way."

A part of him had always expected her to leave one day; to eventually discard him for another. That he now believed otherwise was a testament to his faith in their connection and that truth flooded her with immeasurable warmth. Belle reached out to cover the cup with her own hands, completing the link. There was a tentative smile as his fingers touched then twined tightly with hers once more.

"And woken up to remember twenty-eight years' worth of wild jungle sex. Not bad."

He snorted. "Repetitive jungle sex no less. Talk about a rut."

Belle's ringing laughter echoed across the beach and he scooted back to his place at her side. Her hand returned to his heart, but the open collar at his neck was a siren call and her fingers slipped up to caress warm scales. He carefully placed their mended cup back on the basket then gently pulled her into an affectionate hug, fingers twisting into her hair. It was a start and they stayed that way for a long, long time murmuring nonsense and letting the grief and heartache slowly wane in the presence of love.

When she finally pulled back, she could see him thinking, like he was busy shifting pieces in effort to make them fit. Belle had loved the light within an ugly, ugly man. But Lacey… She loved the cruel ugly pieces in between. Together… they completed a whole. "Everything happens by design," he mumbled under his breath.

"Pardon me?"

He wiped the worry from his face. "Nothing important."

She wasn't quite sure she believed him, but it didn't seem worth pursuing. "What adventures have I missed in Neverland?" He told about jailing Greg and Tamera.

"And Storybrooke?"

"Approaching normal. The craters are something to see." Mangled debris and piles of rubble had been partially removed yet the surrounding buildings still bore scars: collapsed walls, pockmarked hollows and scorched wood. It looked like a warzone, which she supposed, it was.

Belle wouldn't yet tell him they'd found a stripped bean plant in Regina's office; that Anton and the dwarves were busy trying to get a new crop of cuttings to root. Rumple wanted to know that she would be safe when he left this life. If it worked, they'd see each other soon. And if it didn't… Or it was too late… Well it would be a crushing blow she'd have to bear alone over whatever years she had left.

"Henry?"

"He's still out there. I'm certain of it." Rumple stared down at his palms then clenched them into fists and she wondered exactly what it was he was contemplating. Still, his resolve appeared firm and she carefully laid her small hand over his. He jolted a little in surprise as if he'd been millions of miles away and had forgotten she was there.

What have you seen? The question was heavy on the tip of her tongue; weighed at her heart. Again, Rumple wouldn't meet her gaze and they seemed to be lurching from crisis to crisis.

Their forever or Henry's life: they were on a collision course with fate yet both understood they couldn't ever be truly happy if the price was the life of this particular child.

This sacrifice was worth it.

Tension radiated off him in waves and… then he let her in. "I will die with honour. I want… I want to be the sort of man you can be proud of." His shattered voice was pitched so quiet that she barely heard the words.

It broke her heart, this complex man that no one else could see, and she had to blink away the tears. It terrified him, she realized, even as she grasped the endless depth of love for her that his admission represented. Centuries before he'd made the opposite choice and been rejected for it. But she was not his dead wife. She was Belle, his true love.

Her lip trembled with impending loss while she fought to maintain the optimism of belief. Gentle fingertips brushed his scaly cheek; turned his face toward hers until he finally looked her in the eye. "I _am_ proud of you, Rumplestiltskin. Whatever happens, nothing can ever change that."

Belle leaned forward to feather a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Their noses touched then their foreheads and his arms slipped around her waist as they slow motion fell backward together on the blanket. "I promised you forever."

He softly reminded her: "Twice."

"Twice," she reiterated with a gentle smile. Her knee bent and her leg drifted up to partially drape across his, easily finding the familiar press of body against body. "Though it took Lacey to piece together that you meant a literal forever when I made that first deal with you, didn't it?"

Rumple caressed a hand down her back; rested it on the supple skin of a thigh while fingers plucked idly at the shortened hem of her dress. "Forever _is_ forever, dearie. And you did agree to my terms." He flashed his impish grin and she shook her head a little at the way he played with words.

There was another kiss, along his jaw this time, and a promise torn straight from her heart. "Nothing can ever keep us apart."

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He wasn't convinced. And that painful slash through her soul had her mouth desperately seeking his, needing this one stolen moment to somehow shove aside a lurking sentence of death for as long as she was able to hold onto the man she loved.

"How real is this place?"

His brow knit in confusion. "As real as we want it to be, I suppose."

"I want it to be _very_ real." Her hand gently stroked downward below his belt, kneading until she felt a response. It didn't take long.

"Belle." Her name was a choked gasp; she increased the pressure, flicked her tongue against his earlobe.

She needed this. _They_ needed this.

"Are you saying you've never had a wild sex dream about me? I'm disappointed, _dearie_," she teased, knowing full well her throaty tone didn't sound disappointed at all. "And this is one fantasy we can share."

"Lacey?" The glint in his gaze held the intensity of restrained desire rather than worry. He stilled her hand, but didn't move it away.

"Think of it more as a blending of both. And both of us love you very much." The need to feel his presence though he was gone was acute and it shone brightly in her eyes.

After a moment of watching that could have lasted a lifetime, they returned full circle. She had known he would read her heart as perfectly as she could see his: there was loneliness to assuage and a bond to strengthen in a way only the other could provide.

Rumple touched his mouth to hers then unceremoniously flipped her onto her back so that he was on his hands and knees above her. "What are you wearing? Really." His tongue traced her upper lip and the pressure made her shiver.

"One of your dress shirts." Her arms hugged her midriff, instinctively mimicking an action he couldn't see. "The navy one you wore when you kissed me the first time in Storybrooke." It was also the one she'd removed while undressing him later that night when they'd first made love.

"Sweetheart." The understanding blazing in his eyes stole her breath away. "Anything underneath?" Each word was punctuated by kisses that trailed from jaw to chin to waiting lips.

"No. You?"

"Just boxers."

She hummed in satisfaction at that and reflexively echoed, "Just boxers," in a soft sultry voice. Maybe they couldn't have this reunion in person, but they could perhaps have the next best thing: leading each other over. Desire began a slow incremental build that had her unconsciously rocking her hips a couple times; knees tilting slightly outward towards his.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear then inched back to watch as she complied: "Cup your breasts for me. Over the shirt." One of his hands lightly skimmed across her thigh just underneath the hem of her dress. "Squeeze. You're doing this in our bed, right?"

"Of course." She nodded then tilted her head up to capture his roving mouth, tongues clashing like they couldn't ever get enough.

Pleasuring herself quickly gave way to the distraction of getting him out of the vest and shirt that she could see. Tantalizing glimpses and touches of reptilian skin were simply not enough. She wanted to feel and taste: texture and extent. The need was overwhelming and she groaned with impatience, the attempt at speed turning into an uncoordinated struggle against an irritating sequence of buttons and leather ties.

"Screw it." Rumplestiltskin abruptly shifted the dream and they were gone, leaving his upper body bare for her.

"Much better." Loving hands stroked across corded shoulders and strong biceps. "Don't forget the boots," Belle grinned and then all that was left were the leather pants she loved and an imagined image of him lying in his bunk. "Follow my hands with your own."

His eyes glittered golden in the firelight as she caressed his chest, eventually skidding sideways to wrap her arms around his back. "I think you overestimate my flexibility," he muttered with a touch of humour and she smiled.

"Let me explore a moment." With a bump of a knee and a light push against his shoulders she'd rolled them upward to sitting, giving her room to lean and touch: a kiss to the nape of his neck and another to his shoulder blade before a palm memorized the ridges of his spine, then the planes of his abdomen. He sighed.

This form of him was both familiar and different adding a mysterious new layer to their love, her hands and mouth combining curiosity with the smouldering burn of passion for the man she loved.

Belle felt him tremble when she cupped his hand over his filling erection, pressing downward then setting up a steady rhythm. She loved that she could do this to him; bring him pleasure through something so simple as a touch and a kiss. "Keeping up?" she murmured with a sultry grin.

At first a growl and a nip at her collarbone was all the affirmation she got; told her he liked it and then suddenly the slinky little gold dress was flung away across the sand leaving her blissfully naked to his roving hands and tongue.

"Always." Desire roughened the word. Abruptly Belle was flat on her back once more between his knees and palms. "Didn't I tell you this is where you belong?"

She smirked; ogled the tightening bulge in his pants. "Something like that. I recall there was begging involved. What are you going to do about it?"

Rumple tilted forward, a tender smile gradually transforming his face until their lips met in a kiss so gentle it made her heart ache. Her eyes drifted closed as his tongue danced with hers and when he finally pulled back they just stared. She didn't ever want the moment to end. He loved her and it showed in every line of his body; in the soulful expression in his eyes.

"My Belle."

No one else got to see this side of him. He'd thought himself ugly: a lonely monster unworthy of affection, but that wasn't what she saw when she looked at her Rumplestiltskin. He was beautiful to her and she thought the way the flickering golden light haloed his face as he lurked above gave him the look of a darkened angel.

Her thumb caressed the strong line of his jaw.

"Undo your buttons; lick your fingers." The whispered instruction reminded her that she was in their bed and his hand in the dream guided hers back to breasts that cried out for his touch in reality.

"Done."

Rumple briefly closed his eyes, his hand still covering hers as they stroked and plucked the soft flesh. "I'm picturing you on your back in my shirt, open so I can see… everything. Perfect breasts. Have I told you how much I adore your breasts?"

"More or less than my arse?" she asked lightly; stretched up to ghost her mouth along the roughness of his cheek.

He just smirked at her amusement and captured her lips with his. "My _beautiful_ Belle. This spot here. Right here." Long fingers caressed the curved underside then stared fixedly when she repeated the movement herself, followed by a soft moan.

"Again," Rumple urged and her back arched a little when he nudged her hand from the left to right then drifted his own palm across sternum to tensing abdomen. "Has your skin begun to flush yet?"

"Of course." She took his hand in hers to show him where, his palm skimming across the places as she murmured, "Here and here and there."

Belle watched his eyes darken at that and a shot of heat lobbed straight to the center of her being. "You can shrug out of my shirt now." His fingertips feathered and stilled over her mound, a whisper of a touch so light she could barely feel anything. Still, it set her toes flexing though she wasn't sure if it was into the blanket on the beach or the sheet on the bed. Probably both.

"I've already shrugged out of your shirt." Truth be told, it remained on. She needed the comforting feel of it across her shoulders. The closest thing to his embrace she had left outside of a dream was a scrap of fabric that only smelled of his cologne because she kept opening it every night before bed.

"_That_ is cheating." His eyes narrowed and his lips twitched while her caressing fingers wandered his length; worked at loosening his pants. Somewhere there was the hazy recollection of a fantasy not too different…

Belle managed a hand in and he groaned at her firm grip, his fingers tensing and splaying against smooth skin the instant she made contact. Their eyes met in a flare of need and lips merged into a sloppy series of breathless kisses that nearly missed before she shimmied the tight leather partway over lean hips; gave up and dreamed them off the rest of the way.

An eyebrow quirked and the words spilled out in one long rambling breath: "I hope to gods you have your boxers off by now and like how you were cheating when I was only Lacey because you knew exactly where and how to touch to turn me on?"

She mirrored his lusty grin then inched her legs apart, silently imploring him to continue and his greedy gaze flicked downward. Belle felt him quiver and thicken against her palm and she knew he was fighting a losing battle to maintain control. Instead, he merely clasped her free hand in his; kissed each delicate fingertip.

"Oh come now. I know your body. Intimately. I was simply using the opportunity as it presented itself to my advantage."

Wide impish eyes pulled a laugh from her belly while Rumple drew her hand lower between them, wordlessly demonstrating how he wanted her to touch herself. His body penned her in, but it was an eager confinement and Belle raked her gaze across golden skin; followed it with a slow stroking touch to thigh then hip, his powerful masculinity a beautiful complement to her own soft femininity.

"And yes," he growled. Belle folded his fingers around his straining cock, set them in motion. "I've got a hand on myself though I wish it was… your warm, wet mouth closing around me."

Her tongue pressed against her upper lip and it seemed to hypnotically draw his gaze. If that was what he wanted…

Belle levered herself up on her elbows to drop a kiss on the point of his chin then another to his collarbone and finally the throbbing pulse in his throat. Then without warning she slithered herself down the blanket in between his legs leaving a heated trail of kisses behind her.

"Don't stop what you're doing in your bunk." She loosened his fingers in the dream, lightly swatting them away to replace his touch with her own.

A new taste and texture beckoned. "What are you-" She began with the lightest stroke of tongue and sweeping fingertip and his strangled gasp told her he'd finally figured it out. "Oh."

Rumple may have previously taken advantage of his knowledge of her body, but she vividly remembered his spots now too: the ones that left him a quivering mess on the brink of oblivion. And there was one… right… there.

His fist slammed into the blanket as every muscle in his body clenched then convulsed. And his response sent a cascade of fireworks skyrocketing through her own, Belle briefly dipping her hand between her legs to mirror the stroking penetration of her own fingers in their bed.

But he was also in her mouth, unable to keep his hips still and she wondered if the split focus between dual sets of sensations was as deeply powerful for him as it was for her. She oh so gently grazed her teeth up the length of his shaft while tilting her head backward to try and catch a glimpse of his eyes.

Belle didn't think he'd ever looked at her with quite that expression of love and desire before.

"That thing you did with your tongue. Lacey. Before…" It was as much of a clue as he could string together.

"This?" There was an increase in pressure and a tighter grip and then he was shuddering against her. She smirked. "You really can do magic. But so can I."

He just groaned and her mouth and hand were on him once more, faster and harder than before.

"Gods. N-no more sweetheart. I won't last for you." He grimaced while Belle shimmied back up to her previous position; she recognized it as pure passion on the brink of collapse.

Her own yearning escalated rapidly into urgency and a nudge and rock from side to side put her spreading legs on either side of his. Mouths met in an insatiable flurry of mingled breath. She smiled and he slipped her fingers back between her legs, her other hand clutched at his hip.

"Another finger. I know you can fit four." Rumple cupped a breast in his palm while hungrily watching her press and stroke. "Ride it. Pretend it's me deep inside you." His hand drifted down to add to the sensation and she whimpered a little as the inferno built.

"I was lying. About the shirt. I don't want to take it off. It's yours." She tried to hide the tiny flicker of sadness behind her eyes but was doubtful she succeeded.

His expression melted into tender understanding and suddenly he was pitching forward at the same instant she pulled him down into a sensual touch of lips and tongue. Rumple murmured her name and that he loved her so very much. It sounded like heaven. And everyone knew heaven lasted forever.

He was propped up on his forearm now, bringing them closer together. His hand moving on himself and hers on her: both edging closer along with the dance of brief nipping kisses interspersed with the stilled pause of mouth touching mouth.

The tip of his cock nudged between her slick fingers, pressing against wet heat and bare toes involuntarily traced up the curve of his calves. Their eyes met and nothing in this world or the next could drag her gaze away.

I need you.

I need you.

I need you and no other.

It was a silent tattoo pounding within two hearts joined in unison.

Belle instinctively lodged her heels against his ass, driving him home in one long deep thrust. His muffled groan against her neck gave way to the scrape of teeth and a kiss to mask the sting. It would leave a mark that she would find later.

She rolled them over; unhurriedly grinding back and forth a single time while sitting up. The heady sensation of fullness his body provided merged with that of her own attempt in their bed. Her palms traced lazy circles over his skin while his settled possessively on her thighs. For a fraction of a moment she watched passion play in his fervent gaze.

Fantasy.

It seeped through every touch, every glance.

Her eyes narrowed with playful intent and she could see the instant recognition of it shot through his clever mind.

"Lacey."

A heartbeat later she'd lifted free and was hurtling across the sand toward water that would have been a deep inviting turquoise underneath the sun. In the dark, it was a sea of welcoming shadow stretching to the stars.

She vaguely heard a sound behind her: something between a strangled whimper and a growl. He'd make her pay for this. Assuming he was still capable of walking, that is. Not that he truly needed to move anywhere in Neverland.

"Aren't you coming?" The taunting question was tossed over her shoulder as she ploughed into warm surf. Rumple had staggered to his feet muttering both a curse and a threat.

She laughed then tripped and tumbled sideways; came up spluttering. Diving after her through the water, his strong arms clamped around her waist, pinning her against him as they regained their feet.

"That. Was uncalled for." The kiss was a darkly passionate collision of teeth and tongues that failed to erase her unrepentant smirk.

"Never had a fantasy about catching yourself a mermaid?" She linked her hands round his neck and her legs wound around his waist when she bounced up into his embrace.

"I love you, but you are not remotely graceful enough to be a mermaid," he snarked and she laughed. "There will be a price for that little stunt."

"Oh, I hope so."

Dreams took many forms and shades; some having a sudden jolt to life from the most unexpected of circumstances. While she certainly didn't mind his limp, ever since a day she'd fallen from a ladder and known exactly what it felt like to be held safe against his chest, there'd been the lingering imaginings of him doing it again. From those first brief flashes of desire had built a fantasy of varying degrees and situations that now seemed as numerous as the stars.

She hadn't thought it could ever be made real, yet here…

Rumple carried her out past the line of breaking waves to a spot where the undulating swells wouldn't knock them off balance and the water supported her weight.

Seawater had flattened his hair to his scalp and she twined her fingers through the wet strands while her tongue teased the corner of his mouth. Then a hard seeking pressure stretched and filled her once more as he lowered her body onto his.

Belle let out a contented sigh.

"This what you need, sweetheart?" he whispered.

The man she would love for all eternity was holding her tightly against his heart. "Yes." Sometimes she thought he could read her mind.

"Keep your fingers in you. Follow our rhythm here and I'll do the same."

He set a leisurely pace that rapidly quickened into deep, powerful thrusts. Lust pooled and spread like wildfire; her tongue battling his. A sense of utter perfection followed each possessive stroke. She belonged to him. And he to her. It was all there in those beautiful golden eyes that had long ago laid claim to her heart.

The ocean ebbed around them and high above, the stars bore witness.

His kiss landed just beneath her ear and she shivered at the unsteady hiss of his breath against damp skin. "Ready?"

Belle's hand cupped his cheek. She nodded because words were impossible and the love in his gaze was deeper and more profound than she ever remembered seeing it before.

Her fingers altered the angle inside and her thumb pressed for release at the same time his movements turned rapid and haphazard. Then the blinding starburst of heat lanced through her in two places and there was no longer dream versus reality for both were equally, vividly, powerfully real.

Rumple crushed her flat against him with a pulsing throb of need that her body answered in a flurry of passion. Instantly, her hips jackknifed up off the bed while picturing him tense and spill in a bunk far away.

And in both realities there was the powerful scream of her lover's name on her lips and a timeless kiss that melded love across the realms.

o0o0o0o

Later, when they had tumbled back onto the blanket together, he took his payment between her legs and time held no meaning beyond the soar and crash of bliss as he repeatedly drove her up and over in a way that left her boneless and exhausted and wildly sated. Eventually he crawled up her body to flop next to her on the blanket, tucking her safely against his chest.

"You need sleep, sweetheart."

Dread licked at her heart. Belle shook her head, arms tightening around his neck and she burrowed closer. If she slept then they wouldn't be together. And if they weren't together, then he might be lost to her forever.

"No. Not yet."

He was still soft yet Rumple guided himself inside as if he knew she needed the connection regardless. Rolling on top he braced his weight on tired forearms, her legs automatically linking across the back of his thighs. It had to be almost dawn.

"Sleep."

Instead, Belle clenching around him resulted in a rumble deep inside his chest and a further darkening of his eyes. He reached to tenderly stroke a single finger down her cheek and the languid touch of tongue to tongue laid her bare, bonding heart to heart and soul to soul with the truest power of love.

He knew. He knew her fears.

"Rum-ple." She breathed his name while he gradually hardened within her. Gentle fingers caressed across his back, shoulders, ass. And he slowly, lovingly pushed her over the edge one final time.

Ultimately she couldn't help it when exhaustion claimed her, shadowed eyes drifting closed to murmured words of love and butterfly kisses along her jaw.

What felt like seconds later, Belle lurched awake to the cold light of day streaming in through the window of their bedroom in Storybrooke.

Alone.

Loss stabbed immediately through her heart followed closely by a tremulous smile gracing her lips. Her left hand lay draped across the single long stem of a red rose lying nestled atop Rumple's pillow.

* * *

**72. We work. We love it. We even whistle while we do it.**

Leroy scowled as he brushed worn fingertips across the rough rocky wall of the mine, the town line just a little further down to his right. He'd been way too distracted lately with the end of the world and magic beans and Storybrooke under siege and all that he'd completely forgotten he'd meant to watch. A seed of guilt gnawed at his conscience when he turned to examine the opposite side of the tunnel; twisted the flashlight back and forth in order to get a better view.

The single hairline fracture was more extensive now: had split into a broad network that radiated out like a spider web shattering of the wall. He beamed the light up at the ceiling then down at the floor; walked a handful of paces up slope between the rail tracks while absently smearing dusty fingerprints onto his pant leg.

It was faint, but illuminated the same thing and the expansion further up the length of the tunnel was concerning. Leroy continued walking, eyes raking back and forth until he could no longer see the cracks. While it didn't yet appear to have overly weakened the host rock, it wasn't something he wanted to trust long term.

Turning, his lips compressed into a thin line as he evaluated options for bracing the tunnel. He'd have to get his brothers. The last thing they needed was another mine disaster.


End file.
