while I powder my nose
he will powder his guns
if I try to get close
he is already gone
I don't know what he's doing
I don't know where he's been
but he is restless at night
he has horrible dreams
- Daughter, "Run"

Mr. Gold, née Rumpelstiltskin, was deep in the woods during the curse-break. It felt, to him, more like a sigh than a gasp, more like a gradual loosening of muscles long held tight than a sudden tightening of muscles atrophied by time. He already possessed all his memories from the Enchanted Forest, and being focused on the trek to the wishing well, he did not pause when the curse slowly fell away from him like so many tiny chains, but continued on, his cane prodding the uneven earth and the faerie wand within resonating as something of its true nature returned to it—not its prior magic, but Gold would correct that soon enough. His only reaction to the lifting of the spell that had kept the residents of the Forest in thrall for twenty-eight years was to glance back at the woman following after him on feet even less steady than his own. A quick assessment of Belle with his newly-unmuffled magic-sense, viable even in a non-magical world, revealed that Regina had placed certain spells on her to spare her the worst physical and mental effects of lengthy imprisonment. Hardly an act of mercy when one considered that a bargaining chip was less valuable broken.

The Queen had played this one remarkably close to the chest, all things considered. What prudence his former pupil possessed was the cultivated sort, learned rather than innate: in hindsight, he was surprised that she hadn't made use of the only woman Rumpelstiltskin had ever loved. Perhaps Regina had been too afraid of retribution to do so—as she should have been, as she should still be. Gold's hand tightened on his cane as he imagined using it to break every bone in the Queen's wretched body. He thought grimly that Regina should opt for the inadvertent mercy of a swift death by lynch mob over what he had in store for her.

For her part, Belle remained quiet—oddly quiet. Shouldn't she have recovered her memories by now? Gold paused walking, turned to face Belle fully, and, noting this, she did a strange little maneuver that Gold realized was her trying to both speed up and pause at the same time. That she did not know whether to draw closer to him or to keep her distance was not as telling, however, as the look on her face—the same weary, skittish, lost expression she had worn since their reunion in his shop.

Something like fear seized Gold in the chest. Unable to dislodge it, he cleared his throat instead. "Do you…"

She paused, narrowing her eyes in vague confusion. Gold forced himself to press on: "What do you remember?" he asked her. "Anything?"

He found the answer in the blankness that stole over her face, the way her lips pursed, briefly, before she forced herself to be braver than she had to be, shaking her head and admitting, "No," with surprising steadiness. "I—I remember nothing."

Instinctively, or out of vain hope, Gold reached out with his magic-sense again, and—there it was. Another curse, and an unfamiliar one at that. Or, no, he realized. Perhaps…not a curse at all?

Gold barely registered his own movement before he was by her side. Belle stiffened, but met his gaze and did not shy away from him—brave girl, he thought with a pang. "What are you…?"

Gold's hand faltered halfway to the collar of her hooded jacket.

"You must forgive me," he said, dropping his hand back to his side. "I'm afraid someone may have done you an—unusual injury, but I would need to see it…" He shook his head. "It'd be inappropriate at this juncture, I should think, to ask you to allow me to do so." Even if it would help him determine the best course of action, he couldn't impose the request on her now. "I will have a nurse or doctor examine you later."

"No!" said Belle. Her eyes went bright, though her voice did not tremble. "Please, no doctors. I don't want that."

Gold could have kicked himself. "Of course not, dearie. I apologize. I only meant to protect your privacy. A female friend, then?"

"A friend of yours?"

"An acquaintance, at any rate. I don't have many—friends in the traditional sense." Gold found he couldn't meet her gaze. Even that small honesty was exhausting.

She bit her lip. "Do I have any?" she blurted, small-voiced. "Friends? Family…?"

Moe French's face, injured and agonized, appeared in Gold's mind's eye. He pushed the image away.

"You have me," he said. "And I swear by everything that I am, was, and may yet be that I will protect you as best I can."

She studied him for an interval, then nodded slowly. Her eyes held a question in them.

"What is it?" asked Gold gently.

"My—My name. Do you know it?"

A wave of tenderness overtook him, as sharp and consuming as fear. Gold had to fight not to touch her with the hand not holding his cane. "Oh, yes. Belle. Your name is Belle."

Belle. Her chapped lips formed the word silently before turning up in a fragile yet genuine smile. "…Thank you."

He returned her grin as best he could. "It's no matter," he said, before turning and leading her on toward the wishing well, his now-modified plans returning to the forefront of his mind, the final tatters of Regina's broken curse dissolving into the air.