Rumplestiltskin was burning.
He stood just outside the hospital's emergency entrance, gripping his cane in cold-numbed hands, staring into the empty night. He could still hear the bustle of the emergency room behind him, even through the glass doors, even over the sounds of empty ambulances pulling away and the distant nervous chatter of nurses whispering about the Dark One himself being present. The sounds began to grow as dim as the night around him, fading away to be replaced by the growing roar in his ears.
He felt the fire flare hot inside him. The flames were chewing at him, biting his chest and licking his insides with agony. The roar in his ears grew deafening, blocking out even the memory of worried whispers and ambulances that had arrived much too late.
Belle was gone.
Not dead, but erased.
Cannot be undone...cannot be undone...
The flames climbed into his throat and burned. He shuddered and dropped his head, steadying himself against the oncoming wave of panic and grief. He felt like a little ship bobbing dangerously on rough waters, tethered feebly to a dock that was disintegrating with each passing moment. Just like his attempts to be a better man... Just like his life…
Just like his heart.
The burning intensified. He blinked the tears back viciously.
He felt himself sagging as though Hook's gun had shattered his foundations and left him as nothing but a broken building swaying in the wind, ready to crumble in on itself at the slightest disturbance. The tears had become blinding. He felt a scream building somewhere deep inside him. His vision was fading and his hands were shaking...
His face brushed the rough fabric of Bae's shawl and for a moment the fire cooled and he could think properly again. There was still purpose - he still had a plan. He still had things to do. Not for the first time, the thought of finding his son pulled him back from the edge of utter despair. He flexed his fingers on the cane's handle, and took a tiny breath (all he could safely manage without letting the scream escape).
He stared at Bae's shawl and forced one foot forward, and then the other. He shied away from the memories screaming at him so much louder than the present sounds around him, and picked up speed with every step. His leg should have been hurting fiercely, but he couldn't feel it.
"When you find something worth fighting for..."
His steps faltered, but he bit back the tears even as the fire surged through his veins again.
"...you never give up."
And so he wouldn't. Bae didn't deserve that from the father who had already abandoned him one too many times... and neither did Belle. He would restore her memories - he would find a way. He had to.
"Who's Belle?"
The memory of her frantic, pained voice cut through his thoughts like a cold-bladed knife, stopping him short and extracting an audible moan from him. He leaned heavily on his cane and focused on even breaths. His eyes burned as the fire surged through every vein and across every surface of his body and soul. He reflected that his mangled leg had never hurt him so badly or hindered him so much as had his own heart.
Love - what a crippling weakness it was.
He gathered himself, hastily pulling together shattered thoughts and broken purposes and shuffled forward feeling very much like a desperate soul.
And as he disappeared into the dark, making his way back to his empty shop full of things that were his only chances of restoring Belle, the fire finally burst forth, bleeding through his desperate and always inadequate defenses. It swept through him, devouring everything in its path, leaving destruction and desolation in its wake. But he only stood straighter and his face turned harder. He had to bear this - he must.
His own words from what seemed a lifetime ago echoed hollowly around him, taunting him as the things of his past always did. "Love is like a delicate flame. And once it's gone... it's gone forever."
The once-delicate flame had grown into a blazing fire that had warmed his heart and shed light into places he had thought beyond help, places of his deepest darkness. The brief flicker of light he had described to Charming so, so long ago had turned into his one point of hope besides his desperate quest to find Bae. It had seemed like a miracle… like magic. But the Dark One of all people should have known - all magic comes with a price. The delicate flame was now eating him alive. Love, like everything else in this twice-cursed world, turned to poison in the end.
He continued trudging forward, no longer faltering. He was in familiar territory now; he recognized this barren feeling. It was hopelessness, isolation, desperation. It was the feeling of being utterly alone... a feeling he knew all too well. And it was all the worse for the blissful companionship that had preceded it.
"Love makes us sick. Love has killed more than any disease..."
Words he had spoken long ago. He still thought it an apt description. But he couldn't help but think that his later words were much more accurate: love was most certainly a fire.
And the flames devoured him in a single tear that burned down his cheek.