I don't own OUAT and whatnot. But I do own a love of Rumbelle and a penchant for excessive angst.

Enjoy!

Aftermath – Chapter One

The irony did not escape Rumplestiltskin as he sat in the observation room, hands clasped tightly around the handle of the blade still slick with her blood, his dark eyes fixed on the scene before him, unblinking. The most powerful being in all the land, Storybrooke or otherwise, was entirely helpless.

The doctor working frantically to save her looked vaguely familiar to him. He hoped to whoever may be listening that it wasn't one of those incompetent dwarves, but he had a sinking feeling that it might just be. Nurses bustled about also, blocking his view. Every time an especially plump one stood in front of his Belle's face, his grip on the dagger grew a little tighter.

They hadn't wanted to let him in there – the observation room was supposed to be for family only, but no one seemed willing to challenge him on it, especially not while he still held the dagger in his hands.

He wanted to throw it away, cast it aside forever, or at the very least, bury it deep within his own breast in an attempt to quell the unrelenting ache in his heart for good. Instead, he moved his hands to the blade, wrapping his fingers around it and letting the cold steel slice into them as he held it tightly, his blood mixing with hers. It wasn't fair that only she should shed blood that day. It wasn't fair at all.

Inside the operating room, a nurse hurried to hook up another bag to the IV. Fast as they worked, she had lost so much blood already. He ignored the pain in his hands, and willed them to work faster.

'I command you, Rumplestiltskin, to stay right where you are. Please.' The Queen had sneered the words through a smug smile. She had known exactly what she was doing that night, she had them all exactly where she wanted them. What she hadn't counted on, was Belle. She hadn't expected her to follow him, not after the fight she'd watched through her mirror. She hadn't allowed for the sheer strength of Belle's love for Rumplestiltskin. She hadn't anticipated the girl throwing herself in front of the frozen man, halting the dagger in its tracks – though the force of the Queen's attack meant the blade went so deep it very nearly came out the other side. Her eyes flew wide in shock as she fell back into her love's arms, the pair of them tumbling to the ground, her prone body landing heavily in his lap.

He knew little more of the final battle after that. His memories were hazy, even now, as he'd summoned every last bit of magic at his fingertips to save her. He knew he hadn't the power to heal, but that hadn't stopped him trying anyway.

In the end, it had been Emma who had defeated the Queen, as he'd said all along. She hadn't needed an enchanted dagger, she had refused to use her own gun. The Evil Queen had been defeated by nothing but words and the power of a pure soul. There was no reason for Rumplestiltskin to even have been there – no reason for Belle to be bleeding to death in the emergency room.

'Hey – can I come in?' a knock on the door and the saviour's voice drew Rumplestiltskin from his bitter reverie. Emma stood in the doorway, a slight frown of sympathy furrowing her brow as she regarded him, cautiously.

'I'm afraid I'm not much company at the moment, Sheriff Swan,' his voice came out hoarse. He remembered crying out Belle's name, as she lay unconscious in his arms – now he wondered how many times he'd called it, perhaps he'd even screamed it. He couldn't remember the ambulance arriving, or much of the journey. He remembered Emma helping him into the hospital, and Snow White and Charming hovering in the background, the former frantic about Belle, the latter keen to get his hands on the Dark One's dagger – for their safety, he insisted. Emma had kept her parents at bay, and Rumplestiltskin was grateful. Not that he would tell her that.

Now, the saviour slipped into the observation room and closed the door quietly behind her. It was strange that everything could be so silent, when so much noise existed on the opposite side of the glass.

'She's going to be okay, you know?' Emma said, taking a seat beside him and following his gaze, which had not strayed since she'd entered the room. 'Belle's tough, she's a fighter.'

'She shouldn't have to be,' Rumplestiltskin replied, quietly. 'She shouldn't have been near any of this. I should have kept her safe and left the Queen to you – like I was always supposed to,'

Emma sighed, she really wasn't comfortable with this self-deprecating Rumplestiltskin. She found she knew where she was more with the old, self-assured one. It was then that she spied the dagger in his hands.

'Jesus, Gold!' she exclaimed, calling him by his old Storybrooke name without thinking. She'd tried her damnedest to remember to call everyone by their fairytale names – as most preferred – but her mind was on other things at the moment. 'What have you done to yourself?'

Rumplestiltskin dropped his gaze to his lap, and stared at his hands, as though seeing them for the first time. They were cut to ribbons, but he barely felt any pain.

'I guess you're not going to let me take that thing as evidence,' Emma attempted humour. It did not go down well. Instead, he clutched it tightly again. 'Hey, woah – okay, note to self, no jokes about the dagger. What's the deal with that thing anyway?'

'It's simple really dearie,' he replied, a hint of his impish self creeping through his human façade, but his words held a bitter edge. 'Whoever controls the dagger, controls the Dark One's power.'

'That's how Regina got one over on you?' Emma raised an eyebrow, and he nodded. 'That's gotta be a heck of a risk considering the amount of people gunning for you these days. Is it really worth it? The power, being the 'Dark One' or whatever.' He said nothing, but Emma noticed his lips tighten, and she knew she'd touched on something of a sensitive subject. 'Look, I know I'm still kinda new to this whole 'fairytale' thing, but doesn't true love's kiss break every curse? How are you still cursed if you have Belle?'

'I don't have Belle,' Rumplestiltskin muttered, his voice breaking. 'She left. In both worlds, in both lives, I chose my power over her, and she left.'

'…Why?' Emma couldn't help herself, she had seen too much of his pain to accept that he simply wanted to keep his power more than her, there had to be something more to it. 'I know you love her, Gold. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have beaten her father half to death for a tea cup if you didn't.'

'It's not that simple,' he protested.

'Sounds pretty damn simple to me,' Emma shot back. 'Share true love's kiss, break the curse, live happily ever after. What are you waiting for?'

'My son,' he hissed, then cursed under his breath. What was it about this child of Snow White and Prince Charming that managed to get under everyone's skin? He hadn't even admitted his real reasoning for clinging to his magic to Belle. If he had, maybe she wouldn't have left. Maybe she wouldn't be in the hospital right now. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

'You have a son?' Emma's voice was soft again, all hostility gone and replaced with empathy. He supposed after recent events, she could relate.

'I did,' he admitted. 'I lost him a long time ago, because of my own… foolishness,' And cowardice, he added silently. Belle was right when she called him a coward, she was always right. 'If I give up my magic, I give up all hope of finding him.'

Emma bit her lip, and risked a glance at the broken man sitting beside her. They spent a good thirty seconds in silence, while Emma wrestled with her inner self, trying to decide whether she should say what she was thinking or just keep quiet. She decided to say it, and to hell with the consequences.

'Look, I'm not saying I know how you're feeling here, but the way I see it? You gotta start living in the now, Gold, instead of always lamenting the past. Belle's here, now, and she loves you enough to take a bullet for you… or, well, a dagger, but you know what I mean. I don't know what happened with your son, but this power isn't good for you. It isn't good for Belle. I can't imagine it'd good for your son, either.'

'You don't know what you're talking about, Sheriff,' he warned, his voice tight. Emma wasn't dissuaded.

'No, I don't. But I do know that if you don't make a call on this soon, you'll end up losing both of them.'

She expected a reaction – at the very least, she expected some kind of colourful name-calling and a decent whack from his cane when he finally lost his infamous temper – but nothing came. She looked at him, and frowned when she saw the unshed tears clinging to his eyelashes, just waiting for permission to fall. He was shaking, whether in anger or grief, she couldn't tell – but she knew the dagger was still in his hands. Quickly, she scooted around so she was kneeling in front of him, removing her scarf as she went.

'Gold – Rumplestiltskin – listen to me. I don't want to take it from you, but I want you to put that thing down. You're going to end up losing a finger or something. Just… just put it down, and let me help.'

Suddenly, Emma was aware of just how tired he looked. It was like all his centuries just descended upon his shoulders in an instant, and as she wrapped his bloodied hands in her scarf, holding it there tightly to stop the bleeding, she found herself staring into the face of a broken old man, and she could do nothing but keep hold of his trembling hands as he broke down before her.