Pairing: Sheriff Graham/Mr. Gold
Disclaimer: Once Upon A Time and all its characters are property of ABC. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Written for Vocal_bard in Yuletide 2011. This story directly follows the events of the seventh episode, but the extrapolations and back story will surely become AU once the eighth episode airs. I reference characters from Disney's Hercules and Sleeping Beauty with a Once Upon A Time spin. I also envision Prince Phillip as a black man and Princess Aurora as a Hispanic woman of mestizo origin here. Thanks to my beta reader, Htbthomas!
Concrit: Always welcome.
. . .
Leaving Pete in the hall to wait, Gold limped towards the morgue, his leg aching with every step, though he had long since learned to ignore it. The thump of his cane on the tiled floor echoed throughout the room. The morgue seemed colder than ever this evening, and the scent of chemicals froze Gold's sense of smell.
Dr. Tod Masters yawned at Gold. He stood by a wall of drawers, most of which were no doubt empty. It would not be long before corpses lay inside every drawer. Gold stopped a few feet inside the room and studied Storybrooke's mortician. The lights cast a blue pallor over Tod's pale skin, and his white hair seemed to fade like smoke under the glare.
"Good evening, Dr. Masters," Gold said, offering a smile. He drew himself up, but to no avail. Gold had always been a small man, and Tod was tall and imposing in stature, like all of the Masters family.
Tod rolled his eyes. "Oh, skip the pleasantries, Gold. You want things, I want things, we all want things. You better be offering what I want in order for me to give you want, because I believe in supply and demand, so before you demand, make sure you can supply," he said, his words running against each other in his haste, like a verbal traffic jam.
"Ah, but if we're going to speak of capitalist virtues, then I might remind you that you've yet to pay me for the supplies you demanded of me many years ago," Gold said. He kept his voice even and pleasant. There was really no need to act upset. Even if Tod could not remember the matter of a poison powerful enough to kill a god that a certain little man had provided him in another life, he could not forget that he was in Gold's debt.
Tod grinned and slammed his hands onto the stretcher before him. The sheet slipped a little bit, revealing the still-taut skin of the corpse's arm beneath. "I might owe you a corpse, sure. But unless you want to carry our dear departed sheriff on your back, the stretcher is extra. It's the recession, you see. I have a mortgage, and I need a new henchman, and the price of milk has gone up, and my employees keep demanding health insurance benefits, and-"
"Megara."
"What?"
Gold smiled. He leaned forward, using his cane for balance, ignoring the complaints of his right wrist. "My apologies. If you're seeking a new 'henchman,' might I recommend Pearl? I'm sure you remember her, after all that trouble with the boyfriend some time ago. You'll find that she and your nephew, Harry, will get along splendidly. And she won't demand too many employee benefits." There was no harm in helping Tod, despite his plot to murder his nephew and inherit his brother's electric company. Tod was too self-absorbed to succeed. Furthermore, Pearl was homeless-not helpless. She could fend for herself against Tod's juvenile machinations. The result might even be entertaining. Gold found amateur conspirators comical.
"Pearl." Tod lifted his hands. "A henchwoman, eh? Deal."
"Thank you, Dr. Masters." Gold snapped his fingers. Pete waddled in and began pushing the stretcher out of the room. Gold dipped his head at Tod and followed Pete out. By the time they reached his SUV, the sheet had slipped again, revealing the face of the corpse beneath.
Sheriff Graham looked almost happy in death. Gold envied him. He had forgotten what it was like to be happy two lifetimes ago.
. . .
All magic came with a price, but Rumpelstiltskin had already paid the ultimate price for his magic. He had sacrificed his humanity. Any other price seemed cheap.
Someone else would pay the price for Rumpelstiltskin's new potion, however. He did no more than brew it. After all, he brewed and baked for the entire kingdom now. Of course, he brewed more than beer and baked more than bread. Though he had no shortage of customers, many whispered to each other in his wake, wondering what his ultimate goal might be. They feared him.
All in all, Rumpelstiltskin enjoyed his social standing more than not.
"That's all you want? A favor?" Prince Phillip asked, his dark face filled with suspicion. He seemed remarkably intelligent, for a prince, his eyes glittering as he gazed down at Rumpelstiltskin. His stallion pawed at the ground. Phillip's mount was perhaps the finest white horse that Rumpelstiltskin had ever seen, a reflection of his rider.
"Just one little favor, of my choosing, at a later time."
"And this will bring her back from the dead?" Phillip asked.
Rumpelstiltskin drummed his long fingers against each other and snickered. "She's not truly dead, only asleep, but in this world, there's hardly any difference. It won't matter, though. This potion is designed to find whatever tiny half-forgotten seed of life might be left in a body, and make it bloom. It will only work if you are willing to sacrifice part of your life to give it to her, however."
"I'd give Aurora my soul, if she needs it," Phillip snapped. "I just feed it to her?"
Rumpelstiltskin could not contain his glee. He loved this part. He capered around the prince, giggling. "Oh, no, your highness. You must drink it, and then kiss her luscious red lips to impart her with a sliver of your life. Her life will forever be tethered to yours afterwards."
Phillip snatched up Rumpelstiltskin by his coat, his fingers tightening like steel cuffs. "Why are you helping me, little man?" His dark eyes narrowed to two furious pinpricks. This one was more dangerous than Rumpelstilstskin had first believed. "Answer me." He gave Rumpelstilstskin a shake.
Rumpelstiltskin ignored the shaking and smiled. No threat could faze him. He had emptied out all his concern for his own life long ago, before he became a Changeling. Now he felt nothing but delight as he bartered and bargained. "Because I love to watch all of you wriggle like worms on hooks."
After a moment, Phillip dropped Rumpelstiltskin and mounted his steed. He said nothing as he settled himself into the saddle, though he kept his harsh gaze trained on Rumpelstiltskin. Even the horse glared at Rumpelstiltskin. The mirrored expressions on prince and horse made Rumpelstiltskin giggle.
"You're a pathetic little man, Rumpelstiltskin. And I feel sorry for you." Phillip trotted his horse away, head held high. Neither he nor his horse glanced back at the little man who still sat in the dust and dirt, his laughter frozen in his throat.
Rumpelstiltskin stood after a moment, and dusted himself off. It was strange, to think that some man felt sorry for him, when he could not even feel sorry for himself any longer. Strange enough that he felt an odd twinge in his chest.
Sometimes, Rumpelstiltskin wished he had bartered his heart away for his magic, not his humanity. Then he would not have to worry about any lingering sentiments.
. . .
Only the forest provided the necessary ingredients that Gold needed to brew his potion. The forest remembered what people could not, and echoes of the world as it should be could be heard in the wild flowers and herbs that grew there. Luckily, Gold had prepared the ingredients in advance. Even a flower fairy could have figured out that Regina would not let Graham live for long after he remembered the truth.
Pete carried Graham's body inside Gold's house. Thanks to his size and girth, he seemed to have little trouble, though by the time he was done, sweat had soaked his shirt through. Pete wrinkled his nose at the noxious smell of the brewing potion when he passed the kitchen, but offered no comments about why Gold might want the sheriff's corpse in his home. Gold did not pay him to think, after all.
After putting Graham in the spare bedroom, Pete headed back to Gold's kitchen. "Anything else, Mr. G?" he rumbled.
"Thank you, but no." Gold hobbled over to his stove and opened the lid to his pot. He stirred the glittering potion. It was ready now. "You may go."
Pete coughed, his eyes watering at the acrid smell, though it did not bother Gold in the slightest. Little ever bothered Gold. Pete glanced back at the dead body with a look of doubt, then shrugged. "Sure thing. See ya around-provided you have the cash." He slammed the door as he left.
Gold opened the pot again and strained it into a mug. With steaming mug in hand, Gold headed back to his spare bedroom. His right leg began to ache as he hobbled through his dark hallways, his cane thunking against the hardwood floor. The glittering light from his potion flashed off his ornaments and decorations, all antiques from across the world, brought to him in exchange for money and favors. The interior of his home was even finer than the mayor's.
Upon entering the spare bedroom, Gold set his glittering mug down on the nightstand. He limped to the bed and yanked the sheets off Graham's nude body. The former Huntsman was a handsome man, even in death. He had a gentle face, far better sculpted than Gold's aquiline features, despite the strength of his sinewy body. Thick brown hair crowned his head, and when Gold stroked it, the hair felt as soft as a well-groomed beast's fur. It seemed odd that such a comely man had once been the fiercest warrior to walk the earth.
The potion had grown cool enough to drink, so Gold gulped it down. It tasted like battery acid, freshly dug grave soil, half-rotted meat, and peppermint. Gold did not choke or gasp. He drank it to the last drop and licked his lips, ignoring the foul taste. He turned back to the corpse, feeling a suffusion of warmth.
When Gold kissed Graham to life, he reflected that while no fairy tale princess, Graham was at least quite lovely to look upon. Gold did not even think twice about sacrificing part of his life to revive Storybrooke's dead sheriff.
No man knew more than Gold how worthless his own life was.
. . .
"I don't understand," Graham murmured, drooling as he spoke. His eyes rolled wildly. Gold wondered if Aurora, too, had been so slow to recover when her prince had awakened her. He liked to think of the graceful princess covered in her own drool and her eyes rolling inside of her own head. The image amused him.
"That much is apparent, my good Huntsman." Gold tipped the younger man's head back and poured the broth into his mouth. Graham coughed and sputtered, but after a moment, he began to swallow, drinking greedily. Broth spilled over his lips, beading in his beard.
Graham licked his lips when Gold pulled back, blue eyes glinting from the candlelight. "Why are you helping me?" he asked. He reminded Gold of Prince Philip, from so long ago, with his sharp eyes, only Graham's carried the added threat of wild, blood-soaked violence.
"Oh, that's for me to know, and you to find out," Gold said. He smiled and dabbed at Graham's mouth with a napkin. "More broth?"
Graham snarled, but when Gold held the soup bowl to his mouth, he gulped down the liquid without hesitation this time. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, catching Gold's eye. At least until Gold realized he was being glared at by those steely blue eyes again.
Gold drew back, holding the now empty bowl. "Don't worry, Graham. You'll like what I have in store for you. We will be fighting a mutual enemy."
As Gold turned to leave the small bedroom, Graham forced himself up from the pillows. "Wait!" he called, reaching out. He almost tipped off the bed, and had to grip the side to balance himself. He lay back against his pillows, panting.
"Yes?"
Graham licked his lips again, his pink tongue darting in and out. "You called me the Huntsman before. Do you know…?"
"Of course I know." Gold allowed himself a chuckle. This was nothing like the glee he felt in the true world, but everything in Storybrooke seemed more muted, even his delight at manipulating people. He turned to leave again.
"How?" Graham demanded, calling after Gold. "How could you know?"
"Because I was the one who invented the Dark Curse," Gold responded, and shut the bedroom door behind him.
. . .
As Gold limped past the clutter of merchandise in his pawn shop, he noticed the ugly wooden windmill. It stood out amongst the colorful crowd of objects. Gold smiled and flicked the sails, watching them spin. Regina likely thought she had been clever when she cast her spell on the tacky lawn decoration. She had yet to fully realize that Gold knew almost everything that she did. He would let her enjoy her games for the moment. Good things came to those who waited, and he had waited a long time.
When Gold arrived home, he saw no sign of Graham. It was too late to cook, so he set down his bags of take-out from Granny's Café on the counter. He plated the food and poured two glasses of wine, then took the time to properly set the table and even light the candles, enjoying how the light glinted off the polished silverware. He took dinner very seriously-especially dessert. He especially looked forward to the rich chocolate cake that Ruby had packaged up for him. Not but a few seconds after Gold sat down to eat, he felt Graham's hot gaze on his back. Gold glanced back at the door.
"I want to see Emma," Graham demanded, panting, likely from the effort of having to walk from the back of the house to dining room.
Gold turned back to his meal. "I'm quite afraid that's out of the picture now. What Emma must do, she must do on her own. I've another task for you, once you are well."
"I haven't cut a deal with you, imp. No one ever figured out if you were a witch or a goblin, but I don't care. You hold no power over me."
Gold decided to enjoy his dessert first, and pushed aside the chicken and rice in favor of the cake. Ruby's cake did not disappoint, as sweet and dark as the woman herself-eating it was practically a sin. As a man who knew the craft of baking intimately, he appreciated Ruby's skill. "So long as you draw breath, you owe me. You remember the real world and how it works. You owe me more than anyone ever owed me. You owe me your life."
Graham's voice turned husky and broke as he spoke. "So I can never see her again?"
"Never is a long time. Let us just say that for now, Emma is off-limits. For your own good. Mayor Mills watches her like a hawk." Gold glanced up. "Now, sit down. Eat some dinner."
Graham did not move. "When will you tell me what you want from me?"
"All in good time, my dear Huntsman. All in good time."
Graham clicked his tongue in apparent disgust and shuffled out without eating. Gold ate the other man's piece of cake, as well.
. . .
Princess-no, Queen now-Aurora looked quite regal in her pink gown. Rumpelstiltskin could understand why the name "Sleeping Beauty" had caught on. He had seen many a beautiful woman in his time, but few managed to match her generous lips, warm dusky skin, and dark curls with just a hint of gold to them under the firelight. She did not belong in Rumpelstiltskin's small kitchen, with its single window, huge ovens, and roaring hearth. It was a place for bakers, not queens, but there she stood. Dirt and leaves stained the bottom of her gown, revealing that she must have walked through the forest to his house without aid of a carriage. That, he had not expected.
"What does it mean, that my Phillip sacrificed part of his life for me? How did he bring me back with that potion?" Aurora demanded stepping closer. Despite, or perhaps because of, her beauty, the razor-sharp look in her eyes almost intimidated Rumpelstiltskin. He understood how Prince Phillip might fall in love with such a woman; they were of a piece. "Answer me."
Rumpelstiltskin remained at his bench, kneading dough, over and under. It felt soft and pliant beneath his fingers, near ready to be rolled out. Good bread required just the proper amount of kneading: not too much, not too little. That was one of his little secrets.
Aurora slammed her hands down on the table, rattling the rolling pin so hard it rolled right off the table and clattered onto the stone floor. Rumpelstiltskin glanced up, his hands still working the dough.
"What did that potion do to Phillip?"
"All things come with a price, your majesty. Even answers to questions."
Aurora stood and wiped flour from her hands. "Oh, Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin, Rumpelstiltskin."
Rumpelstiltskin had to laugh at that. "Very clever. Unfortunately, you would have better luck batting your eyelashes and tossing that fine dark mane over your shoulder. Did you really think you would gain some power over me by repeating my name thrice?"
"No, but that isn't your real name, is it, Johann?" Aurora set her jaw. "Johann the baker, who had once bragged to a king that his daughter could spin straw into gold."
Rumpelstiltskin froze, his fingers clawing through the dough until he tore it into pieces. He felt as if he were ripped into two by that statement, and his whole being trembled from the memories of being a widowed baker, with a daughter whose golden hair reflected the sunlight. He could still hear her laughter echoing in his ears as she twirled around his bakery, practicing her dancing, begging him to join her. His daughter, his cherished treasure, more precious than any gold. There was no sorrow that could encapsulate his loss, no feeling, nothing. That was all that was left to him: nothing.
To know a name is to have power over someone. He took in a ragged breath and willed the tears to disappear from his eyes, but they remained. The power lay in Aurora's hands now.
Aurora blinked slowly, her eyes reflecting the fires of his hearth. "The king took your drunken bragging at face value, and imprisoned the girl, threatening to execute her should she fail to spin straw into gold in three nights."
Rumpelstiltskin said nothing. He could not trust himself to speak. He felt so many things, all at once, that they turned white and indistinguishable. His heart threatened to implode under the weight of all his emotions.
Aurora reached out to touch his hand, but he drew away. He fell back from his bench, knocking over his pans, and scrabbled along the stone floor. His legs shook, and he could not stand. He could barely breathe.
"I'm sorry, Johann. But I will not lose someone I love. Can't you remember what it was like to love, before you lost your humanity?"
"How do you know?" Rumpelstiltskin gasped out, his voice rasping from the effort spent to not scream and weep.
With a sigh, Aurora folded her hands and stared at the flour-dusted floor. "Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather recognized the potion you had given Philip as fairy magic, and deduced you must be a Changeling, given your odd appearance. So Phillip and I did some research in the libraries across the land. It took us a month, but eventually we found the proof-not in a library, but in a dead queen's bower. Her diary, untouched for decades, revealed that her father, Johann the baker, came to her while she was imprisoned. But Johann had become a Changeling, just so he could spin straw into gold to save her life. There has not been another Changeling in hundreds of years. Who else could it be?"
Something hot and wet slid down Rumpelstiltskin's face. He did not wish to reflect on what that was.
"You have a granddaughter, you know. A sweet little princess with skin as wh-"
Rumpelstiltskin had heard enough. He had been right to believe Aurora and Phillip were dangerous people, but underestimated how truly clever and resourceful they were. "I want your silence," he croaked.
Aurora nodded. "Done. And in return, answer my question."
"The potion bound your lives for eternity. Whether you dwell in heaven or hell, you will share it equally." Rumpelstiltskin could not look at her. He stared at his hearth, at the crackling fire. He let the vision of dancing flames enter his mind's eye, so they could burn away the memories of the baker known as Johann. "His power is diminished, but not extinguished. Only death can pay for death magic, and life for life magic. In order for you to live, so must he."
Aurora laid cool fingers on his forehead, and Rumpelstiltskin did not have the strength to push her away. "Thank you… Rumpelstiltskin. We will deliver the documents tomorrow morning." She withdrew and bowed, then swept out, her gown-now blue-rustling against the floor.
Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes and whispered to himself, letting the words wash over him, making them true. "Today I brew, tomorrow I bake, and then the princess's child I will take. For no one knows my little game-that Rumpelstiltskin is my name."
. . .
Though he had made a sacrifice to restore Graham, Gold did not immediately recognize it. He had lost no limbs, no faculties, and his damaged leg hurt no more than before. He was not prepared then, while walking through the farmers' market, for the dizzy spell that overtook him. His entire body shook as if someone had called his true name, but none of the other shoppers had noticed him yet. The carts and stands filled with fresh fruits and vegetables whirled about him like a madhouse. His body felt as weak as freshly kneaded dough, and his stomach churned and boiled. His hand slipped off his cane, and the world grew dim and black.
Gold awoke in the back of an ambulance. The paramedic fussed over him and drove him to the hospital. Dr. Whale examined him, and a nurse drew his blood. The sun set and the moon rose as he waited in a hospital bed for the results, and Gold wondered if Graham wondered where he was.
"Well, the good news is that you can go home," Dr. Whale said. "The bad news is that you have diabetes."
Gold felt relieved. He could not yet know what that would do to him in the true world, but at least here, he could manage with diabetes. He half-listened to Dr. Whale's medical instructions and accepted his medication. No doubt, Regina would know of this within the hour, but some things could not be helped.
After arriving home, Gold stacked his little insulin bottles neatly into the refrigerator. Graham stood by the kitchen door and watched him.
"No dinner?" Graham asked, leaning against the doorway.
"I'm afraid not. Feel free to utilize whatever's in the house."
"What are those?" Graham asked, glancing at the insulin bottles. "Little shots of vodka?"
Graham chuckled. "Hardly. It's insulin."
"You have diabetes?"
"I do now."
"Why?" Graham certainly did seem to like that question.
Gold sighed and glanced at Graham. "Because all magic comes with a price. And this is the price I paid to restore your life. I'll have you know I will truly miss Ruby's chocolate cake, too."
Graham studied him with a neutral expression, devoid of all emotion-no doubt learned while walking around without his heart. "I'll make sure to eat enough for the both of us, then," he said, and walked back out.
. . .
The Huntsman's sullen glares almost distracted Gold. He sighed. For a man whose heart had been destroyed, the Huntsman displayed no shortage of emotion lately. The stronger he grew, the more demanding he became. Gold decided to ignore him. He would not let it ruin his dinner.
"And you baked the bread, too?" Graham asked, poking at the buttered slice of bread as if to ensure it were well and truly dead.
Gold glanced up. "Yes. I enjoy baking. I've also grown quite skilled at brewing. Do you have any hobbies aside from hunting, Sir Huntsman?"
"We're in Storybrooke. Graham will do." Graham's eyes gleamed in the light. "And no. I never took up any hobbies. But baking and brewing aren't your hobbies, either, Rumpelstiltskin. They're your trade, as sure as hunting is mine."
"Please. We are in Storybrooke, as you said." Gold dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. "Mr. Gold will do."
Graham snatched the bread up and shoved it into his mouth whole. As he chewed, he glared at Gold. Gold returned to his meal. Beef Wellington required expensive ingredients and took time and care to prepare. It deserved his attention, for it had turned out rather succulent. He had avoided sugar and bread for the past week just so he could enjoy a proper dinner that night. He had even baked chocolate cake for dessert-albeit one built from applesauce instead of sugar, and with sugar substitute in the icing.
"I want to know why you brought me back to life."
Gold took the time to finish chewing and swallowing, then dabbed his mouth again. "You were never fully dead."
"Excuse me?"
"Sleep and death are close cousins of each other, especially when magic is involved. What can be done with magic can be undone. If a princess pricks her finger on a cursed spinning needle, and falls into a deep sleep, then she is as good as dead. If an evil queen crushes the heart of a huntsman, then he is as good as asleep."
"I don't understand."
"Of course you don't. Let me put it this way: In order to kill with magic, one must die. In order to restore life with magic, one must live. Do you understand?"
"That's fairy magic," Graham whispered. He shifted on his seat. As with any animal, magic clearly unsettled him.
Gold finished his last bite of beef wellington, allowing himself a moment to savor his meal before answering. "Regina could no more kill you by simply crushing your heart than she could fully remove your emotions. The rules are changing, Mr. Graham. Emma is seeing to that, and will continue to see to that. She helped you feel again, did she not? Every day she remains here, she weakens the Queen's power, bit by bit."
Graham rubbed his chest and stared at his barely eaten plate of food. "I want to see her. Can't I just speak to her once, just to-"
"No. You will jeopardize everything if Regina sees you. In any case, you do not belong to Emma anymore. You belong to me. I restored you to life, not she."
Graham's eyes narrowed, glittering red like an animal's under the candlelight. "Why?"
"Because I need a killer, a man of action. I am just a simple baker, after all."
"Bullshit." Graham leaned forward enough that his shirt pressed against his meat, staining it with gravy. He paid it no mind. "Why would you need a killer?"
"War is coming to Storybrooke. Blood will spill soon enough. People will die. People have already died." Gold gave Graham a pointed look. "We are bound together now. If you don't protect me, we'll both die."
Graham leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "So I'm a pet, once again."
"No, you are a Huntsman. You just simply happen to be my Huntsman now."
. . .
Gold turned off the lights to his study and hobbled down his hallway. His bedroom stood at the end, door ajar, revealing the pitch black interior. As he walked, he passed Graham's bedroom. His door, too, stood ajar, and candlelight flickered inside. A soft noise gave Gold pause. He glanced through the opening. Inside, Graham lay on his bed, gasping as he stroked his cock.
It had been a long time since Gold had heard anyone cry out in pleasure. Whatever qualities had once charmed a woman into his marriage bed had long since fled him. Rumpelstiltskin had never desired to replace that woman. Still, the sound of pleasure captured Gold's attention and refused to release its hold.
Graham pushed himself up by one elbow and glanced at the door. His face was flushed, and his wild chestnut hair stuck to the side of his face. He wore only a sheet, and the white linen left little to the imagination. "I can smell you."
Gold did not respond. He looked away.
With a chuckle, Graham returned to his ministrations. Gold could not resist temptation when Graham groaned. Parts of himself that he had long forgotten stirred to life, and his own cock ached. Watching would not satisfy this ache, so he pushed open the door and entered Graham's room. The walls were bare; the only fine decoration was Graham himself. He was truly a beautiful man, radiating an animal magnetism normally reserved for rutting wild beasts. Gold hobbled closer, close enough to feel the warmth of Graham's body, fingers twitching at his cane's handle. He felt somewhat foolish, but if Graham wished to put himself on display, why should he not enjoy the view?
Graham glanced up at Gold, fist tightening around his cock, and smirked. His eyes still glittered red under the candlelight, and he tilted his scruffy chin up. The uncertain heat in Gold's groin spread, quickening to fire at the sight of Graham's tongue circling his lips.
Mesmerized, Gold covered Graham's hand with his own. His long fingers twined with Graham's, and he could feel the hot flesh of Graham's cock beneath his fingertips. Graham gasped again, eyelashes fluttering. Their hands slid up and down for a moment, but then Graham slipped his hand free, leaving Gold to do all the work. After a moment, Graham's hand slid beneath Gold's robe, and Gold shivered, thrilling at the first intimate human touch he had enjoyed in a long time.
The moment Gold moaned, everything changed. Graham no longer lay back, passive, enjoying Gold's ministrations, but seized Gold and flipped him onto the bed. The cane clattered to the floor, and Gold struggled uselessly as the larger man pinned him to the mattress. Graham smirked, flashing white teeth, and then pressed his cock against Gold's, their erections separated only by the thin material of Gold's pajama bottoms. Gold's wrists ached beneath Graham's strong hands, but the mild pain seemed secondary to the intense pleasure jolting through him every time Graham rocked his hips. Gold ceased his struggle, and the smell of Graham, an earthy scent belonging to more wolf than man, filled his nose.
Gold came after a few moments with a shudder and a gasp, his mental faculties temporarily disrupted by a white burst of pleasure rocketing through his body. Within a couple of minutes, Graham came as well, and Gold felt wetness soak through his pajama bottoms, though he had no way of telling whether it was from Graham, himself, or both. Heat continued to radiate throughout his body. Graham did not move from atop him, but Gold did not feel particularly uncomfortable. Graham's musky scent seemed even stronger, and Gold realized it was because the scent had soaked into him.
After a moment, Graham met Gold's gaze with his own and licked Gold's face, as if he were some sort of dog. "If I belong to you, Mr. Gold, then you also belong to me."
. . .
Snow White came to see him alone, eventually. Rumpelstiltskin knew she would. He gripped the bars of his prison and leaned forward to study her. Snow White had never seemed more beautiful as she did with her swollen belly and ebony hair trailing down her white gown. She had her father's hair, but she also had her mother's eyes. All the same, at that moment, her intense expression reminded Rumpelstiltskin more of her grandmother.
"Hello there," Rumpelstiltskin said, flashing a grin.
Snow White wrapped her arms around her belly, protectively, but there was no fear in her eyes. "You're a Changeling."
"Indeed I am. Does this bother you?"
"I don't know." Snow White took a step forward and tilted her head to the side to study him better. "Why would a man become a Changeling? Why would anyone need fairy magic so much that they would sacrifice their humanity for it?"
Her questions left Rumpelstiltskin trembling. They threatened to make him remember, but he refused. The memories pressing against the edges of his mind were not his. They belonged to a baker, a dead baker. To consider anything else would only invite madness. "Why does it matter?"
"Why does it not matter?"
Rumpelstiltskin turned his face and pressed his cheek against the bars, so he would not have to look at Snow White with her mother's eyes and her grandmother's courage. He could not stop himself from answering her, though he did not understand why. "Once upon a time, there was a very silly baker who made a deal with the Fairy Queen to save a pretty girl with golden hair from a greedy king. With his brand new fairy magic, he spun straw into gold for her. Gold is such a lovely color, isn't it?"
"As good as any other. What happened to the girl?"
"The Changeling didn't save her, after all," Rumpelstiltskin whispered. "He could not live with her any longer and abandoned her for fairy pursuits. The evil king forced the girl to marry him after that, and she died giving birth to his child."
Snow White covered her mouth, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. She wiped them away after a moment. "He wasn't evil. He loved me very much. And I loved him. No matter what else he did, no matter how ruthless he could be."
Rumpelstiltskin did not answer her. He just stared at the stone wall, at his prison bars, at anything but Snow White. Something ached inside of his chest. He imagined it was his heart. If he were still human he would understand what this pain meant.
"It's why I agreed to tell you her name. Because I knew. After Queen Aurora and King Phillip returned my mother's diary, I read it, too, and came to the same conclusion that they had."
They were entering dangerous territory now. Just as Snow White reached for him, Rumpelstiltskin whirled around and cackled. "Today I brew, tomorrow I bake! Then the princess's child I will take! For no one knows my little game, that Rumpelstiltskin is my name!" His laughter sounded like shrieks, even to his own ears.
Snow White shook her head and backed away, her hands snapping back to press against her belly. "No. It's not. I hope that one day, someone helps you remember that." She fled from him, then, weeping the tears that he could not.
. . .
Gold's body still ached as he settled into the passenger seat of his vehicle. He hoped that when Graham felt the desire to assert his alpha male tendencies again, he did so a little more gently. Gold's fragile human body reflected both his sacrifices, one for fairy magic and the other for Graham's life. While Gold enjoyed sex with Graham as much as any human might, his body could not handle it as rough as Graham seemed to prefer. He decided to broach that topic later, when Graham would lurk outside his bedroom door, waiting to be invited in, as he had every night for the past few days.
"Is it safe for me to drive you around?" Graham asked, glancing back as the garage door slowly opened. "Won't Regina see me?"
Gold rapped his knuckles against the glass. "Tinted windows. Just drive safely."
Graham shook his head and said nothing. He pulled Gold's SUV out onto the street. They passed by Emma as they drove through town. She stepped out of Granny's Café, coffee in hand, and walked down the sidewalk. Her hair was every bit as golden as her grandmother's had once been, and the sight of it shining under the sun made Gold's chest ache. He noted the dark circles beneath Emma's eyes, which she quickly covered by slipping on sunglasses. She would be beset on all sides, by now, but there was no way Emma could lose. She had been born for this purpose. Graham slowed down and sucked in his breath when he saw her, but he said nothing, and sped up once she was out of sight.
As soon as they arrived at the forest, Graham practically leapt out of the SUV. He exhaled and smiled-the first smile Gold had seen since he returned to life. The trees stretched around them like giants, their green-laden boughs reaching out as if to welcome them. The tree canopy offered respite from the bright sunlight, filtering through leaves and branches. After a moment, a beautiful gray wolf emerged from the trees, one red eye and one golden eye gleaming as it trotted up to Graham. Gold kept a respectful distance, instead checking the forest floor for the herbs required for his potion brewing.
Graham stroked the wolf's fur and glanced over at Gold. At the moment, his eyes did not seem so unlike his wolf. "Tell me, Mr. Gold. What are you up to?"
"You wanted to come here, so we came here."
"No, not that. You said war was coming. Whose war? Regina's?"
"Yes." Dappled sunlight revealed a patch of marigold nestled between two of the thick trees. Gold limped over and stooped down to collect a bit of it.
"And Emma's."
"Yes."
"And whose side will you be on?" Graham asked, his expression as cold as any man without a heart could hope for.
Gold twirled a marigold stem in his fingers, watching the flower spin around, like a young golden-haired girl practicing her dancing in her father's bakery. "The side that Regina is not on."
Graham patted his wolf and sat back against a tree, breathing deeply of the scent of pine and oak. The wolf curled up beside him. "You brought me back to help you kill her, then. But why? Why would you, of all people, wish to undo Regina? Didn't you give her the Dark Curse?"
"Oh, I did, but that, too, will be used against her." Gold smiled and tucked the flower into his pocket. "Don't mistake me for some misguided do-gooder. I am doing this for my own purposes and on my own terms."
Graham actually laughed. "Don't worry, Mr. Gold, you're in no danger of being mistaken for one of the good guys. I'm just curious why Rumpelstiltskin would plot the Evil Queen's downfall, is all."
Gold stared up at the tree canopy. The light glittered between the leaves, dazzling him. All around him, the forest seemed still and quiet. Even Graham's wolf hardly made a sound. It was if the entire forest deferred to them. "Because she crossed the wrong people, people I treasure. I will see her destroyed, and the best way to completely destroy someone is to make them destroy themselves. Nothing hurts worse."
"You sound like you speak from personal experience."
When Gold looked back at Graham, and his eyes cleared of sunspots, he saw that Graham stared at him almost sympathetically. Gold had never cared for sympathy, but he found that he appreciated Graham's. He wondered if this was because the Dark Curse had made him human again, or because he and Graham's lives were now tethered. After a moment's thought, he reflected it did not matter.
Gold limped over to Graham, the leaves on the ground rustling with his passage. The wolf's ears pricked as Gold approached, but he did not seem hostile. He rested his head back on Graham's legs and let Graham stroke him. The wolf likely sensed how he and Graham were bound to each other now.
"When war comes," Gold said, "we will need others on our side. I know people we can gather to help us. Ethan Cheval, for example, owes me a favor."
"Cheval? The man who lost his right arm to save his wife in a car accident, right?"
"That is the Storybrooke explanation, yes. There are others, too. Pearl Cholas, who has been homeless since her ex-boyfriend died. Dawn Cheval, who has been inconsolable since her mother-in-law took custody of her children. Harry Masters, the paraplegic son of the electric company's owner. And others. All can help us against Regina and her army."
Graham's blue eyes grew intent as he studied Gold. "Our own army of fairytale misfits, I suppose. It is our army, isn't it?"
"Indeed," Gold reaffirmed, and held out his hand for Graham to take. He did not make sacrifices in vain, after all.
. . .
End.