I do not own Once Upon A Time.
Mr. Gold leaned against his cane as the faint bell drew him cautiously from the office of his shop. He'd come in through the back entrance so that no one would bother him while he worked. The front door should have been locked.
"We're close–" Mr. Gold stopped the semi-cordial eviction of his unwanted customer when he caught sight the intruder. "You have quite the gall coming to see me, Your Majesty."
Regina Mills walked down the aisle of strategically displayed trinkets and not-found-elsewhere souvenirs. Her fingers trailed the top of the glass case as if testing the surface for dust. "Now is that anyway to treat a customer, Rumplestiltskin? I've come to make a deal with you."
"There won't be anymore deals with you," Mr. Gold said, slowly making his way around the display cases to face off against Regina. "We may have overlooked our distaste for each other in the past, but this time you crossed a line that I won't ignore. Going after me is one thing, but taking Belle from me is something I'll never forgive. If you thought I was a dangerous enemy before, you can't imagine what I'll do now that I know the truth."
"Took her from you?" Regina laughed like a crow in the night. "I'm not responsible for what happened to that girl. If I recall correctly, you were the one who threw her out. Now you're complaining about what happened to her?"
Mr. Gold slammed the cane onto the top of the display case, cracking the glass beneath. His eyes darkened with an ancient evil no longer dormant in his Storybrooke-self. "You locked her up! Told me she was dead! If you wanted to weaken me, you should have killed her when you had the chance, because now I'll see you suffer a hundred times more than she did."
Regina remained unaffected by his outburst, and the barest flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. She turned her attention to a small white cup that shouldn't have been in the shop, trailing her index finger over the smooth edge until it abruptly stopped at a small chip in the porcelain rim. Picking it up, Regina stared, almost admiringly, at the faded blue design decorating it. "Really, Rumplestiltskin, what are you talking about? That girl is long dead; you should let it go already."
"You're lies are worthless now," Mr. Gold seethed with all the burning hatred of a brimstone-fed hell fire. "Belle's back with me, and she told me what happened after she left."
"I never thought guilt would be what breaks the great Rumplestiltskin." Regina the Queen, not the small town mayor, shook her head and carefully returned the cup to its pedestal in Rumplestiltskin's great hall. "Oh well, you aren't much help to me like this. Do say – hello – to Belle if you see her." The Queen laughed the entire way out of the room, her long, black skirt fluttering behind her as the hall doors closed with the flick of her hand.
Rumplestiltskin wanted to chase after her and curse her until every last ounce of magic had been spent, but his black eyes stared at the pedestal on which Belle's cup primly sat. It was one of the few pieces on display that didn't have a slight layer of dust on it, cherished as it was.
No, this isn't right. Rumplestiltskin hurried around the expansive table, his nimble body without limp, and searched for the glass display cases that filled his shop in Storybrooke. He couldn't be back in his castle. Even with the curse broken they were still trapped in Storybrooke. Belle was in Storybrooke.
"Belle!" he screamed, his voice higher than it should be. He opened every door, searched every room, all the while calling for Belle. His immortal body easily leapt down the turning stairs to the dungeon, and he threw open the door so hard the wood cracked against the stone wall.
In the center of the little dungeon cell stood the pedestal from the main hall that bore the blue and white cup. The cup seemed to glow in the darkness of the dungeon, beckoning Rumplestiltskin to reach out with his gold-tinged hand and pluck it. But the moment his long nails touched the smooth handle, it turned to dust.
Mr. Gold woke to his heart firmly pounding in his throat, and his hair was matted in the thin sheen of sweat dripping down his face. It was a dream, he told himself, carefully detangling his arm from the green top sheet he'd twisted up in during his fitful sleep. He blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust to the darkness enough to see. He was in his Storybrooke home, bedroom to be precise, and not a thing was out of place in the still night.
It was just a–
The thought broke off before he could finish it as his hand slid further across the near-empty bed. "Belle," he called, his eyes searching in vain for a person that wasn't there. The bed was his own – not even an extra pillow remained to hint at another's absence. It had been a dream . . . hadn't it?
"Belle."
The sound of running water stopped the gnawing panic and drew his attention to the adjoining bathroom. The door was closed, but a sliver of artificial light escaped from beneath like a beacon of hope manifest in pale yellow illumination. The door opened and the brightness attacked his unprepared eyes for a moment before a soft 'click' returned the room to darkness, save for the red glow of the moon through the stained-glass window. Mr. Gold blinked away the blue and purple phantoms lingering in his vision and listened to footsteps approach the bed.
"Rumplestiltskin, did you say something?" Belle asked as she bent down to pick up her pillow , which had fallen to the floor.
Her silhouette came into focus first: the soft curl of her hair, now flattened from sleep; the slight slope of her shoulder; the curve of her waist as she sat down on the bed beside him. She reached out and brushed back the strands of loose hair still clinging to his face.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
His only reply was to pull Belle close and hold her in his embrace as though she might disappear into the same dust his nightmare cup did should he let go. He had to feel her, to know she was real and not a figment to torture him. Belle didn't pull away, but instead wrapped her arms around him in return.
"It's all right now," she whispered. "I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere."
It was the third night of the same nightmare. The third night he woke in a cold sweat looking for Belle. At least the first two nights she'd been there beside him to immediately remind him she was alive and safe; it was far worse to find the bed empty. When his racing heart finally settled and all the doubts his dream had created were appeased, only then did Mr. Gold release Belle.
She ran her fingers along his cheek, both as a loving gesture and to wipe away the last bit of sweat drying into grit on his skin. "Same dream again?"
He nodded. Same dream, getting more vivid each time. The first two times he woke looking for Belle, the dream faded in seconds once he was awake. This time it was still clear in his mind, perhaps since she hadn't been there to ease the fear that her return was the true dream. And now that he remembered it so clearly, Mr. Gold couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't reminding him of something he'd not had the chance to make amends for. Something he'd been hesitant to bring up for fear of what she'd say. They'd been so happy simply to be together again, neither had broached the past too deeply yet. That didn't mean all was simply forgiven, though.
"Belle . . ." Mr. Gold wrapped his hand over hers and gently brought them together atop the mattress. For a moment he just watched her, gathering his courage. Why it always wavered around those he loved, he'd never understand. But he had a second chance with Belle, and no matter what he was called or what world he was in, this time he was going to make the correct choices. The fact that she'd given him the opportunity to rectify his mistakes was more than he had the right to ask for.
A quirky little smile warmed her face while she waited for him to speak. It was the same one she used to get when she told him truths about himself that he wasn't willing to admit, and yet somehow she saw so easily. Just the same as he remembered. She was just as beautiful. He accepted it now, but he still didn't understand what he –Rumplestiltskin– could possibly have done to make a woman as good and virtuous as Belle to love him. When she squeezed his hand in a silent offering of support, he really didn't care.
"I'm sorry, Belle," Mr. Gold said quietly and with the kind of honest admission he'd show only to Belle or Baelfire. "You were right. Back then I was afraid to believe you loved me. If only I had, I never would've lost you, and the Queen would never have laid a finger on you. No matter how much I blamed everyone else for your . . ." he paused, the false fact difficult to think about even with her before him, ". . . for your death, I always knew it was my fault for throwing you out. I don't know how you can forgive me."
"Because you don't deserve it."
Even though he knew the truth, to hear Belle say it aloud hurt almost as much as losing her. He tried to pull away, but Belle held tight to his hands; it shocked Mr. Gold enough to look at her again. There was no malice or hate or even the anger that they'd once parted with in her expression, merely a knowing smile on her lips and love in her eyes.
"After I left, I thought a lot about what happened," she explained. "Sometimes it was just to remember the happiness I felt when I was with you, and other times it was to try and figure out what I could've done to make you believe me so we could've been happy together."
Her voice betrayed the old pain Belle was hiding, and for all the power he had as Rumplestiltskin or the magic regained in Mr. Gold, he knew he was helpless to take it away.
Belle reached out and urged him to look at her properly again. A sweet melancholy shone in her dark eyes. "It took a while, but I finally understood there was nothing I could've said or done that would've convinced you. And it wasn't only because you didn't believe me; you didn't think you deserved to be loved. Just like you don't think you deserve to be forgiven."
The words weren't connecting quite as fast as they normally did in his mind. He'd expected her (very valid) anger at him, or if she had forgiven him at least some residual resentment for how poorly he'd treated her declaration of love. Understanding wasn't what he was prepared for, especially when it regarded a subject he'd avidly avoided thinking about since he'd lost Baelfire.
When he said nothing, Belle continued, "Rumplestiltskin, every time I compared you to a normal man you balked and reminded me you weren't a man. You might've laughed it off, but you called yourself a monster and a beast far more than I ever did. I thought you'd see that I fell in love with the man you were; I didn't realize you only saw a monster. I wish you'd realize the monster couldn't have loved me back the way you did." Belle leaned in and kissed him, her lips lingering feather-light against his for a breath longer. "The way you do."
Rumplestiltskin had wondered how his magic would manifest itself in his Storybrooke counterpart once the True Love potion brought it back. He'd wanted to return to full power, to be Rumplestiltskin again. That was, until he saw Belle walk into his shop. Her being alive changed so many of his plans. The fact he still was Mr. Gold on the surface, bad leg and all, didn't seem as horrible when he was able to kiss her without True Love's Kiss taking away all of his power. There was still so much he had to do; he would sorely have missed such simple affection.
"You can forgive me for how I treated you?" he whispered, hoping but not fully believing what she implied.
"As long as you can promise that this time 'forever' will really be forever, and you don't expect me to stay in the house all the time," she added the last bit with a little chuckle. "Indoor plumbing aside, it's not exactly the castle life."
Mr. Gold took her face in his hands and stroked her cheeks, now pale from sleep. He could sit there admiring her all night. "You aren't my servant or prisoner anymore Belle. I love you, and all I want is your happiness. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. And this time I will protect you. No one will hurt you again if I have to use all my magic to keep you safe."
When he leaned in to kiss her she didn't resist, but neither did she return the action. He pulled away and found a sudden reservation stopping Belle from looking at him.
"What's wrong, Belle?" he asked, unsure what he said or did to garner such a reaction. The conversation had gone far better than he'd hoped, which made the shift in her demeanor all the more confusing.
"I've been wondering about that," she admitted slowly. "About how you brought the magic to this world."
He sat up a little straighter. "What about it?"
"How did you do it? I mean, I was there, but how did you get a potion from our world or know there'd be a well to use it in? How did you even remember our world? You recognized me when I was still under the curse." Belle shook her head. She wanted to know the answers, but she was afraid of the truth.
Dr. Hopper had told him to be honest when he thought he'd found Baelfire, and Mr. Gold had a feeling if he asked, the response would be the same for Belle. Unfortunately, honesty for him wasn't as easy as it seemed. He'd thought Belle was dead; he'd had nothing to lose when he'd crafted the curse, but would she understand his reasons? Would she understand he had to create it, even if it meant so many others were affected? (Not that he'd cared if they were; those 'good' people were more than happy to take his aid but when it came time to pay up, they locked him in a prison.) He'd finally gotten her back, he couldn't lose her now. After a moment of silent expectation, Mr. Gold took a deep breath to prepare himself. The damn shrink was probably right anyway.
"The Queen was the one who cast the curse," he explained, careful to choose his words wisely, "but I was the one who crafted it. I traded her the curse hoping she would use it."
Belle leaned away, her hand slipping out of his hold as the weight of his confession hit her. "Why? Why would you want to hurt so many people?"
"It was the only way to get to this world, a world without magic," he pleaded.
"Why did you want to come to a world without magic?"
Mr. Gold grabbed his cane from where it rested against his nightstand and pushed himself out of the bed. Now that he'd gotten his magic back, he might find a way to heal the bum leg Regina had saddled him with, though he admitted it gave him a sort of distinguished aura.
Across the room was a large trunk that fit perfectly in the high-class antique feel of his home. Beside it was a small, unadorned stool, which Mr. Gold carefully sat down on, as he had many, many times during the twenty-eight years he'd lived in Storybrooke. Unlatching the clasp, he opened the lid and waited for Belle to join him.
Inside were clothes that didn't belong in this modern era, that didn't belong to this world. They were plain and worn and much too small for him. Mr. Gold ran his fingers over the coarse fabric as if it were woven from his own spun gold.
"To find him." He closed his eyes and forced back the guilt and regret that threatened to overwhelm him whenever he thought of Baelfire.
Belle gently picked up the topmost garment and her eyes widened in recognition. "Your son? You said he died."
Mr. Gold shook his head and closed the lid of the trunk once Belle returned the shirt. "I said I lost him. I never told you the whole truth. I don't like reliving what happ– what I did to lose him."
"You never even told me his name." Belle sat down on the top of the trunk so she was next to him and took his hand into her lap. The confusion was still there, but compassion now opened her up to listen.
"Baelfire," he said. Like his own personal spell, the name alone softened his voice, and Mr. Gold found himself squeezing Belle's hand for support. "He was all that mattered to me. I took the power of the Dark One in order to protect him, to keep them from sending him off to die in a meaningless war. I was willing to do anything for Bae."
Belle leaned against him so he could feel her presence. "What happened?"
"Bae hated my magic. He said it changed me and begged me to find a way to get rid of it." Mr. Gold stopped his story abruptly and yanked his hand from Belle's hold. He stood up and began pacing the room to avoid looking at her.
"Rumplestiltskin?"
"I'm not a very fast learner, apparently," he sneered to himself, his knuckles white against the smooth handle of the cane. "I dismissed your fears the same as I dismissed his."
Belle didn't move from her spot on the trunk; instead, she patiently watched him limp around the bed and back again. "How'd he get to this world?"
Mr. Gold stopped moving and leaned against the cane. Somehow talking to its unblemished black surface was easier than admitting what he'd done to Belle. "The Blue Fairy gave Bae a way to come to this world, where the Dark One's magic wouldn't exist. All I wanted was for Bae to be happy, so I agreed to come, but when the moment came I couldn't do it. I couldn't give up the power, and Bae ended up in this world, without me. The moment the portal closed I knew I'd made a terrible mistake, the power was meaningless without him, but there was no way to follow. I've spent my entire life since searching for a way to come here and find him. Now that the curse is broken and my magic's returned, I will find him."
"You always meant for the curse to be broken?"
"Until the curse was broken I couldn't go looking for him. I crafted the curse to be broken."
"Why not make a smaller curse for yourself? Why give it to the Queen to use?" Belle asked.
"I didn't have what was necessary to cast it. All magic comes at a price, Belle. This curse required the caster to sacrifice someone they loved. Until you arrived I'd loved no one but Bae," he paused, leaning in to caress her cheek, "and even if I'd known you were alive, I wouldn't have been able to sacrifice you. I used the Queen's lust for revenge to get me closer to finding my son."
Belle remained silent, so Mr. Gold turned away to give her a few minutes to absorb everything he'd told her. If being honest made her leave, he'd make sure to find a way to turn that asinine shrink back into a cricket just so he could hear his little bones crack when he squashed him.
"So," she began hesitantly, making him freeze as he listened, "the worst curse anyone's ever seen . . . was made out of love?"
Mr. Gold eyed Belle curiously. He'd never quite thought of it that way. He'd only wanted to find Baelfire. "I suppose so."
The stagnant silence hung between them again like a foul wind neither wished to cross. Did Belle accept what he'd done? Was she trying to rationalize it to herself so she could stay, or was hurting the entire world (even if they wanted him trapped for eternity, which she didn't know) too much for her to forgive? She was like Baelfire, she thought the magic was evil. But she loved him . . . she'd said she still loved him. Would everyone's true love win out except his?
"I can't agree with cursing everyone," Belle said, not lifting her eyes to meet his waiting gaze, "and I've never had a child, so I can't imagine what losing one must feel like, but I know what it felt like when I lost you. Some nights I would have done anything to go back to the way we were. And I know you. I've always known there was a touch of evil that clouded your actions, so I can't say it entirely surprises me."
Mr. Gold sat on the edge of the bed, his hands twisting over the cane handle until the muscles ached from the strain. "Belle."
She held up a hand to quiet him. She wasn't finished. "But I think we're past the point where I can be angry about it. What's done is done, and a part of me is happy because we're finally together again. And I want to think that the evil didn't come back with your magic – that that's the reason True Love's Kiss doesn't affect you here."
Belle rose, crossing the ribbon of red moonlight shining through the small stained-glass window to settle on the bed next to him. Whether by intention or by the way their weight pressed in on the mattress, Belle leaned against him completely, and when she pried one of his hands from its grip on the cane, Mr. Gold felt himself relax into her half-made embrace.
"Let's just start over, Rumplestiltskin. Whatever kind of world we've ended up in, we're together, and I'm not willing to give that up again for something I can't change. I love you too much to walk away again, not without a fight."
Belle barely caught the sly grin on his lips before he pulled her flush against him and kissed her much too far from pure and innocent to be considered True Love's Kiss. "You say that as if I'm ever going to let you go," Mr. Gold whispered.
He hadn't realized how much he needed to hear from Belle herself that his past mistakes were forgotten, if not forgiven. Storybrooke would be a new start for them. Emboldened by the revelation, Mr. Gold urged his love back onto the bed as his hand found the supple curve of her waist beneath the cotton nightgown she wore.
"Don't you need to be up in the morning?" she asked, so breathless it was more invitation than question.
He tossed aside an errant curl clinging to her eyelashes and leaned in until his lips brushed her own when he spoke. "I think I could use another reminder you're real."
Neither cared to retrieve the cane, which soon clattered to the floor, abandoned. They'd find it in the morning.