Author's Note: Ok, instead of writing a long, involved, novel length fiction that I'll probably never actually finish, I decided to go with a series of one shots on this one. Because honestly, Rumbelle is just too amazing and inspirational to ignore. And deserves so much more fluff! Though be warned they won't all be so fluffy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Once Upon A Time, Disney, ABC, or the wonderful Mr. Carlyle and Ms. De Ravine.

Reviews are love!

Mr. Gold flinched with every step he took. The tap-tap of his cane on the slate sidewalk was more irritating than usual today. Don't get him wrong, there were many things Rumpelstiltskin enjoyed about being Mr. Gold- the large house, the hdtv that took up an entire wall, microwaves, his beautiful, black leather interiored car. But then there were the things he detested about being 'human'- the fact that he could feel his magic dancing at the edges of his consciousness, tickling his fingertips, yet not being able to use more of it than it took to say, immobilize a large man long enough to duct tape his hands and feet together.

And he hated his limp. That much-hated, long lost reminder of the coward he really was, that shot pains through his body when the weather turned damp, and prevented him from walking even a few feet without his walking stick. The stick that he thought he'd given up forever, so long ago. One of the few perks of being The Dark One.

But here in Storybrooke he couldn't summon the strength of magic to heal his hobbled knee, and the tap-tap was a constant reminder. Absently tossing the bangs of his shoulder-length straight hair out of his eyes, a flash of black suit out of the corner of his eye sent his mood spiraling even darker. He did not have the patience to deal with The Evil Queen today, he really did not. It had been a mere two days since he had beaten Moe French to within an inch of his life and found himself back behind bars. Again.

Although it wasn't like he'd been there long. It had taken him less than an hour to call in a favor or two and sidle out of the sheriff's station without even a wrinkle in his suit, clutching a chipped teacup as though it held the answers to life itself.

And here, he thought, we get to the crux of the matter. That damned chipped cup. He'd managed to ignore it for exactly four months, five days, and 7 hours when it had been taken from him. He'd thought he was getting better at dealing with Belle's (he forced himself to think it) death- he'd had 28 years to work on it after all. But his rage at discovering the cup's disappearance- it was like no time had passed at all, the wounds on his heart still has fresh and hemorrhaging as they were when Regina's oily voice first imparted the fateful news.

He didn't know if he could handle hearing that voice again right now. Not that she ever cared what anyone else wanted, for here she was now, slowing to a stop a foot from him where he had paused beside Granny's Diner.

"Mr. Gold" she began, the tones of her voice dripping with barely concealed poison. "Recovering nicely from your jail stay?"

The pearly whites of her teeth as her lips curled back in a cruel smile reminded him of a shark. Still- he was a monster in his own right, and no shark would see his composure shake.

"Quite nicely, thank you. If anything, a few hours of peace and quiet after my…workout…were quite welcome."

If her teeth were a sharks', his were daggers. If her voice dripped honeyed poison, his spat stinging venom. Normally he could scrape up at least a little bit of disdainful amusement from their little banters, but today he just wanted her to go away. Before he strangled her himself, breaking the curse be damned.

Regina's smile faded a bit at his glib response. His ability to keep his cool always had rattled the hell out of her. Gold bit back a smirk- ok, maybe there was a faint trace of amusement to be had. And he did so love the look on her face when he said please.

But he was also tired, and his knee was throbbing, and he wanted this conversation to be over with so he could go home and wallow in his sorrows, in his empty heart and chipped cup. Because in a strange way that's what she'd told him to do and by now he was clutching every single thing he had left of her, everything she said and done and looked like and oh gods, tasted like! as close to him as he possibly could and it was one of the few things he could actually do.

Without moving towards the Evil Bitch an inch, he pushed his power out to shove against hers, his brown eyes narrowing into a threatening glare that had made more than one royal quiver in their boots.

"I'm not in the mood today Regina. You've had your fun, and you're bloody curse is still intact. Everyone is fucking miserable except you. But by the gods I swear if you ever touch that cup again, I will slit your throat myself. Don't ever steal any of my things again…please." His smirk was definitely more of a snarl now.

Regina's eyes had widened with shock and her throat had jumped with an almost imperceptible gulp at the wrath in every line of his face. But she wasn't one to back down easily either, and her nature demanded a parting shot as she turned to walk away.

"I still don't see what's so important about a damned chipped cup. It's just a piece of junk. She's dead Gold, and even you can't ever bring her back."

Her smile was full of absolute glee as his back straightened with shock, her words hitting him like a knife in his gut. He knew that she knew what tortured him the most, the exact words to use to extract the most pain. He knew she was dead, damn it! The knowledge had been on a constant, agonizing loop in his mind for over 28 years. Regina felt him grab for his power only to have to dance out of his grip and chuckled just a bit as she sauntered towards her office. He was powerless against her here. And oh, how she relished it!

Gold glared at her back, still trying to grab enough power to send a lightning bolt through her heart, or summon an anvil to drop on her head, or give her a broken back, or a fucking twisted ankle- anything! But it was no use; her power was still too strong.

Later he would admit to himself, but never aloud, that he nearly jumped out of his perfectly tailored suit when Emma Swann's voice cut into his thoughts. She was standing right by the diner door, for gods knew how long, and he hadn't even noticed! Maybe he really was getting old. He couldn't remember the last time someone had snuck up on him successfully.

"She was lying you know," she said, with an absolute certainty that made him raise a brow at her. She tugged a golden lock of hair out of her face and slurped at her hot chocolate.

"What do you mean?" Old he may be getting, but his mind was still as sharp as ever. Sharp enough to know when to listen anyway. He knew who Emma was, and he knew that she had magic. And he may have overheard Henry talking about her 'superpower'. Smart boy, that one.

"When she said 'she's dead Gold, and even you can't ever bring her back'. She was lying through her goddamn teeth. I don't know who she was talking about, but whoever she is, she's alive."

To say those were the last words Gold had expected to hear would have been the understatement of the century, of the goddamn millennia. They penetrated his brain and kind of rattled around in an incomprehensible numbness. He had dreamed of such similar words for so long- to hear that she was still alive, that she had been resurrected by the curse, that she had escaped from the tower in the first place (without jumping from it)- that to actually hear them in waking hours was…dumbfounding. In a daze he realized that his walking stick had clattered to the ground and she was holding it out to him with such sincere concern on her face he could've laughed. To think there were still such good people in the world. Still, he had to hear the words again, to make sure he wasn't dreaming them.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a strangled voice.

It was her turn to raise a brow at him. "Of course I'm sure. I always know when someone's lying. Especially her."

The gears whirred in Gold's mind. She wasn't dead. Belle wasn't dead. Belle wasn't fucking dead. Regina had obviously locked her away somewhere, and he had to find her. Oh gods, he'd left her for all that time- to suffer who knew what. He'd never even looked for her, so caught up was he in feeling how much he deserved the pain of her death, for casting her away. He had to find her, had to free her. He made a decision.

"Sheriff Swann, I'm finally calling in that favor you owe me." His voice was now steel, it brooked no room for argument or dissention. Luckily Emma Swann wasn't in an arguing mood. She hated owing favors, and she'd been waiting for him to cash his in for a long time. Besides, she had a feeling she'd be helping a good cause. At the very least it would piss off Regina, and anything that pissed her off had to be good.

"It's about damn time," she said, lips curling into a Cheshire Cat grin. "What do you want me to do?"