Gold pocketed the thing that had always been a part of his plan; that heinously colored liquid in its twee glass vial - True Love, distilled. A magic so powerful and rare that he had run around the Enchanted Forest like a manic matchmaker for years just to create his own supply. As always, the best laid plans took the longest time to pay off.

He was heading out to put the liquid to the use it had been born for, when a pesky customer came in asking for him, and when he hurriedly turned around to shoo them away, it seemed - somehow - impossibly - to be Belle.

She was not a part of the plan. She never had been.

Until just a few weeks ago, Belle hadn't crossed Gold's mind for the better part of twenty-eight years. Twenty-nine or thirty, if you counted the time before the curse. But he couldn't count that really. He had thought about her then, in his weaker moments, before all the gears he had so carefully assembled began turning, before he became sure he would succeed. After the curse it became much easier. He employed all his wits and schemes to torment the town, but that he could have done while half asleep - the deeper parts of his mind, more susceptible to trouble and regret, were peacefully blank. No Belle, and very little Baelfire - no one. He assumed that all sentiments involving them were still safe within his far less conscious heart, whatever part of that was not yet blackened and useless. But just in case, he had Baelfire's clothes to store his memory, and Belle's silly little chipped cup.

And then the cup went missing, which was unacceptable. It shouldn't have mattered; keeping the chipped cup safe would never make up for letting Belle die. But for him it served a very particular function, like a seal over that specific vault of guilt. Whenever he did feel a wee bit guilty, or worse, when he remembered those feelings she had accused of being love, he ran his fingers over the smooth China like serving penance, and forgot.

When he saw that the cup had been among those items stolen from his home, his delightful calm of twenty-eight years fried to a crisp. Why? Did it remind him he was not in control of his sins, his past, or his memories, during this time when control was an absolute necessity? Or did it remind that his slightest weaknesses, trifling and symbolic as they might be, could always be exploited? In that way it was a valuable lesson. He could never be too guarded. There was no such thing as too strong a show of force, even to protect even his smallest trinkets. The world was full of enemies.

The main one, of course, being Regina. She had been the culprit in the case of the missing cup, which should have been obvious. It had been no random theft by a distressed Storybrooke debtor, but a calculated move, by someone who somehow knew. Regina, it turned out, was more observant than he gave her credit for, which was hardly a pleasant thought. He'd never assumed Belle, let alone her cup, had made much of an impression on her. But oh how she had loved lording it over him. That malicious grin, which he usually found so juvenile and harmless, had made him want to wring her blasted neck.

In the end, all she had wanted was his name: his real name. He spoke it, and in doing so confessed that he remembered what came before the curse, and that he had always remembered, and that he had always planned to remember. Fine. He had been teasing her with that knowledge for years. It was frankly disappointing that it had taken her that long to get it out of him, and with The Savior in town she would have found out sooner or later. She handed the cup back to him, and he felt his calm return. For now he had back the little thing he wanted, and he snarled a warning to her: if she thought this gave her any kind of of upper hand, she was sadly mistaken. When the stakes grew higher, he would most certainly not let himself be toyed with.

Right at this second the stakes were the highest they had been in - how long? Centuries. And he was threatening to tear in two. Belle was standing in his shop - alive.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Gold?" She asked.

She looked bedraggled and lost, like a perfect ghost, with mussed hair and pale, sickly skin. But she didn't look supernatural. Her eyes, ever searching, ever intelligent, took in all the details of the room. She idly ran her fingers on the counter, and he could sense their weight. She felt so present, right in front of him.

"You're alive," he said. Like an idiot.

Belle looked down at herself to verify. "Uh, yep, looks like it."

He wanted to laugh at her, and he wanted to cry. How was this happening?

"So, are you Mr. Gold? I was told to come find Mr. Gold."

"Yes, yes, I'm he." So she didn't remember. Of course she didn't. That is, not yet. But any moment now…"And who are you, my dear?" He kept his voice as steady as possible.

"I...I'm not totally sure. I know that sounds crazy." She looked down, mildly embarrassed, which was adorable. She had no idea what crazy was. "I've been in the hospital...for a while. I can't really remember before that. I was told to tell you, 'Regina locked me up.' Does that mean anything to you?"

Oh, did it ever. It meant Regina was dead. Fifty individual ways to murder her came into his head at once. As soon as he could get his hands on magic...

Yes. Focus. He needed to get to that well. There was a narrow window of time to do what needed to be done. And not just to crush Regina, though that would certainly be enjoyable. Everything depended on these next few minutes. Full concentration was required.

Which was hard, with a good half of his brain dumbstruck at Belle's existence, and then another significant portion occupied with wondering what she would do when she regained her memories. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms. He wasn't sure what he would say, what he wanted her to think. He hadn't had time to strategize for this. But the idea of waiting a second longer than necessary to see her again, to see her fully herself again - the suspense of that would be torture. At the moment when she remembered, he would have to be with her.

Was he sure she was real? He was tempted to reach out and grasp her, to see if she would dissolve.

But he didn't.

"The person - the boy - who let me go, he said that you would protect me? Protect me from what?"

Henry? Had he read about Belle in that damn book? The idea of that little boy meddling in his affairs made his blood boil slightly. But he couldn't exactly blame the lad for freeing Belle from Regina's clutches.

"From something...very bad. But you don't need to worry about that now. Right now, you just need to come with me."

Belle nodded, totally trusting, and followed him out of the shop as he headed towards the woods. How long would that trust last, once she remembered who he was? If she remembered. If Emma did what she needed to do to break the curse - otherwise those memories were lost forever. He had always trusted the prophecy - The Savior was destined to break the Dark Curse, with or without his help. Still, maybe he should have left her a little bit of this potion, in case she wasn't the kissing type. He had never felt so invested in the question before. He could carry out his plan regardless - he would get his magic back. But this Belle situation...was another matter entirely.

He couldn't bring himself to look back at her, even as his pace grew faster and he heard her struggling to keep up. If he looked back once he would look back every second, trying to catch the moment when she realized, when she recognized him. What would she do, what would she say, what would she do...Don't think about it. Look forward, don't look back.

Up ahead he could see the well, the one piece of magic he had managed to build into this world - with the water that could "restore what one had lost." He couldn't lose sight of that. He longed to feel the magic coursing through his veins again. He longed to look behind him.

The two of them reached the well, and without thinking he withdrew the vial, eager to get things over with.

Belle stared at the swirling liquid with wide eyes.

"What...what is that?" She didn't remember magic, couldn't name it, but she could tell that this strange substance did not belong in this world. "Should you...have that?"

"Don't worry about it," he told her, a little more harshly than he'd intended, and quickly tossed True Love down the well.

"What are you doing?"

He had to ignore her, just for a minute. This needed to be done now. When the spell broke, Regina was sure to come after him, with whatever she had left. He would need to be ready with magic of his own.

And when Belle got her memories back, and, possibly, hated him, he would want magic inside him. To strengthen him. To remind him what was most important.

A rich purple smoke began rising in a spiral from the depths of the well. He could feel the energy radiating from it. He remembered that vibration. Before it had buzzed inside him like a second pulse. He breathed in deeply, purple wisps wafting up his nostrils towards his brain.
The more magic he took in, the more alive his body felt. More grounded, more secure, more solid, and yet sprier, lighter. His fingers tingled with their renewed ability to extend force through waves of magic. How had he coped for 28 years - even frozen-in-time years - of being unable to reach beyond his measly human frame?

The smoke kept coming and coming. All the magic he'd possessed, back in his other life. Had there really been so much of it? No matter. If extra made it over he would take that too. There was no reason to let a drop go to waste, and no reason anyone else should have it. He could have all the magic to himself, if he could just drink it in as quickly as it was coming...and there was certainly no reason to stop, when it felt so rejuvenating. He opened his mouth wide, scooped the magic in…

If he had glanced at Belle, he would have seen her staring in horror at this spectacle. A strange man sucking purple vapor from a hole in the ground is not exactly the first sight a girl dreams of seeing after untold time in captivity. But, briefly, the intoxicating flow of magic made him forget her. It was only when he looked up at the sound of twigs snapping underfoot that he realized she had left his side.

Gone. She had been there, with him, real, for this tiny sliver of time, and now she was gone, again. He had scared her off. Was she still near? She couldn't have gotten far...He scanned the trees frantically, but saw no sign.

"Belle!" He cried out, before remembering that the name meant nothing to her. You're missing your chance, dearie. Any moment now she'll know exactly who you are. And you'll miss it. He had to go after her.

But...the magic. It was still coming in seductive waves. Had he taken in enough of it? And more importantly, what would happen if it reached the others? He didn't need magical rivals in this land. He wanted - needed - all of it. For this next stage of the plan, he needed all the power he could get. It was coming fast now. The smoke was thick, almost choking him. He might have to let some of it go. But if he could just drink a little longer…

Which memory would back come to Belle first, he wondered in the background, through the cloud of purple. When he, the most wicked sorcerer in all the land, had instinctively caught her as she fell from that ladder, then stared down at her, wondering why he had just done that? When she'd been so very concerned about chipping the cup, like she'd done him some injury? Or maybe when he'd sneered at her, "It's simple, dearie: My power. Means more to me. Than you."

As if to reinforce the point, a particularly strong billow of smoke rushed up through the well and into him, making his pulse points tingle. The glow of magic began to push outward from within him. A tiny bit more, and a cloak of magic might hover over him always, like a suit of armor...power was definitely very nice.

No, that's not it, said the voice of Belle, which had been lying in wait, all these years, in his head. You're a coward. No matter how thick you make your skin, that doesn't change.

That might be the moment she remembered first. When she had held her head high, and called him a coward, and left.

Damn it.

He tore himself from the well, with great difficulty.

"Belle?" He shouted. "Belle? Belle!"

He ran, sure that he was much too late to catch her now. The smoke only increased, washing the over forest, gathering speed like a flood of water, rushing towards town. This was clearly more magic than he had ever possessed. It was soon impossible to see between the trees, and then there was nothing but a sea of magic. With his newfound strength he tried to shove the purple clouds aside, but battling pure magic was a tricky task, and there was much too much, moving much too fast...

Everything was slipping through his fingers now. Magic was flying right into Regina's waiting hands, and Belle...she was so close, but he couldn't get to her. All he could think to do was call her name.

"Belle! Belle! Belle!"

Over and over, and nothing breaking the silence but the rush of magic past his ears, growing louder.

"Belle! I'm here! Can you hear me?"

Finally, faintly, he thought he heard her voice, though he couldn't be sure he wasn't imagining it. As quiet as it was, it was sweet to hear her say his name.

"Rumpelstiltskin?"