Miles to Go Before We Sleep
Chapter Two
Belle stumbled.
Her footing in the forest had been firm, but that was when she had been picking her way over tree roots and uneven terrain. When Rumplestiltskin pronounced their deal struck, she simply wasn't there anymore.
She was in the Great Hall of the Dark Castle, surrounded by a familiar collection of magical trophies illuminated by softly glowing candlelight.
Her feet had not been positioned for a level floor or plush carpeting. He had given her no warning that he intended to transport them. Rumplestiltskin's magic was like that; all dramatics and flash or so sudden it was over before you knew it had begun. There was no inbetween. Belle overbalanced, then righted herself. Rumplestiltskin's arm hung in the air, as though he had reached out to steady her and upon seeing there was no need did not know what to do with himself.
Within her, something snapped.
Belle threw her arms around him, pressing the entire length of her body against his. She held him for a heartbeat, then another, and finally, his own arms curled around her. Rumplestiltskin did not hug by half-measures. He held her fast, his claws biting into her shoulder and hip. They were not so sharp as to cut through her tunic, but there was a hard, thin pressure to them. The desperate grasp of them made her feel nearly as wanted as the way he pressed his face into her hair.
Rumplestiltskin had missed her.
Perhaps, he had even missed her with the same heartbroken yearning she had missed him.
It was a long, long time before he raised his head, but when he did, Belle leaned toward him, her lips parted.
Rumplestiltskin dropped her and jerked back.
"What?"
Holding his palms outstretched before him like shields, he said, "None of that now!"
"I—I don't understand." Belle's brow furrowed. "You came for me. You chose me."
"Well," he protested, too casual, too cavalier, "you were rather insistent."
She frowned. "So you only came because I summoned you." Then why had he held her so tightly? "I thought that was just part of the legend—saying your name three times. I didn't think it was true."
He crinkled his nose. "Let's just say I know when I'm wanted."
She wished to cover her face, hide her embarrassment and disappointment. So, she tugged on the hem of her tunic with the pretense of straightening it. She would give him anger and defiance and disinterest, but her heartbreak was not for him. She would not give in to the temptation to hide. "I should go. This was a mistake. I didn't even think you would come."
"Well, I did."
Belle heard the echoing slam of the doors closing with unnatural force. Rumplestiltskin had brought her here via magic; the doors should not have even been open to begin with. Was he making a point, or having a magically-assisted temper tantrum now that she wanted to leave?
"We made a deal," he added tersely. "I upheld my end and I expect you to uphold yours. I am owed a story." He glanced at her. Her expression must be stony because he looked away. "And, should you decide you are no longer in such a hurry to depart after it is told, I may be able to find accommodations for a guest."
Belle pursed her lips. Rumplestiltskin didn't break deals and he was not about to allow anyone else to do so. That his magic would not permit her to leave until she told him a story was clear enough. The assertion she did not have to rush out the door once she was finished was as close to an invitation to stay as she was likely to get.
She wanted more. She wanted to be chosen, she wanted him to ask her to stay. She wanted him to welcome her kiss instead of flinch from it.
He had been alone a long time. Probably, she reflected, longer than she had been alive. In all her reading about the Dark One, Belle had never been able to determine a precise age for any of them. Rumplestiltskin had been the Dark One for centuries, just one name on a list stretching back a millennia. Though the history books did not care enough about the lives of Dark Ones to get specific about their origins, Belle could not credit the idea that she was the first in centuries to realize that they were people instead of some breed of evil creature all their own.
It would be unfair to expect him to break habits older than her in a moment. He was a lonely man who had forgotten how to be anything else. He was offering less than what she wanted, but he was offering something. It was a start. Not as much as she hoped for, but more than she expected when she started calling his name in the woods.
No one had promised her True Love would be easy.
Belle moved to sit on the table like she used to. Rumplestiltskin watched her get settled, then warily approached and leaned next to her.
She wasn't sure where to begin her story. The first thing she said was, "I defeated a Yaoguai."
No flicker of admiration or pride crossed his face. "That's the story?"
"Aren't you curious to know more?"
"Hm." With a dramatic uptick of his voice, he cried, "Let me guess—you marched into his lair, divined his secrets through some innate resourcefulness of your own and restored his human form."
Belle gaped.
He bumped her shoulder, his flair gone as quickly as it came. "I am familiar with Maleficent's work. All told, it seems like a normal day for you, my dear. Not sure why you are so eager to tell it."
"Let me tell the whole thing:"
Belle began with Dreamy's gift of fairy dust (which made him protest that she should not have taken it, for all injustice in the world stemmed from fairies), how what he called 'innate resourcefulness' in this case turned out to be the ability to read multiple languages (which reminded him, he had a few scrolls that needed translating, if she didn't mind…) and how the Yaoguai turned out to be Prince Phillip (which he apparently already knew).
When she was finished, he asked, eyebrows comically popped, "You weren't planning on throwing fairy dust on me, were you?"
Belle laughed. "You, I was hoping to kiss."
Rumplestiltskin licked his lips and hopped off the table. He spun to face her and flicked her nose with the pad of his finger. "True Love is the most powerful magic there is. Don't go playing around with it. It's dreadfully dangerous stuff."
She caught his hand and held it between both of hers. "Is it? Then you should like it."
"Oh, I do. I'm a big fan of True Love."
"Then why won't you let me kiss you?"
He tugged his hand out of her grasp. "My power. I need it."
Belle set her jaw. "No. You don't. What you need is to have faith you can be happy if you let it go."
Rumplestiltskin shuffled. "What I said before, about caring more about my power than you"—
"That was a lie!"
He clasped his hands, wrung his fingers. "I know that's what you want to think, but"—
In a sweeping motion, Belle stood. "I am not going to do this again." Now that she had told a story, the doors should open for her. Dawn was a long way off, but the village was not far and the walk wouldn't be dangerous. Most of the path was within the gates of the Dark Castle itself. Once she had a room at the inn, she could get some sleep and decide what her next move was now that it had become abundantly clear again that her True Love was determined to ensure he remained a hopeless endeavor.
"It's for my son."
Belle froze.
"I lost him, but I will find him. Belle, I can't do that without my power."
"What—what are you talking about?" Had lost not simply been a kinder word for dead?
"My son. Baelfire is his name. All of this," Rumplestiltskin spread out his arms, gesturing to the collection that adorned the Great Hall, "has been for him. To find him."
In her astonishment, Belle's feet walked themselves to his side. "Where, what happened to him?"
Rumplestiltskin flexed his clawed, scaled hands. "My boy did not like what his father had become."
Belle was silent.
"So, we made a deal: if Bae could find a way to break my curse that did not harm either of us, I would allow it."
Belle resumed her place on the table. "True Love's Kiss can break any curse. Parents and children—?"
"We were—I was a novice, then. Whatever magical solutions my curse provided, I was happy to use, but I had no knowledge of magic beyond what it provided. We didn't know about the power of True Love.
"Somehow, Bae got it in his head that the Blue Fairy would help him." He made a derisive noise in the back of his throat. "All she did was convince him we needed to leave this realm."
Belle tilted her head. "What happened?"
Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. Raggedly, he said, "What happened is I am a coward. He opened a portal to a realm without magic and I was afraid. My boy fell through that portal, alone. The Dark One can do many, many things, but realm jumping is beyond my abilities. I must follow him. I must! If you—if I let you take my power, I will never see my Baelfire again."
Belle's mind raced. She knew magic beans were unheard of now; they had been extinct since the Giant War. Mermaids could travel freely between realms, but their prejudice against humans was well-known. Even the Dark One was unlikely to be able to make a deal with one of them. Then again, the Dark One was unlikely to be a devoted parent or a hesitant lover and he was both of those things. Perhaps mermaids were not as unreasonable as the accounts of sailors would have her believe.
Belle forced herself not to get carried away. She had just heard of this problem. Rumplestiltskin had been trying to overcome it for untold decades.
"Do you know of a way to get there?"
"I know of a curse."
Belle frowned. "I don't think another curse is the answer."
"It is. The Blue Fairy herself did not deny it. The visions of a seer confirmed it."
"But you're still here, with magic."
"I can't cast the curse. I had it in my possession for some time. Your friend Maleficent has it now, if I'm not mistaken, but she shall not be the one to cast it either."
Her head shaking, Belle asked, "So, what, you're just waiting for someone to take it from her?" That couldn't be right. Rumplestiltskin had said all of his dealing and collecting was for his son. Waiting did not require power or contacts, just patience.
He seemed affronted. "I'm not going to leave my most precious curse up to chance! No, no, someone will take it from her when the time is right."
"And when will that be?"
"This curse is a prison. When it is cast, everyone in its path shall be trapped in time. No aging, no death, nothing. Although I shall be in the Land Without Magic, I won't be able to find Bae as long as the curse persists. Before it is cast, I must ensure the person destined to break it has been set on their path. That, I have yet to do, but I believe the time is drawing nearer."
That made a bit more sense. His deals and manipulations were to put the curse caster and the curse breaker on their paths. Belle chewed her lip. "And then you will be an ordinary man, and with your son?"
"Indeed." Rumplestiltskin sighed. "If Bae can forgive me. I know things don't always work out the way we want them to."
Belle slipped her hands around one of his. "This will. I have a good feeling about it."
Rumplestiltskin chuckled. A real one, warm and inviting. "Optimism already?"
"Faith."
Jean didn't like guns.
It hadn't been much of a revelation that Gold kept a (loaded!) gun in his house and another in his shop. Mr. Gold's particular presentation of power had always included the threat of violence along with his tailored suits and controlled, intense voice. Still, Jean doubted he had ever actually shot anyone. Time stood still in Storybrooke. Everyone was a prisoner and nothing changed. No one died. In Jean's mind, there was a distinction between the threat of force and the use of force, but perhaps this was not a time when it should be applied. Though not entirely unwilling to stay his hand, the Dark One's penchant for violence was hardly theoretical.
Jean was not precisely a pacifist. The list of occasions she considered force justified was short, the list for deadly force blank. She was not about to consider shooting anyone, so to take one of his guns for protection seemed pointless.
In the Enchanted Forest, this would have been a blazing argument. Rumple would have insisted Belle protect herself. Belle would have explained that preventing violence was a better avenue to keep herself safe. Villains, Rumple would say, could not be reasoned with, and she would point out that she reasoned with him all the time. (But then, he was not the villain in her story, he was the love interest and that meant the rules were different.)
In Storybrooke, Jean's office building was shared by three other professionals and the walls were thin. Miss O'Hara and Mr. Gold did not care enough about one another to argue passionately on any subject. He came to discuss his bookkeeping and tax forms. By necessity, the conversation was quieter and that led to a general diffusion of passion as they presented their points.
Which was generally:
Gold insisted she take the gun.
Sitting politely behind her desk, twirling a pen, Jean refused.
Sitting stiff on the other side, his cane held before him, Gold pressed.
Jean refused.
Gold pressed.
Jean refused.
Gold suggested an alternative.
Jean raised her eyebrows.
"I want you to have the gun," he said for what felt like the hundredth time, "for your own protection. If Regina corners you, you can't summon me to come save you."
With her free hand, Jean held up her cell phone. "Almost as good."
"But not as immediate."
Drat, he was right.
"I still don't need a gun. I'm not going to shoot anyone."
"Yes." He sounded vexed that she remained steadfastly opposed to murder. "I gathered. Which is why I am proposing an alternate solution in the form of Emma Swan."
Jean furrowed her brow. "The Savior? She's here to break the curse, not be my bodyguard."
"Miss Swan is the only person in this town, present company excluded, not under Regina's thrall. As long as you are in Miss Swan's company, any attempt Regina makes on your person will prompt retaliation."
Emma Swan had already made waves in town, but they did not know very much about her character. The part of Jean that railed against needing to be protected from Gold's paranoia wanted to protest that they knew nothing about Emma or if she would retaliate. She had been burdened with the responsibility of breaking the curse—something she was in no hurry to do, by the looks of it—but that did not mean she was looking to pick fights with Regina.
But then Jean would remember the apple tree.
Emma Swan had no compunctions about getting into scuffles with the mayor.
"Okay. How?"
Gold raised his eyebrows. "Your apartment has two bedrooms."
"And how would you suggest I go about asking a total stranger to move in with me?" Had the situation not been so dire, she could have turned this into a flirtation. After all, Rumple had essentially done precisely that when they met.
"One perk of the curse," Gold answered, oblivious to Jean's train of thought, "is that no one is aware they have been doing everything precisely the same every day for twenty-eight years. The people at the newspaper think they run different vacancy advertisements. No one will find it strange if you place one seeking a roommate."
"That's no guarantee Emma will answer my ad."
"She will if she's looking for a place to stay and there are no other ads."
"Tricky, Mr. Landlord. But we don't know that she's looking for a place."
"She's Henry's birth mother. Regina won't allow her to stay at Granny's indefinitely. She wants her gone."
Idly, Jean sighed, "I wonder what mayors are like in towns that aren't controlled by an evil queen."
Gold reached across the desk to take her hand. "We'll find out."
She smiled. Someday, they would have the freedom to hold hands whenever they wanted. To kiss and make love and search for Bae and explore this strange world without magic. But first, Jean had a phone call to make.
True to Gold's word, when Jean called the newspaper office, no one found it strange that she wished to buy space in the classifieds to advertise for a roommate. The fellow on the phone reminded her of herself: bored professionalism.
Jean snapped her cell phone shut. "They say the waiting list is two weeks long."
Gold drummed his fingers on his cane. "Let me see what I can do."
Necessity forced him to leave not long after. Parting, Jean was sure, would be easier if they could seal their good-byes with touches and romantic sentiments, but Gold was understandably wary of letting themselves get too accustomed to indulging themselves. Kissing behind closed doors was sure to bleed out into the rest of their lives in some form or fashion. If Regina was looking for indications that the imp lurked beneath Mr. Gold's skin, awake and acting against her, to reach for Belle as though it was natural would be as clear a sign as if he announced to the entire town that his name was Rumplestiltskin.
Her routine for the rest of the evening was much the same as it ever had been. That was Storybrooke. Nothing changed.
The next morning, she awoke to find a voicemail on her phone. The Daily Mirror had run her ad after all. Jean pulled on her robe and shuffled to the hallway to fetch her copy of the paper. Sure enough, she opened to the classifieds and found her ad. Gold must have called to remove some of his own to make room. There was no sense in running ads for properties that would never be filled. No one in this town ever moved.
In fact, her eyes raking over the different homes available, Jean thought her ad was the only one at all reasonable for a single woman looking for temporary accommodations. Fully furnished, utilities included and because it was a roommate situation, the rent was half of what apartments with comparable square footage asked for. And if that alone was not enough, with Gold wanting her to stay with Jean, he could make unreasonable demands with regard to the lease to push her in that direction should Emma choose something else. If the Savior still had a home and a job back at where ever it was she came from, just asking for first and last month's rent upfront might be enough to put her off a solo situation.
Jean's walk to work was more cheerful than it had ever been. Just being proactive about something felt amazing. The rest of the town might not feel it yet, but change had arrived.
At precisely 10:13 AM, Jean's mobile rang. "Jean O'Hara speaking."
The voice on the other end was not a familiar one. She wasn't expecting it to be. No one called at 10:13. "Hi, I'm calling about the ad."
"Hi! I'm so glad to hear from someone!"
"My name is Emma. Emma Swan."
This chapter presented to you by the beta stylings of Darthmelyanna, plot accompaniment by Ramurphy2005.