The telephone rings. An annoying, sharp BRRIIING BRRIIING, one that makes Mr. Gold wish he had disconnected his telephone line years ago. An uncivilized way of communication, irritating someone until they finally decided to answer, and even then, picking up the phone without knowing who was calling. His policy was never to make deals over the phone, only in person, when he can stare someone in the eye and make sure they are telling the truth, sincere in their promise to keep up their end of the contract.
Even so, he has been waiting for this call for two days. After another BRRRIIING that makes him wish he were deaf as well as crippled, he answers. "Hello," he says, never having been one for pleasantries.
"Mr. Gold." Regina's clipped tone is too recognizable on the other end. "Is this a convenient time for you?"
He sets the phone down, limps to the front shop-door without even taking the time to grab his cane for aid. Flicks the "Open" sign around, to "Closed." Back at the desk, he picks up the phone again. "Yes."
"Good. I'm bringing something over you might like to take a look at. As I told you earlier, Mr. Gold, be discreet. And I believe I'll be adding an addendum to our deal." Before Gold can respond, there is a loud click, and Regina is gone. She seems to dislike the phone as much as he does. Of course, it is much more difficult to scare and threaten and intimidate when the person is not in front of you, he muses, though a worry gnaws at the corner of his mind, wondering what else Regina could want from him. Though the deal, as reckoned earlier, was too good to be true, and Gold knew it.
...
A knock at the back door, not the front, where customers and clients would typically enter. As he passes by the window, on the way to unlock the door, he sees Regina's shiny black car has pulled around back. Away from prying eyes, likely, he thinks. He turns the copper key into the keyhole, listens to the metal latch unclasp. Before he has a chance to, Regina has opened the door, stepped into his shop.
"Hello, Madam Mayor." The disdain is evident in his tone, though not the words themselves.
"Good evening Mr. Gold. We have a transaction to finish?"
"Yes. Where is...?" he trails off.
"Sophie's in the car. Sophie is her name. We can't have any fairy-tale names flying around Storybrooke, now can we? Especially with this phase that Henry's going through."
"Indeed, I do recall secrecy was part of our deal. I have no qualms with that." Sophie, he thinks, means wisdom. Much more appropriate than beauty. "Now what was this about an addendum?"
"Well I do believe I am being short-changed a little on this particular agreement. You get what you want, and I don't get anything, really, except a promise of you keeping your mouth shut about what I'm giving you. I think I've earned a little more than that, don't you?" She raises one dark, perfectly plucked eyebrow.
"I'm not in the habit of changing a deal once it's been struck. You know that, do you not, Regina?" His voice never raises above a conversational level, despite the tension, the heat welling up within his chest at the presumption of this woman, disgust as she uses Belle as a mere bargaining chip.
"I'm not asking for much more, simply an answer to another one of my questions."
"I'm listening."
"Why did you help Emma Swan become sheriff? What does her presence here have anything to do with your interests?" Regina's voice rose, unquenched anger rising to the surface. "Did you bring her here? Help Henry find her? Why?"
Mr. Gold cannot contain his growing smile. This is far simpler than I imagined. "No, I did not. And I made Miss Swan sheriff because she owes me a favor, and as sheriff, may well be better equipped when the time comes for her to repay me with that favor."
"And what favor is that?"
By now he is full-out grinning. "Why Regina, if I knew, I would have already asked her for it. Now, I believe we have a transaction to finish?" He mimics her words from earlier.
Regina sighs, her face fallen, clearly still unhappy with her end of the deal. "She's in the car. Drugged, to make less of a fuss."
Mr. Gold sweeps past Regina, and shoves the door open with his cane. The gravel behind his shop crunches beneath his fine leather shoes. A sliver of moon is visible in the sky, though night has not yet fallen. He wants to take it all in, remember what the world looks like on the night he finds Belle again. The air smells like spring, of cold that tries too hard to grip its nails into human flesh, because it knows it will soon be driven away into retreat. Slowly, suddenly nervous-he hasn't felt nervous in decades-he approaches Regina's car, peers into the backseat window.
A young woman sleeps, her chest rising and falling in a soft, steady rhythm. Her matted chestnut hair is in a messy braid, and she wears little white socks that just reach her ankles. No shoes. A gray flannel blanket is haphazardly thrown over her, though the edges of her grubby hospital gown remain visible.
Mr. Gold grips his cane hard. White-knuckled, he uses the cane to gesture toward the window, resisting the compulsion to smash it. "That isn't her," he manages to force out between his gritted teeth. "That isn't her."
Regina crosses her arms, clicks a foot impatiently. "Of course it's her. Moe French's daughter, straight out of the asylum. Maybe not as pretty as you like to remember her, but it's her all the same."
"But-but-" he sputters, for the first time finding himself lost for words.
"Oh, were you not expecting the scars?" A smirk of amusement toys at the corners of Regina's mouth. She lowers her voice to a soft, terrifying murmur. "Remember, Rumpelstiltskin, I told you about what happened after you banished her? The monster's whore, scourged by whips and fire? Not even the spell that brought us all to this realm could heal those scars. The only part I lied about was her death. She'd probably be better off that way, though."
He can feel how fast his heart is pounding, and grips his cane even tighter, wanting to beat Regina with it harder than he had ever hit Moe French.
Regina continues, voice like the darkest of melted chocolate, so sweet is the satisfaction she feels. "It's a good thing her name isn't Belle anymore. Definitely not fitting anymore, wouldn't you agree?"
Mr. Gold finally brings himself to look into the car for a second time. Long white scars crisscross Belle's face, her arms, and what he can see of her legs. As if someone has played tic-tac-toe with steel knives across her flesh.
He does not even turn back to face Regina. "I don't care. She's mine."
...
A/N: Thank you for the bountiful reviews and love! Keep at it! It's what makes me keep writing, truly. It might be a few days before I can update again (pesky responsibilities, and all that), but I look forward to updating again soon!