Arising

Chapter 6: The Fisher King

"Good afternoon, Ms. Nolan."

Kathryn raises her head from her textbook. In one hand she holds a highlighter; in the other, a ham sandwich. When she looks up, the sun shining in her eyes prevents her from seeing the face of the man standing over her, but she recognizes his distinguishable accent. She uses the ham sandwich as a sunshield, and a leaf of lettuce flops in her face. Flustered, she drops the sandwich in her lap atop the textbook. "Mr. Gold! What are you doing here?"

"I've come to talk to you, if you could spare a few minutes?"

"Sure." She moves a stack of books aside, making room for him on the park bench. "My next class isn't for another hour. How did you know I was here? Please, sit down."

"It's a highly unusual thing for someone to leave Storybrooke to go off to school." He accepts the space she's offered.

She nods in understanding. "Oh. Gossip." Then she gasps. "Oh! Is it David? Is something wrong with David?"

"No, no, he's quite fine. Everything is fine in Storybrooke. The rebuilding effort proceeds, ahead of schedule."

"I heard about the war." Kathryn scowls. "And Regina. How I could have trusted her. . . ."

"The curse." He needn't explain further.

"Yes. David told me about the false memories. It was such an odd thing when the curse broke. I was sitting in Contract Law, just listening to the lecture and taking notes, and all of a sudden, I felt a jolt go through my body. It was like what I'd imagine getting hit by lightning to feel like. My ears were ringing and suddenly all these—well, all I can describe it as is 'waking dreams'—they filled my head, and I looked down at my notes and found I'd written 'Frederick' instead of 'Johnson vs. Agnew.'"

They chuckle, and she continues, "David called me that night to explain what had happened, so I wouldn't think I'd suddenly developed multiple personalities. I guess everyone else had the same experience, all at the same time."

"Most did. How are you dealing with it now, Ms. Nolan?"

"Call me Kathryn. Now that I know David and I never were married, I'm using my maiden name."

"Thank you, Kathryn. Has the adjustment been difficult?"

"I find it an inconvenience. I try not to think about the old world, or my old life. One life at a time"—she gestures to her books—"is about all I can handle."

"You won't go back to your old life, then?"

"No. I know David and Mary Margaret are planning to, but I like what I'm doing. Here, I choose my own fate; no king or magician rules me. I see you haven't gone back either."

"No, I have no desire to."

"But don't you miss your castle, your magic?"

"I was the Dark One. It's not a life to look back on fondly." He takes a deep breath. This explanation will be harder than the one to French; her innocence leaves him no wiggle room in the guilt. "Kathryn, I came to tell you something. . . to tell you the truth about. . .Kathryn, becoming human didn't improve my conduct all that much. Your abduction—I planned it and hired two men to carry it out."

The textbook falls from her lap; she doesn't notice. "You did—what? Why?"

"To tell you why, I also need to tell you that I created the curse."

"I don't understand."

Mindful of her time commitments, he gives her the story as briefly and plainly as he can, and then he provides his explanation for the kidnapping and falsified murder. The doubt on her face tells him she's not entirely buying his explanation, but at least she's listening. He has thought long and hard about whether to tell her all this and risk damaging the new life she's built for herself; he finally decided she would find more peace with the truth than to live with the fear that her abductor might try again.

She gapes at him. "I could turn you in, you know. I could send you to prison."

"Yes. It would be justice."

"Yes, it would. You kidnapped me! You drugged me! Not to mention what you did to Mary Margaret and David." She stands over him, breathing heavily. "I ought to yell for a campus cop right now."

"You'd be well within your rights."

"Damn right I would." She throws her hands into the air. "You should go to jail for a long, long time."

"Yes."

"So—" She places her hands on her hips. "You're not a dunce. Why did you come and tell me this? Do you want to go to jail?"

"No. It would be justice, but. . . I'd like to do some good in this world before it's too late."

"What would you do if I call the police?"

"I'd wait."

"You mean, you wouldn't run?"

He lowers his head. "I have to pay for every wrong I've done; if it's not in this world, then it will be in the next."

"So why did you tell me this?"

"I thought it might bring you some peace to know the truth." He screws up his courage and looks straight at her. "Before you do call the police, though. . . I'm asking your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness? Are you crazy? After what you've done? I ought to have you locked up right now." She suddenly sits down beside him again, perplexed. "Why don't I want to?"

"Maybe forgiving me would do you more good than putting me in jail would."

"And have you walk away scot-free?"

"I'm not free, Kathryn."

She's talking to herself as much as to him. "I don't want you to go to jail. I want you punished, but jail's not going to do either of us any good."

He asks gently, "What would be suitable punishment?"

After a long silence, she finds an answer. "If you spent every minute of the rest of your life being decent to people."

"That's a fair deal. . . if you're offering it?"

She sighs. "I can't hate you, Mr. Gold."

"But can you forgive me?" Gold almost smiles.

"I suppose I can accept those terms. Just—you said you wanted to become a better man. So just go and do it, but not in Boston, all right? Let me put that particular memory behind me."

"Thank you, Kathryn."

She reaches down for her books; he assists her in gathering them. Without another word she rushes off.

He dreams the Dark One has returned from Hell. The hooded fiend shoves him against a brick wall and shows him the dagger with his name carved indelibly into the blade. "Are you arrogant or just a fool? 'Oooh, forgive me, I've been a bad boy.'" The Dark One giggles, and he sounds just like Rumplestiltskin. "You killed more in your first year than I killed in my lifetime. Just—" the Dark One thrusts the blade into Gold's belly—"like"—he thrusts again—"this." He thrusts one last time.

Gold awakes with a jolt. He's fallen asleep sitting up again, the book in his lap. His head aches. He wonders why these nightmares have been showing up now, when he's trying to be a better man.

Belle's heart leaps to her throat when she hears slow footfalls in the hallway. She hastily straightens her bedspread and her clothes and smoothes her hair as the knock comes, and then she yanks the door with such vigor that her guest, whose fist is still in motion, loses his balance and stumbles forward. She sweeps forward to assist him.

It's not Rumplestiltskin.

She steps back and tries to hide her disappointment. "Father."

His mouth moves but no words come. She invites him in, offers him the only chair in the room. "It's good to see you again." She plugs in her hotpot and spoons some instant coffee into mugs. While her back is turned and he can't see her expression, she moderates her voice. "Where have you been?"

"I took a job in Boston."

She turns and tries to smile. "Well, as you can see, we survived the war, even without your help."

"She took out half the town, looks like."

"She killed twenty-three."

"I'm sorry."

She realizes he means for that apology to cover a multitude of offenses. Perhaps at another time it would have sufficed, but not today. His inadequacy isn't entirely his fault: he's not Rumplestiltskin, that's all.

"Belle, she lied to me," Moe blurts. "She took twenty of my men to storm the Dark Castle and rescue you. She said it had to be done in the darkness because our people had turned against you. It was the only way to keep you safe from them. She'd make you her lady-in-waiting, she said, the highest position in her court. You'd have jewels, fine clothes; she'd throw balls in your honor and introduce you to young nobles."

"Well, that's not what she did!" Belle interrupts, her fists on her hips. "And once she had taken me, did you ever once try to come and see me, to make sure I was all right?"

"She said it would be best not to. Make a clean break, start a new life."

"She nearly killed me." The hotpot has started to steam. She unplugs it and pours the water into the mugs.

"I didn't know, Belle, I didn't know."

She carries a mug to him and when she's close enough to touch him she sees the deep lines in his face, the longing in his eyes. He's a weak man, always has been, and this is all the apology she will have. It's her choice now: she can live in righteous indignation, confident that every day for the rest of his life he will be punished by her absence and anger; or she can give him what they both need for her to give.

She kneels and rests her hands on his knee, as she used to when he wore ermine and commanded armies. . . and long before that, when she was five and he was perfect in her eyes.

He sets his coffee mug aside and strokes her hair.

An unfamiliar car is parked behind David's pickup on the street in front of Mary Margaret's apartment. Storybrooke's first tourist? Passersby speculate as they return home for their suppers. It's a brand new glacier blue Tesla Roadster—still has the dealer's plates. The car alone would be enough to attract attention, but for a stranger to have come to town quadrupled the volume of gossip. No one has seen the Tesla's driver, but everyone sure aims to. Those who live in the neighborhood find excuses to stay out in their yards; those who don't live in the area find excuses to drop in on those who do.

Inside, the Tesla driver sits at the kitchen table, as he had done a few times before, but never to such a hostile reception. To his left, at the head of the table, sits David/James/Charming; to his right, sits Emma; directly across from him sits Mary Margaret/Snow. Sitting on the kitchen counter, eating an apple—for the first time in his life—is Henry.

Gold decides he will choose his words carefully, considering that he's sitting within arm's length of two powerful swordspeople and a skilled archer. Gold casts a quick glance about the room for weapons.

As he looks around, noticing the small items that evidence change in this family's living arrangements—a man's jacket on the coat hook, a truck repair manual on the coffee table, the absence of Emma's boxes—Gold wishes he didn't have to do what he's come here to do. He'd much rather just talk like old friends, or at least, old acquaintances, swapping stories of the old days, exchanging family news. Even more, he'd rather ask them how they've done it, how they've managed to form a family out of their very different lives. . . how James and Snow have managed to hold onto each other. But on the day he went out and bargained for the first ingredient for the curse, Rumplestiltskin surrendered his right to have a friendly conversation with this family.

"So, where've you been, Mr. Gold?" Emma asks. "Bernie says you just took off without saying anything to anyone."

"I had some urgent—" No, he didn't come here to avoid questions. He's got to be plainspoken from the start, so they'll know him to be sincere. "At first I just took off. I thought I'd get out of town to think for a few days. But I ended up in Boston and went looking for Moe French."

"Yeah, I saw he was back in town. He was driving your car. I pulled him over; thought he'd stolen it. But he said you gave it to him, had your signature on the title." Emma waits for confirmation.

"That's correct."

"You gave him a car?" James is amazed.

"What was your price?" Snow wonders.

Gold shakes his head. "I'm the one who owed him." He glances at Emma. "The 'her' who needed help—it was Belle. I finally did what I should've done: I asked. And I found out it wasn't his fault; it was Regina's. . . and mine."

Emma understands. "I'm glad you worked things out."

"That's why I came back; I have a lot of people I need to work things out with."

"Starting with us?" Emma smiles.

"If you'll allow me."

Snow is catching on. "You're here to apologize." A dozen emotions flash across her unguarded face.

"Yes."

"Rumplestiltskin, the king of the con men," James barks. "I don't have any interest in hearing you mangle the truth."

"You know about half of my crimes against your family," Gold replies. "I came to tell you about the other half."

Emma is studying him closely. She makes a quick decision. "I'm going to hear him out. My BS detector says he's on the level."

James grunts. "He wants something. He's just going to manipulate you until you give it to him."

"Do you want something, Rumplestiltskin?" Snow asks.

He glances at Emma, hoping she'll remember. "Forgiveness, if you can give it; tolerance, if you can't."

"Let's hear your story," Emma says.

"Some parts of it, you may not want Henry to be subjected to."

"I know more than you think I do," the boy objects.

"I do owe you an apology too, Henry, just not quite this one. If you and your mother will permit me, I'd like to tell you about it one day, over ice cream."

Henry considers this. Of course he doesn't want to miss out on tonight's action, but the opportunity to have unfettered access to the man who was once the most powerful mage on the planet is mighty tempting. His mother raises an eyebrow; she'll allow him input but of course the final decision will be hers. Henry can tell she's going to send him to his room no matter what he says, so he might as well score some points for cooperation—and clinch that ice cream. He slides down from the counter. "Good night, Mom." He gives Emma and Snow a peck on the cheek before scampering.

"He has his grandfather's charm," Gold murmurs to Emma.

James sits back in his chair. "Don't try to get on my good side, Gold."

"Chill out, James," Snow advises. "He earned the right to be heard, out on that battlefield."

"Well, let's go into the living room and get comfortable, then." James rises. "I reckon it's going to be a long night."

When they've resettled, Gold begins his tale. He's given a lot of thought about how much to share; he's decided that nothing less than full disclosure is what he owes them, so he begins with Bae. That's where Rumplestiltskin's story must always begin and end.

He describes the life Bae was born into, so vastly different from Snow's and Emma's, but not so far afield from James'. Less than half a day old, Bae lost his father to war—in many ways, lost him forever, for Rumplestiltskin left as the town cripple but came back as the town coward, and that made him ripe for the Dark One's picking.

Gold leads them through his transformation, from the first second a poor spinner realized that with a snap of his fingers, he could provide for every single one of his son's needs and desires, that he could walk onto a battlefield unscathed and with a wave of his hand compel the combatants to drop their weapons and return to their homes. From those first heady days of power to the moment when he realized the goodness in his soul was being eclipsed by power-lust, greed, paranoia and, most irresistibly, the hunger for revenge, Gold tells them the full story so they will have the context from which to judge him.

And then he describes the loss of Bae, and the utter panic when he realized that not only could he no longer protect his son, but that he'd thrown him, alone, uniformed, into a foreign world, the panic that took such deep and strong root that it can't be shaken 250 years later, the panic that branched out into con games, killing and arson, and the creation of the curse that tore families apart.

In the interest of full disclosure, he gives himself the little credit he's due: in his deals, he never lied, never cheated; he tried to give sufficient warning of the price of magic, but most of his buyers wouldn't listen, including a sad young woman who sought a cure for her broken heart and a poverty-stricken shepherd who sold himself to a king.

"One of the gifts and the burdens of the Dark curse," he explains, "is the ability to see some aspects of the future. Never the future of those I loved, or you can be sure Bae and Belle would be with me today, nor my own future. But I could see yours, Snow White: from the moment you as an infant first smiled at your mother, I knew you were marked as true love's daughter, destined to find James, to always find James. The power of your love would be far stronger than anything magic could produce, and so the product of that love could break any curse I could create. So when I created the curse that would bring us here and position me to find Bae, I tapped into your magic as the antidote to my own. Through the deals I made with each of you, I manipulated you to make certain that you would keep finding each other so that your love would flourish and the curse breaker would be born. . . and her son, who will one day lead the people away from the corrupting forces of magic and toward a reliance on love."

"Henry will do all that?" Snow muses. She thinks this over and decides. "Yes, I remember the potion that I asked you for: in the end, it made me value the very thing I'd tried to reject. And the arrow that you promised would hit its mark—it didn't do what I wanted, but it did what I needed. Just think, if I hadn't drunk that potion—if you hadn't given me that potion or that arrow, I never would have found James."

"And there'd be no me or Henry," Emma adds.

"All right, so conning me into pretending to be a dragon-slaying prince maybe wasn't the worst thing you've done," James admits. "But there are plenty of others."

"You're right. The worst of it is yet to come. A year ago, I did something horrible to your family. I'm going to ask that you give me a chance to explain it in full, not that I'm trying to wriggle out of any of the blame—I deserve it all—but so that you'll have the whole truth."

He tells them then about his deal with Regina that led to Kathryn's abduction and Mary Margaret's murder charge. He explains, as he did for Belle, that he knew how this family would suffer because of his scheme, but he also knew the charges would be dismissed; he had believed then that only the most drastic of events would develop Emma into the savior, tested and found true, feet firmly planted on the thin line between love and law, confident and strong—ready to conquer Regina.

James snorts. "What a crock." He leans forward and glares at Gold. "Your scheme could have gotten Mary Margaret the death sentence."

"You weren't listening, James," Emma corrects him. "It never would've gone to trial. What it did do was put Mary Margaret in hell."

"And pulled David and me apart," Snow says thoughtfully.

"'David' is a fictional character created by Regina," Gold points out.

"Then—so am I," Snow realizes. "And the life I lived for twenty-eight years was—"

"Scripted." Gold supplies. "'Mary Margaret' and 'David' and 'Kathryn' were the prisons Regina kept you in, to keep you apart and unhappy. It's Snow and James and Abigail and Frederick who are real, whose love transcends the lies."

Something in Snow's eyes changes and she looks at James as if seeing him for the first time, then she looks at Gold. He can see he's taken away some of the guilt she's felt for her "affair" with David.

"Wow." Emma shakes her head to clear it. "I dunno, Gold. . ."

"Tell me, Emma, how did you feel when the DNA test results came in?"

"I felt like hell, what do you suppose?"

"Like a member of your family had been set up?"

"Yeah, sure."

"And what did you do after that?"

She sniffs. "Well, I didn't just sit around waiting for you. I went after Regina."

She recognizes the expression on his face: it's the same one he wore when he presenter her with her father's sword. "Spoken like a true fighter," Gold says softly. He turns to Snow. "And how did you feel when Emma rescued you from the Mad Hatter?"

"She was amazing. Smart and strong, courageous—"

"A hero."

"A hero. And then she—" Snow blinks back a tear. "She gave me the keys to her car. She let it be my choice because—"

"Because I loved you and believed in you, just like you believed in me."

Snow grasps Emma's hand and squeezes. "Because we're family."

"That's great, but what's he got to do with it?" James reminds them. "Emma, this guy's pure evil and I don't think you should let him anywhere near Henry. He can't be trusted."

"Maybe, maybe not," Emma says, "but Henry can be." She sits back in her chair to think.

"Well, that's what I came to say. I truly apologize for all the pain my schemes caused." He stands and turns toward the door.

"Rumplestiltskin!" Snow calls after him. He pauses. "Did you ever find your son?"

He doesn't know quite how to answer that, so he says nothing.

"I'm sorry," she says. "For everything."

He smiles. "Thank you, Snow White."

Emma accompanies him to the door. As she holds it open, she touches his arm. "Mr. Gold, welcome back."

In the privacy of the Tesla with its tinted windows, Gold rests his forehead against the steering wheel. Then, aware the neighbors are watching, he starts the engine and pulls away from the curb.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was him," Dopey tells Ruby; he's been pursuing the restaurant owner for months and he hopes this will impress her. "I mean, he's cut his hair and he was driving one of those foreign hybrids, and he was dressed like he did during the war, you know, t-shirt and jeans and denim jacket. But it was him."

Ruby leaves the man standing at the counter. She runs across the street to the inn and shouts up the stairs for Belle.

Belle comes running. She hasn't learned to drive yet, so Ruby agrees to take her, and the two women jump into Ruby's Camaro. As they rip down Main Street, Ruby suggests, "Call him."

Belle slaps her forehead. Her purse, containing the phone, is lying on her bed at the inn. "I'm just not used to purses," she moans.

Ruby shrugs and tosses her purse at Belle. "Here, use my phone."

Belle dials—over and over. No one picks up.

They scour the town, asking questions of pedestrians; hours later, Ruby apologizes and says she has to get back to the diner. As she drops Belle off at the inn, she advises, "Keep your phone turned on and don't go anywhere. Maybe he'll come looking for you."

Gold stops at Clark's store for some supplies.

"Good to see you up and around," Sneezy greets him and begins to ring up his purchases: batteries, tea, honey, several cans of soup and veggies, bread and crackers.

Inwardly Gold sighs; he supposes he'll need to apologize to the seven dwarves too, but not today. He's exhausted. It's not every day a guy buys a hundred thousand dollar car and drives across a state to apologize to Price Charming and Snow White.

"Looks like you're back to stay a while," Sneezy comments.

He's fishing for information. Gold doesn't answer. He merely mumbles a goodbye as Sneezy hands him the grocery bag.

It's twilight when Gold arrives at his cabin. His phone has been ringing most of the way up here: those damned robocalls again. He sets the phone on vibrate and tosses it in the backseat. It's been a long, long day.

He locates the fuse box and turns the electricity on. He carries in a half-dozen logs from the stack on the porch. It's a warm night and he does have a small stove that he could heat his supper on, but he wants a fire anyway. He builds the fire, then opens the windows to allow the night air in. In the distance he can hear night birds and frogs, and an occasional splash as a fish jumps in the river behind his cabin. He pours soup into a pan and water into a pot and sets these by the fire to heat.

Finally, he can relax. As the scent of chicken soup fills the cabin, he yanks off his shoes and his shirt and drops into the wooden rocking chair he keeps near the fireplace. His head in his hands, he closes his eyes.

He drifts off, dreaming Bae has transformed into a snail. . .

When he awakes he feels worse than before. He makes a cup of tea and eats his soup directly from the pan. He leaves the dishes on the counter for tomorrow and climbs into bed. At sunrise he takes down the fishing pole from its hooks above the mantel and indulges in his secret pastime.

"The black-capped chickadee is the state bird of Maine. The common blue jay is a year-round resident of Maine."

Gold jerks out of his reverie and shifts around.

"Maine has 60 lighthouses. Trout, salmon, small-mouthed bass and perch are abundant in Maine's 6,000 lakes and ponds." Mephistopheles emerges from the forest. He's wearing a fraternity jacket and a crown of ivy, and as always, he carries a beer. He chuckles. "Good to see you on your feet again, Rump. So which one you after: trout, salmon, bass or perch?"

Gold shifts his body back toward the river but keeps a watch out of the corner of his eye. He doesn't answer.

"How rude of me." Mephistopheles plops down beside the former imp. "Barging in without an invitation, and I didn't even bring a courtesy gift. How about a beer, Rump?"

"Beat it, Mephistopheles."

"No way, Jose. I know you're feeling down in the dumps—hey, that's funny: Rump's in the dumps. Anyway, you're feeling like you let me down, hangin' out with the competition like you've been, but I'll forgive you. Just say 'please.'" The devil grins expectantly.

"I said 'beat it' and I meant it. I'm done with you." Gold notices the crickets have stopped chirping and the birds have flown away.

The devil clasps a hand to his chest. "Aw, now, Rump, I'm crushed. You had a weekend fling and now you're walkin' out on a 250-year relationship? I understand; He can be persuasive. So you cheated a little, but I'll take you back. Hell, it's more fun this way."

When Gold doesn't answer, the devil presses, "Check it out. I tuned in to that little mea culpa session you had last night with Ms. Pure-as-the-Driven and her King of Nothing." He guffaws. "Some gall they have! A common highwaywoman and her con man boyfriend, going around killing innocent trolls and ogres, and they got the nerve to call their daughter 'the savior'?! Not to mention how they treated you, the most powerful mage in the—oh, wait, I forgot. You don't have your powers any more, do you? Gave them away to that 'savior.' Well, we all do stupid crap when we're drunk. All right, all right, you don't have to beg: I'll give your magic back to you." He raises his hand and it begins to glow like an orange ember. "'We can rebuild him, better, stronger, faster than he was before.'" He sniggers. "Why don't they make tv shows like that any more? Aw, well, hell. Hold onto your pants, Rump: here comes the magic."

Gold looks the devil square in the eye. "No."

"Say what?" Mephistopheles squeaks.

"I said no."

"Playing hard to get, huh? You want to be courted?"

Gold drops his fishing pole and rises. "I'll make a deal with you, Meph."

The devil rubs his hands together in anticipation and burns himself on his own magic. "Oww oww oww." He waves his hands to cool them. "A deal? You know I loves me some deal-makin', Rump. Deal away."

Gold folds his arms. "You beat it. Permanently. Leave me alone, leave Belle alone, leave Regina alone, leave this town alone. In fact, just leave the entire state of Maine alone."

The devil scowls. "You serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"And what do I get out of it?"

"I won't get in that cabin and fetch my cane."

"You'll come crawlin'." The devil vanishes, but his voice lingers. "You'll come crawlin' back, dearie."

Gold sits down on the riverbank again and picks up his fishing pole. "Like hell I will."

Psychiatrists seldom make house calls, especially when that house is a rustic cabin located deep in a forest outside of town. But Archie/Jiminy is not a typical psychiatrist, and he's been waiting a long time for this call, so when Gold asks him to come, he jumps into his Civic and, taking driving directions over the phone, manages after several false starts to find the cabin. As instructed, he's dressed down for the occasion, exchanging his suit and tie for his golf outfit.

When he arrives, the first thing he notices is that the cabin isn't as rustic as he'd imagined. In fact, it's rather large and solidly built, and there's electricity and indoor plumbing, an oak dining set, a queen-size bed—

And a brand-new, hundred-thousand-dollar, glacier blue Tesla Roadster in the drive.

And coming up a path from the river, Mr. Gold, in work boots, faded jeans, a Conan the Librarian t-shirt, a baseball cap—and an unequivocal smile. He rubs his hands on his jeans before greeting Archie with a handshake.

If Archie had any doubts about the reality of the situation, he doesn't any more: it's no con, Mr. Gold actually smells fishy.

"Thank you for coming out here," Gold says. His accent is a bit thicker than usual. "I'm sorry for dragging you out—"

"No, it's fine." Archie tilts his head back, taking it all in: the blue sky, the poplar and maple trees, the birds singing, the clean, crisp air. He breathes in deeply. "This is a great place to hold a session."

"Would you like to do a little fishing while we talk?"

Archie's mouth twitches. "I—I've never been fishing before," he realizes.

Gold pauses, remembering Jiminy's parents: of course they'd never taken him fishing. But then, neither had Rumple's. Fishing had come to him late in life, after he'd become the Dark One and had, in a moment of weakness, agreed to trade a healing potion for a fishing pole. He'd brought it back for Bae as a naming day gift, and they'd made frequent trips to the lakes and rivers of Fairytale Land. Distance was no object; Rumple would snap his fingers and they'd arrive, and even Bae had to admit he didn't mind the magic, as long as the fishing was real.

"Let's go fishin'," Gold suggests.

After Archie has gone, Gold carries their catch—three perch—to his work table at the back of the cabin. He always cleans fish here, outside, and tosses the guts into the forest for a den of gray foxes he's spotted nearby. When he's finished his work and has cleaned up, he drags his rocking chair out to the porch and just sits. Just sits.

He loses track of the days. They don't matter.

Archie comes again and gives him a brief physical. "This is just what you need. Your blood pressure's normal. Your wounds have healed. By the way, we finally have a physician in town, so when you get back you should make an appointment."

"Why? I trust you."

"Thanks, ****." Archie is genuinely touched. "But I'm giving up that part of my practice. Going back to what I do best."

They talk about Gold's nightmares, which are coming more frequently. Archie teaches him some visualization techniques and encourages him to write the dreams down. "But I think it's a good sign. Your conscience has woke up; it's telling you you still have work to do."

They talk about Belle. Gold watches Archie struggle at these times; the temptation to report on Belle's welfare is hard to resist, but prudently Archie always comes down on the side of professional ethics. He's at peace with this gag rule because he can see his patients are healing little by little.

One day when Archie has come to fish and talk, Gold says, "I'm going back tomorrow."

Archie feels a tug on his line. As he reels the perch in, he asks, "Will you go back to your house?"

"For the time being. I think I'll sell it eventually. I never liked that house."

"Why did you—" And then Archie bites his tongue, remembering: Gold hadn't chosen his house or anything else about his Storybrooke identity. Regina had. "Henry's gone over to mow the lawn."

Gold grins. "I still owe him an ice cream. And an apology."

"He forgave you already."

"I think I'll go see Regina."

Archie throws his freshly baited line back into the water. "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"For her or for me?"

"You. She won't remember you."

"Then this apology will be just for me."

"Is there. . . " Archie hesitates; he's on the borderline here. "Is there anyone else you'd like to talk to?"

Gold chuckles. "You're fishin', Archie. But yeah, if she'll talk to me."

"That could be good for both of you."

"We never had a proper goodbye."

Archie swallows hard. "Is that what you want, ****? What you hope for?"

Gold shrugs. "All I hope for is that she'll talk to me."

In the morning he keeps his word. His first stop is the home of Nora and Randolph Garrett, Henry's former nanny and Regina's former butler, respectively—and now Gina's foster parents. He asks their permission to speak to Gina. He finds her in the den, studying for a chemistry exam; she's chewed her pencil in two and is now gnawing on her lip.

"I hate chem!" she shouts, and he tries not to smile; potions were never Regina's strong suit.

It gives him an idea. He introduces himself as an old friend of Nora's who just happens to have worked as a chemist before coming to Storybrooke. Before he's had a chance to give his name, she's pleading with him to tutor her, please please please, because if she doesn't pass chem she'll never get into the Massachusetts College of Art and Design, and if she doesn't get into MCAD, she'll never become a famous fashion designer.

"That's your dream, is it?" he asks.

"Like Stella McCartney," she says. "Except edgier, more rock 'n' roll, you know?"

"I'll help you, Gina," he agrees. "I'll come back this evening after dinner, and we'll begin."

"Thank you, thank you, Mr.—" She waits for him to supply his name. When he does, she doesn't blink. She truly has no memory of him.

As she runs out to catch the school bus, he moves along to his next stop: the bank. The VP comes out from her glass office to greet him personally; he is, of course, her biggest depositor. She invites him into her office. "I've been trying to reach you," she says. "I wanted to confirm a very large purchase that was made against your account nineteen days ago."

"It's valid," he nods.

"It's just. . . I was concerned because of the size of the withdrawal and the nature of the purchase. An imported car. It just didn't seem like the sort of thing you'd buy."

"Mid-life crisis," he winks at her.

"Ohhh." Her voice drains.

"I've come to make some additional large purchases. College trust funds for three worthy children from families of lesser means."

He drops into the sheriff's office to ask Emma's permission to take Henry for ice cream after school. Emma grants the permission and adds, "I'll let you two go alone. I have some paperwork to take care of."

He realizes what she's really saying is I trust you with my son. It's the best gift he's been given in years. He answers, "I'll limit his consumption to one scoop so he won't spoil his supper." What he's really saying is Thank you. I won't let you down.

Emma says, "Hey, don't feel bad about James. He'll come around."

Gold notices she hasn't started calling her parents "Mom" or "Dad" yet, but she's using their Fairytale names. Their situation must be somewhat awkward. They may never form a traditional family, but he's certain they will forge something new. As for James, despite Emma's caution, it does bother him; in Fairytale Land, he'd thought their relationship to be friendlier, bordering on avuncular. Right up until James threw Rumplestiltskin into prison. He's talked to Archie about this, and the psychiatrist had suggested, in typical Archie fashion, "Why don't you talk to him?"

So Gold has an idea. "Maybe I'll invite him to go fishin'."

Emma bubbles with laughter. "Yeah, you do that. Hey, you remember those promises you made when I came to see you a couple of months back? Well, it's time to—" she nudges him with an elbow—"fish or cut bait. The clean-up's over and we're in the planning stages for rebuilding. There's kind of a tussle going on between August and Marco over big box stores. The council really needs some direction from someone who knows how to build a town. It's time to get to work, Mr. Gold."

He thinks about it. "I'm not really a City Planner, you know."

"You'll fit right in. James isn't really a mayor and I'm not really a sheriff. Council meeting's Monday at seven p.m. in the library."

"I'll be there."

"Good." She leans back on the edge of her desk.

"I saw a moving van on Pine Street this morning."

"Our first new family," she boasts. "The Harrisons. He's a bus driver; she's a dental assistant. They have twin girls."

"I thought I saw a swing set being erected. With more families moving in. . . ." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Emma, have you ever heard of an organization called Court-Appointed Special Advocates?"

"I think so. Something about helping kids who are in legal trouble?"

"Kids who are in the legal system for any reason: neglected kids, abused kids, foster kids. The nearest CASA is in Bangor. I had a chat with the ED of the Boston CASA about opening a chapter here."

"That sounds like a good idea, Mr. Gold. I'd be glad to help. Now about your other promise." She shows him her hands. "I've been having these odd prickly feelings in my fingers, like cactus spikes. . . ."

He touches her palms. His body immediately reacts, his cells awakening and hungering for the magic as he imagines a recovering addict's body would react to the proximity of its drug of choice. He'll have to be careful, discuss this with Archie. "It's the magic wanting to be released."

"'Wanting.' You mean it has a mind of its own?"

"Think of it as a puppy that hasn't been paper trained yet."

"So paper train me." And they both burst out laughing.

He's waiting at the bus stop when school lets out. Henry comes out, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his shoelaces untied—but then, that's the fashion these days. He's chatting with Paige. He's grown about an inch this year, Gold notices; the baby fat has left his cheeks.

Gold remembers: "Hello, Henry. I'm Mr. Gold. I'll be looking out for you, from a distance."

Gold also remembers: Bae is 42 now. Bae should be standing here, waiting for his own eleven-year-old son to get out of school. But Rumplestiltskin's cowardice robbed him of that experience.

"Hello, Mr. Gold. Are we going for that ice cream now?" There's no surprise in Henry's voice; he fully expected Gold would come because Gold had promised.

"Unless you have other plans?" Gold glances meaningfully at Paige.

The two kids—he can't think of them as children any more; they're almost as tall as he is and in some ways, more mature—shake their heads and say goodbye to each other. Henry then gives his full attention to Gold. "Ruby's or Sarah's?"

"Let's go gourmet, shall we?" Gold leads the way to the Tesla. A little nostalgia stabs at him: he has the urge to take Henry's hand, but the boy is too old for that.

"Wow! Hey, how fast will this go? Have you opened her up on the highway yet?" Henry slides into the Tesla and inspects the instrument panel. "Is the engine running? I can't hear a thing but I saw you turn the key in the ignition. Hey, Mr. Gold, here's your cell. It was in the back seat. Battery's dead. You got an adapter? I'll plug it into the dash and charge it up for you. I bet you got like a gazillion messages."

Yes, the boy is too old for hand-holding, but a few years from now, a driving lesson, perhaps?

As for his mother's restriction of one scoop only, Henry follows the letter of the law, but he piles on enough sprinkles, Gummy Bears, cocoanut shavings and hot fudge to make his dessert an entrée. Henry's teetering mountain of sugar puts the brakes on Gold's appetite for ice cream, so he selects a sherbet. Henry digs in even before they make it to a wrought-iron table and sit down. Gold intends to give him time to finish eating before launching into the topic of the day, but Henry can't wait for that either. Around a mouthful of fudge, Henry asks, "So Mr. Gold, you were gonna tell me about the curse and my mom and everything."

"It's a long and complicated story, Henry, and a lot of it probably would bore you, so how about if you ask me what you want to know, and then I'll know which parts of the story to tell you?"

Gold steels himself for a pummeling of ethical questions, because Henry, despite his raising by Regina—or perhaps because of it—thinks a lot about right and wrong. Gold also prepares for a stream of practical questions, because Henry is a kid and is fascinated by magic. But Henry throws him for a loop. He cocks his head to the side in a way that reminds Gold of Mary Margaret and he suggests, "Tell me about Baelfire."

So Gold does. When, an hour later, he drops Henry off at Kathryn and David's old place, now Emma's, he realizes he's forgotten to make his apology to Henry. Or maybe he has, in a Henry kind of way.

He wants to speak to Belle, but his courage flags. His fifth trip of the day is made to the convent.

"Mr. Gold!" Bernie throws her arms around him before realizing she's just hugged the meanest man in town. "Oh, sorry, it's just that we've been worried."

"Thank you, Sister. Your concern means a lot to me."

She looks at him askance, but before she can say more, Mother Superior rushes in. She's in her gardening clothes; the cuffs of her jeans are crusted with mud from last night's rain. She reaches a hand out, then realizes she's holding a weeder; she passes it to her left hand so she can offer a handshake. "Mr. Gold, it's so good to see you. Are you well? You're looking well."

"I'm well, Mother Superior." He chuckles. "And you?"

"I'm well too. The last of our patients went home on Tuesday, so Bernie and I have been giving the place a thorough cleaning. We've had good news: Astrid and Leroy will be returning from Fairyland Land soon. They decided they prefer the modern world."

"Will she return to the convent?"

"No. She's found her calling with Leroy. She'll continue to help out here from time to time, but she'll be going to work at Ruby's. Leroy will resume his former occupation." She takes his arm. "Would you like to come out to the garden, ****? Everything is in full bloom. I was just pulling weeds. Looks like we'll have a good tomato crop this year." She leads him out the back as Bernie heads for the kitchen to put the coffee on.

"Mother Superior, may I help?"

"Certainly!" Mother Superior places her hands on her hips as she surveys her garden. "Astrid was the one with the green thumb, so I'm glad to have any help I can get. Do you have a garden of your own?"

"Not here." He kneels down examine the soil. "At the Dark Castle, I grew medicinal herbs. I found it more productive sometimes than my work in the lab. I grew—"

"Rumplestiltskin!"

A shout rolls across the garden. He clambers to his feet only to stumble backwards as a blur of yellow runs him down. "Rumplestiltskin!" Her arms slide around his neck and his arms slide around her waist as though it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Belle!" He kisses her without asking permission because he's suddenly forgotten she doesn't belong to him any more, and she kisses him back because she suddenly remembers she does.

Mother Superior discreetly finds something to do in the tool shed.

"You're all right," Belle sighs in relief. "I thought you were in a hospital somewhere, or worse. You disappeared without telling anyone."

"There was no one to tell, I thought. No one who'd notice until it was time to pay the rent."

"You didn't call, didn't answer your phone."

"You tried to call me? I didn't realize." His hands move into her hair and he looks into her eyes. "Belle, I love you, Belle. I understand why you can't trust me, and if I can never be with you again, I understand that too, but before I let you go, please, will you forgive me?"

"Always."

"For everything?"

"For everything. But Rumplestiltskin, will you forgive me for running away when you needed me?"

He laughs. "Always and for everything."

She rests her head on his chest. "Rumplestiltskin, don't let me go. Let me stay right here with you."

"Are you sure, Belle? You know the kind of man I am."

"Yes. I know the kind of man you are. A man, not a monster."

"A difficult man to love."

"No." She raises her head to meet his eyes. "Difficult to understand, but not difficult to love."

A/N. Phew. Rumple/Gold sure has a lot to make up for. I've seen a lot of discussion about his reformation; while many fans feel he will be redeemed, the common thought seems to be that he'll have to die to do it. To see Rumple go out as a self-sacrificing hero would be a fine thing, but personally, I'd rather have him alive and struggling to beat down his demons. I think he could do the next generation of Storybrookers more good as a living example of reform than as a name on a public building.

In trying to get into Gold's head and understand the reasons behind his crimes, I had to grasp at some flimsy straws, especially in my explanation of the Kathryn murder scheme. I felt more confident about my understanding of Rumple's motives, but I couldn't bring Rumple/Gold to the point of change without walking him through his Storybrooke past too.

There are a couple of loose ends I've left untied, because a story that's too tidy, particularly when the main character has undergone a transformation, can seem Pollyanna. But there's one important loose thread in "Arising" that I haven't left undone: for a resolution to the Bae story, please check out "Saved by Zero." (And if you'd like to read about the Regina War, it's in "Unbroken.")

Oh, one last thing: I felt kind of guilty about allowing my newly reformed Gold spend a 100K on a car, when he could've used that money to do something noble, like rebuild the hospital. Once I started looking at photos of the Tesla, though, I just couldn't resist. It's just the rockin' kind of car Rumple would love, but being both imported and cutting-edge, Gold would love it too. So please forgive my indulging Gold in this extravagance.

So, did you like "Arising"? Drop me a comment and let me know!