A/N: Another chapter for my readers—something to tide you over in waiting for the new episode. And our two ill-fated lovebirds are reunited! I thought this chapter would work better in Gold's POV (kind of). So enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Eleven

It had been nearly a week ago that Jefferson had made the deal with him, had sworn on his word to release Belle from the prison in which she resided. Nearly a week…and she has not come. Your word means nothing to me.

In the shadows of the back room, Mr. Gold was lost in his thoughts, rolling his cane between his palms. Jefferson was gone from Storybrooke, his house empty on its hill. He had broken their deal. He supposed he should have known better than to hope that his Belle was alive somewhere, waiting for him. She's dead. She's never coming back. And Jefferson will pay.

There was an odd sound shattering his train of thought—it was coming from the front of the shop. The door was rattling. Was someone trying to get in?

Mr. Gold tilted his head and listened. There it was again; the hopeless attempt to open the locked door. Who would be coming to him at this hour? Unless…

Frowning thoughtfully, Mr. Gold rose from his chair and ambled toward the curtain. Sweeping it aside impatiently, he looked to the door…

There was no one there.

A flash of headlights illuminated the sidewalk outside his shop as the Sheriff's car appeared. In another minute or so, the cruiser made a swift U-turn and disappeared out of view, the night becoming still again.

Had he been imagining the sound of the door? Had it just been his imagination, his mind playing tricks on him? And he had felt a surge of hope that it would be her. Foolish. She's gone.

Checking the time—almost 8:30—he figured it was past time he headed home, though he certainly wasn't looking forward to the walk. Switching off the last light in the back, Mr. Gold stepped outside into the chilly air and locked up his shop. A feeling of emptiness drowned him. What did he have to return home to in this world?

It was then he heard it. Voices. In the alley.

"Please, no! Don't!" Still holding his keys, Mr. Gold limped to the mouth of the alley. There was a yell of pain, something slamming.

Two people were standing against the wall. In actuality, a man was restraining a young girl against the wall and it didn't require brain surgery to realize the man's crude intentions. It was funny how alcohol could turn almost any man into a monster.

Snippets of the man's slurred words floated across to him.

"Now, I've changed my mind. I'm gonna give you something to really scream about," he was threatening the girl, whose face was shrouded in shadows.

Stealthily approaching the man from behind, Mr. Gold lifted his cane and brought it down hard on the man's skull. There was a sharp, satisfying crack and the man collapsed to the ground.

In his peripheral vision, he noticed the girl stare down at her attacker in shock and then face him with equal surprise. Mr. Gold never took the time to observe her—all he could see was the man on the ground, moaning.

It was the same person that attacked Belle in that tavern, the last time he'd seen her in that other realm. The man he'd reluctantly spared upon her request. Some details never change, Mr. Gold mused as he gritted his teeth with disgust, raising his cane again…

"Wait!" The girl abruptly leaped in front of him, arms spread wide. For the first time, his brown eyes focused on the girl.

And Mr. Gold's heart froze in his chest.

It was her. It had to be a trick, a hallucination. Perhaps he was tired, or his mind was simply conjuring her image. It couldn't be…but it was.

Those rich, brown waves that had shined in the spring sunlight, now hanging limply on her shoulders. Once bright with wonder, her wide eyes were haunted to no end. Her rosy petal-soft lips were now chapped and as pale as the rest of her skin.

But it was her. His Belle.

"Please…don't kill him. Let the Sheriff find him," she pleaded with him. That voice—it was as sweet as he remembered, even more so. Slowly, Mr. Gold lowered the cane as he drank in the sight of her. He was afraid that if he blinked she'd be gone.

"Belle…" Her name rolled off his tongue so smoothly, as if he'd chanted it for years since her departure from his castle. It was like taking a wonderful drink of water after endless days striving in a desert.

"My name is Isabella French," she corrected him. French. Of course…Moe's daughter in this world. And you locked her away. You shut her away. You were her father. "Please…you don't need to hurt him."

His brown eyes traveled to the man on the ground, his drunken head lolling from side to side. Oh, how he wanted to hurt that man for even thinking of touching Belle again. If I were in that other realm, I would turn him into a snail and crush him with my boot.

In this world, however, all he had was a cane. And—like with Moe French—a cane sometimes did the trick. But Belle was watching him, nearly shaking despite her confidence. She doesn't remember me. She doesn't remember anything.

If Gold beat this man here, now, in front of her…she'd be frightened. She'd drift away from him. He couldn't have that.

"We'll let the Sheriff find him," he agreed, placing his cane back on the ground where it belonged. "You must need shelter," he hinted. No matter what, he could not allow Emma Swan to cross paths with Belle. The Sheriff would be forced to do her job, shut Belle away from him again.

Belle nodded slowly, as if in a daze.

"Yes, I do. Thank you," she whispered as Mr. Gold led her along the streets of Storybrooke. As he took his beauty home, where she belonged.


It was almost surreal, having Belle by his side again. Even more so since she obviously did not remember who he truly was. At least she would not recall the pain I put her through, he thought. But if she could just remember something…it was tormenting, not being able to reach out to her.

And because she did not remember, he was forced to restrain himself as he helped her home, as he unlocked the door to his estate, as Belle followed him inside.

Isabella…that was her name in this world. But to him she would always be Belle.

"You have a lovely home," she softly offered, as though nervous that he would reprimand her for the compliment. Her wide eyes roamed in wonder, absorbing every detail. If only she would one day observe him with as much interest.

And you have lovely lips that I am dying to kiss, he thought darkly as he watched her. He remained off to the side, never touching her for fear that he would frighten her away. She would be about nineteen in this world, or somewhere close to that. There were limits in this world—age restrictions—that made such intimacies inappropriate.

Or maybe he never touched her for fear that this was all in his head, that she wasn't really there.

"Thank you…Miss French," he complied, gripping the banister of the stairs until his knuckles turned white. Damn Regina for doing this to her. Damn Regina for taking her away from me.

Belle's beautiful eyes landed on him and he found he could not look away. Politely, she smiled.

"Please…call me Isabella," she insisted with confidence though she looked quite small in that pitiful hospital uniform. He wondered if he still had her golden gown somewhere.

Belle frowned thoughtfully and then—to his shock—she laid a kind hand on his arm. In an instant, his breath stopped and her touch seared him to the bone.

"Or…you can call me Belle. I think I like that name better than Isabella," she told him, laughing silvery. Her hand was still on his arm and everything else in the world slipped away as he gazed into her eyes.

"Belle…" He whispered longingly. A startled flash shown in her eyes and she slowly removed her hand from his arm. Something in his eyes had concerned her, set off the alarms in her mind. Oh, but it was so hard to control it.

Regaining his composure, he motioned for her to follow him up the stairs. Belle was hesitant at first—to her he was still a stranger—but then her soft footsteps matched the tapping of his cane.

"Where are you taking me?"

He paused on the top step. It was déjà vu; he could recall Belle asking the same exact question when she first stepped foot in the Dark Castle. Following him…wearing her golden dress…where are you taking me?

And, likewise, he could recall his response with perfect clarity.

"Let's just call it…your room," he said to her, hoping to ignite a slight spark of recognition. Her eyes gleamed with curiosity, but his words triggered little else. Face it…she doesn't remember. The curse has affected her like everyone else. Damn Regina.

"You don't have to—" She began to protest as he swiftly led her down the hallway, past the library. He'd have to remember to show it to her. It had been her favorite room in the castle. Belle…sitting on a chair next to the window…book in her hand…

"I am aware that I do not have to, Belle. I want to," he told her over his shoulder as he stopped before one of the best guest rooms. He laid his hands on the doors and closed his eyes, savoring her warmth close behind him.

This time, there would be no cold, unforgiving dungeon for her. This time, he intended to make everything better.


How was that? I already have plans for what's coming next.

Also, thank you everyone for the marvelous reviews! Here's a shout-out now to Moonphase9, Sorcelle Dragonmoon, megumisakura, SqueakyDolphin6, LaBelleRoseBleue, Marcella Watts, Bluecanbegreen, Skylie XD, anon, Sheherazade's Fable, vcatrashfiend, and The Sky Pirate Girl. Thanks so much!

Until next time!