"Yes, I'm your dragon man."
"And Rumplestiltskin? That can't be your name. Can it?"
"Call it a nom de guerre. It was the name I was known by in certain circles in those days."
"Why didn't you tell me?" the words came out weak and desperate. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't I know about Graham? What other, important secrets don't I know?
"I didn't know." He gave her a pleading look. "Not when I met you. I had no idea I'd ever seen you before."
She'd considered that. She'd been twenty-three, after all, when she came to Storybrooke. Even her name had changed. "But, when you knew?"
"I didn't. Not till Miss Swan came to town. Henry may be right about her, about her power to change things. She made a stray comment, and I remembered. It all fit together. I knew who you were. And who you'd been to me."
"Not till then? We've known each other ten years—we've been married for five years—and you didn't know till then?"
"When I . . . sent you away," he said, his voice sounding raw and raspy, like a wound. "I had a choice to make. You said you wondered if the man who helped you, if I had been involved in something criminal." He shrugged. "I managed to stay on the right side of the law. More or less. Not that it mattered. I could name quite a few officials who wanted to nail my hide to the wall on principle. But, I didn't really care that a lot of the people I worked with weren't nearly that choosy. I was a . . . well, let's call me a procurer of goods. If you wanted something that was impossible to get, I got it."
Isabel frowned. "You mean drugs?"
He snorted in disgust. "Anyone can get those. I specialized in hard things."
"Me? Was I a hard thing?"
That hit home. The bravado went out of him. "In a way," he admitted. "I was contacted by a man." Gold got a look she recognized. She thought of it as one of his lawyer faces, the one where he was sorting through a complicated case for the bare essentials. "He told me he'd made a mistake," Gold said. "A terrible mistake. There were people he'd given his daughter. He wanted me to get her out."
"Given."
"Yes."
It was too much. First, Graham, and now this. I want to boil over. "He knew what they were doing to me?"
Gold hesitated. "Enough," he said at last. "We didn't talk for long, you understand. But, he knew enough. At the time, he thought he had no choice. When I met him, he was dying, and it made him see rethink that. But, he wanted me to get you out, Belle. No matter what else you think about him, that was true. He wanted you out, no matter the cost. So, I got you out."
The world was shifting under her feet. She felt like she was falling into a black pit. "Because he paid you?"
"Because, I wouldn't leave a child in a place like that," he snapped angrily. "I'm a monster, Belle. I've never lied about that. But, give me some credit. There are a few lines even I won't cross."
Isabel remembered being given a bath, the first time in what felt like years. She remembered warm water and ointment that took away the pain and closed up the wounds in her skin. He'd given her clean clothes and a bed to sleep in instead of a dark corner filled with her own filth. In the end, she'd felt cared for—she felt safe. Until it ended.
"But, you left me. You sent me away."
The anger died away. "I'm a monster, Belle. It wasn't right for a child to be around me." He hesitated again. "And, I had a choice to make." The words came reluctantly, like heavy stones mined from some deep corner of his soul. Belle remembered something she'd heard or read once, long ago: Like a blessing from a black magician.
"I had a son" Gold said. Belle blinked, trying to make sense of what he'd just said and understand how it fit what they were talking about. Gold went on, oblivious to her confusion. "It was a long time ago. And I lost him. I searched for him for years. I worked for people who wouldn't know what a conscience was if you gave it to them giftwrapped but who I thought could lead me to him." He gave her a small, broken smile. "I found you instead.
"Things were coming to a head. So long as I was part of that world, you were still in danger. I could walk away and keep you safe, or I could continue my search. And I couldn't give up my search. Not then. Not even for you.
"I sent you away. I did everything I could to make sure you would be safe and cared for. But, I still sent you away."
"So, you could find your son." A son. Her husband had had a son. She wanted to ask a thousand questions, all of them starting with, Why didn't you tell me?
But, she didn't. She had a terrible feeling she already knew the answer. "Did you find him?"
The broken smile fell away entirely. "Look around you, Belle. Do you see a son here?" He sighed. "I knew I was playing a dangerous game with dangerous people. I had a code of sorts—I'm not claiming much, when I say that. It wasn't much of a code. But, many of the people I did business didn't even have that. They decided to take care of me in their own way." He shrugged. "I lived through it. But, my memories of what happened during that time and in the months leading up to it were less than perfect for a long time."
And was that why he found it easier to believe something was wrong with Graham's mind? What had they done to him?
"You didn't have a limp when I knew you."
"Oh, that?" He seemed surprised she would mention it. "It was an old injury, before I met you. But, events around that time, er, brought it back."
"They broke your leg?" She was boiling over. And they, whoever "they" were, seemed like perfect targets.
"I broke it. More or less."
"More or less?" Isabel had seen his leg. She'd felt the sharp edges of misset bones through his skin. "There's nothing 'more or less' about it!"
He shrugged. "It was a long time ago. And it was my choice. I knew what I was getting into." As almost an afterthought, he said, "If it makes you feel better, things didn't turn out much better for the people responsible. There was a shift in local power about then. Let's just say the outcome wasn't in their favor."
At the moment, despite wanting to crush them to powder, that wasn't what mattered to her. "And what about you? How did you come out of it?"
"Alive. And ready for a change of scenery. You'll notice the climate here has been much kinder to my skin."
She touched his hand. "I remember scales. And claws."
"Oh. That. The skin was a combination of things. Think of it as very bad eczema. A condition that the local atmosphere didn't help. There were things I could have done about it, but I didn't bother. It also scared people to death. Not getting a manicure didn't hurt, either.
"After I left, I finally got it taken care of. It's cleared up and, unless I do something very stupid, it's not coming back."
I'm all right. I'm fine. It won't be a problem. Unless he did something stupid—correction, something very stupid.
Of course, that would be all he had to say. Isabel loved him, but there were times she dearly wanted to hit him. Whatever they'd done to him, he'd nearly forgotten about her in the wake of it. Because of injuries. Or because he had more important things to think about.
Or because that time meant more to me than it did to him.
Isabel remembered being rocked back to sleep when she woke from nightmares. She remembered him giving her her dog, the first Wee Jock, helping her learn to walk again, then smiling as she ran up and down hallways, laughing and shouting. No, he had cared. He always cared.
"Why didn't you tell me once you knew?"
"Tell you what? That I was sleeping someone I'd known since she was a child? That I said I'd protect you and wound up using you instead? I should have. But, I'm a coward, Belle. I couldn't."
He'd been strange the past few weeks, kind as always but strangely distant. As he said, it started when Miss Swan came to town. Because, she said something and he remembered. Because, he felt guilty when he finally realized who she was.
I married the stupidest man on the planet.
She shook her head. "You're not my father and I've never thought of you as one. Saving me as a child doesn't make you a bad man."
"Belle—"
"I'm thirty-three years old. I'm not a little girl anymore, and I wasn't one when we got married. You could try to remember that."
"It's not a good enough reason."
How old could he have been when she first met him? Maybe eighteen? A kid on his own against the world. A terrifyingly smart kid, but still a kid. No family besides his son, no friends who wouldn't sell him out and leave him with a shattered leg when his usefulness ran out. They'd both been little more than children.
"No, it's not. What's 'good enough' is that I love you, I want to be married to you, and I made up my own mind to do that. Do not argue with me," she said as he started to open his mouth. "I've had a terrible day, in case you haven't noticed, and I am not in the mood."
"Yes, dear."
Isabel couldn't help it. She started to giggle. Then, she laughed. She laughed till she could barely breathe. Then, the laughter turned to sobs. Too much. It was all too much.
She didn't know how long she cried. Gold held her tight. Wee Jock, who had been hiding since poor Dove collapsed at her feet, finally crept out and curled up beside her. When the sobs finally subsided, he was still holding her as if he would drown if he let her go.
As if we both would.
"Don't leave me," Isabel whispered. "No matter what you think, no matter what you remember, please, don't leave me."
"I won't," he whispered. "Not unless you send me away. I promise I won't."
From the way he said it, she knew he half-expected she would someday, as if he didn't notice she was holding onto him as tightly as he was holding onto her. Isabel sighed.
I really did marry the stupidest man on the planet.
She sighed again. I'm glad one of us is smart enough not to let go.