Mr Gold always remembered his dreams. He used to forget them, before Emma came to town, but since her presence and her magic had come, he recalled his old skill of lucid dreaming. The Dark One never got himself into a situation that he couldn't completely control.

This time, as usual, his dream involved Baelfire. He thought about Bae nearly constantly, so it never surprised him when his mind tried to fit Bae into his night visions too. Most nights, the dream also involved Belle, flitting through like a vision, always just out of reach, usually singing. Tonight Bae was clinging to his hand as the vortex sucked him in, and he determined that this time he would hang on, but then he heard Belle's voice and let Bae fall screaming into the void. He scrambled up and looked wildly for Belle, but he only saw Austen, standing there with her head thrown back, her hands in the pocket of her jeans.

"Where's Belle?" he demanded. "Where is she?"

"You and your questions, Mr Gold," she said, her eyes dancing.

When he woke up, he began to analyse this dream. He'd spent the entire evening trying not to call Austen "Belle," so it was no wonder, really. He pieced it together quickly and easily; Bae, he always thought about, Belle nearly as often, and Austen had been prominent during that day.

He limped downstairs and began to fry himself some eggs. Still, the resemblance troubled him. The only reason he ever became acquainted with either of these people was to forget Belle, and he thought of her every time he saw the girl.

As he finished the breakfast dishes, he heard a knock on the door. This surprised him. He had many acquaintances but very few friends—perhaps none whatsoever—and people rarely came to see him at his house. He limped out to the foyer and opened the door to…Austen.

"Miss O'Sullivan!"

"Hi, Mr Gold. I took a walk this morning, and I found myself here. I thought it was about the right time for you to head up to your shop and since my shift starts right away today I was wondering if you would like to walk together. Sorry about the sweats; I have another outfit in my bag."

"Well, I'm honoured that you would think of me, Austen. Why don't you come in and have a cup of tea first?"

"That sounds great."

All according to plan. Don't get emotionally involved. He chatted lightly with her, smiled at her, and let her smile at him; thoughts of Belle he steadfastly pushed out of his mind. Still, when he poured the tea, he treated his with a generous dose of something that was not tea. He didn't even notice that he had, as usual, poured it into the chipped cup until he saw her looking at it.

He'd brought it home after that uncomfortable encounter earlier, hoping both to allay further questioning and minimise the possibility of someone else thinking it was for sale. For twenty eight years he hadn't had to worry about it, since no one bought anything anyway, and he liked to have it where he could look at it all day—since he couldn't forget her no matter what he did, he might as well keep nearby whatever he could of her. Things were changing now, though; time was moving and people actually bought (and occasionally stole) things from his shop. All in all it was safer at home, and, since it was there, he'd renewed his old habit of drinking everything out of it. Recently, "everything" had included just a tad more alcohol than he liked to admit.

"It was hers, wasn't it, Mr Gold?" she asked when he sat down.

"Not technically," he replied, smiling. Damn you, I don't want to talk about her! I'm trying not to think about her! "It's mine. But she dropped it one day while she was making tea, and it chipped. She was upset and apologised, but…" He trailed off, the image of the frightened girl in a gold dress dancing in front of his eyes.

"Do you have anything of hers?"

"This is the only thing."

"Do you mind…? Would you tell me about her? How did you meet her? I mean, I know you said you didn't like questions, and I don't want to be annoying, but…I want to know what happened. I want to know what he did to you."

Mr Gold sipped reflectively, and decided to tell her. He would, of course, leave out the part about the war. He would also drop the Dark One detail, and the incident with true love's kiss, and…in point of fact, he would not be telling her at all. But maybe some credible half truths would sate her curiosity enough that they didn't have to talk about it anymore.

He told her that Belle used to be his house help; she would clean the place and make him meals. He toyed with the idea of relating the curtains episode, but determined against it and instead said that he had begun to fall in love with her. She'd been pretty and curious and wasn't afraid of him, which bravery he freely admitted was unusual; she'd even flirted with him on occasion, which disturbed, surprised, and fascinated him all at the same time. He told her that Belle was a great deal younger than he (he didn't say how much), and that he didn't feel as though they could begin a relationship (though he didn't say that those two facts were connected).

"What did she think? Did she love you?"

He stood up and began to clear the table of the tea things, subtly turning his head away. Even though he wanted her pity now, he couldn't bear for anyone to see tears in his eyes.

"I don't know," he said. "Perhaps. But…" And this was the tricky part. He manoeuvred his words now, telling her that "someone" had begun spreading rumours about him and the sort of person he was. He didn't mention that the rumours were true or that they concerned changing him to an ordinary mortal or that it was Regina did the gossiping. He did say that Belle left, but he didn't say that he'd thrown her out. He did say that he never saw her again until he heard news that she'd been "associated" with a certain wealthy and powerful man, who then left her, and that she'd thrown herself off a building.

That's good, he thought. Just the right inflection on associated. That could mean anything.

He didn't cry while relating this; he had too much energy focussed on spinning the innocent words into what meaning he chose, like he spun straw into gold. But the memory of her death still angered him, and Austen could see that.

This is certainly different. I've manipulated and exploited thousands of other people's emotions to suit my purposes, but I've never exploited my own, not since Cora. I'm so sorry, Belle…

"But why would he do that? Hadn't the damage been done when she left you?"

"I just wasn't hurt enough, apparently," he muttered, grinding his teeth.

"Are you sure he did it to hurt you? I mean, for God's sake, she died. You just got your heart broken."

"One thing I know for certain, Austen, is that he never cared about her, or what happened to her. It seemed a little as though he did, once, and I would have been content…but hurting her hurt me. In his defence, I'm sure he had no idea of her dying." I'm sure he didn't.

"How can you say anything in his defence? How could anyone? How can you forgive him?" She began to sound as if tears were not far off. "He didn't even explain, or anything. It's like he didn't care about her, about what happened to her. Does the man have any feelings?"

Please don't cry. I'm trying to manipulate my own emotions, not let others manipulate them for me. Thank gods your eyes are brown.

She didn't cry. She cleared her throat and looked at the table, at her hands clenched into fists. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm still kind of upset."

"Of course you are, dearie." That helped. Condescension, even if she didn't recognise it as such, helped. He would never be condescending to Belle.

"I don't understand why I feel so connected to him. You've heard of love at first sight? I don't believe in it. It's stupid. But the first time I saw him, I felt like I knew him, somehow. It was like seeing someone I already loved, but I knew consciously I was seeing him for the first time. And I can't…shake that, because every time I see him…but how can I love him? How could anyone love him? After what he's done…"

"Maybe you just need to spend some time away from him. I'd imagine your sister would recommend that."

She looked surprised. Careful. Don't give too much away. "That's exactly what she recommended. Actually, that's why I'm…well, that's why I'm here. I only sort of wanted to walk you to work."

"Indeed?"

"I came to ask you a favour. I mean, you were awfully nice to me yesterday, when I needed somebody to talk to, even though it was about…him."

"Ask away, dearie."

With his plan working beautifully, although it took a serious toll on him, Mr Gold thought he was prepared for anything. Her request surprised even him.

Austen took three careful steps out of her bedroom, looked both ways down the hall, and made for the head of the stairs with the agility and silence of a cat.

"Aaaand just where do you think you're going?"

She halted at the head of the stairs and turned to find her sister giving her a quizzical look. Annabel wore a baseball cap turned backwards, an oversized t-shirt, a ragged old pair of jeans, and fuzzy bunny slippers; she looked fabulous. Considering that Austen had just spent the last thirty minutes refining her appearance, this seemed grossly unfair.

"Out," she said.

"With whom?"

"Ruby and some of the girls?"

"Liar. Who is he? I thought you said you didn't need any more guys in your life."

"I don't. He isn't more; he's one of the original ones."

"You're going on a date with Rich?"

"No! Mr Gold. And it's…not exactly a date."

"What is it?"

"A…meeting. At a restaurant."

"Add 'romantic intent' and you've got a date. Austen, you're dating a man twice your age? Why? You kept insisting you weren't attracted to him!"

"And you kept insisting I was, so I don't understand why you have a problem with this."

"I don't have a problem with it, exactly. Actually, I kind of admire Mr Gold, and I know he really likes you. I just want to know, why the sudden change of heart? And why you're wearing my best necklace to a 'meeting' with a guy you're not attracted to."

"To be honest, it's because of Rich. I don't want him to talk to me anymore; I want to avoid him. So, I figured, if I started dating his worst enemy—who, incidentally, is a nice guy—it might scare Rich away and distract me at the same time."

"I sincerely hope Mr Gold knows about this. The last thing you need to do is break his heart again."

"Of course he knows. And he's still so desperately in love with the girl who died that I doubt I have a chance of breaking his heart, even if I want to."

"And you know this for sure? Somehow I never saw Mr Gold as the pining, living-in-the-past type. He's more an 'I can predict your every move and tell you how Lost is going to end after only seeing the first two episodes' type."

"Annie, he hums her favourite song when he's concentrating and he drinks out of a broken cup because she dropped it."

"Okay, leaning towards pining. But then dating him might not be the best idea."

"Look, I appreciate the analysis and everything, but I'm going to be late. And it's not romantic, it's just a blind."

"You know, most people use this sort of thing to get the guy. It's called the jealously gambit or something."

"Well, the other benefit of going out with Mr Gold is that if Rich does come anywhere near me, I can use that gold-handled cane to beat him up."

"Did you ever make that meeting with the mysterious person who was going to buy your land?" Austen asked lightly. They'd eaten at the town's only other restaurant that wasn't Granny's or the swanky gourmet. They'd talked about…well, Austen couldn't really remember. But that was nice. She'd laughed a lot, and probably talked more than she should have.

In fact, he seemed to purposely say just enough to keep up the semblance of a conversation without interrupting her flow. It was as if he instinctively understood that she needed to talk tonight, just like yesterday when he'd taken her in his arms. Lots of men didn't do anything when a woman cried, or they tried to talk to her or something, but Mr Gold understood that all Austen wanted to do was cling to someone and feel their heartbeat.

Now, though, as they walked together down Main Street toward the ice cream parlour, she wanted to make him talk a little. She still had so many questions she wanted to ask him about his life, about how he came to Storybrooke, about his family, about the kind of things he liked and disliked. Most of all, she wanted to know more about Belle; she couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something. She didn't think it was the right time to talk about those things, though, so she just asked a simple question for now.

"Yes, I did. Yesterday evening. A very satisfactory transaction for all parties."

"And you're still not going to tell me who it is?"

He smiled at her. "Even besides client confidentiality, I find business runs more smoothly when most of the details are kept private."

"Not surprising. That's what you seem to think about everything."

"Oh, come now. That's hardly fair, coming from you."

"Okay, fine. You've told me a lot more than you tell anyone else, and I know you've got a right to your privacy. You're right." She smiled. "I guess I'm the sort of person that has to tell everyone everything, and then I meet someone like you and you're different and I have a hard time understanding it. I'm sorry. But I have been talking for the past hour, and you've been nice about it, and I think you should say something. I've talked myself out."

"Well, what shall I say?"

"I don't know. How about small talk? Then neither of us will have to say anything, which will suit both of us fine, me having talked all evening and you being taciturn."

"Small talk as in, 'How are you this evening, Miss O'Sullivan? Isn't it a fine night?'"

"Good, let's start there! 'Why, yes it is, Mr Gold, and please call me Austen…' What's your first name?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Maybe I don't have one."

"Right, taciturnity. Secrecy. Got it. Ahem. 'Why, yes it is indeed a fine night. I could really go for some ice cream right now.'"

"'Well, that is indeed fortunate, as we are headed toward—imagine that!—the ice cream parlour!'"

"'I understand you frequent this place…frequently.' Oh, that doesn't sound great. Can I rephrase?"

"Too late. Words are very powerful, Miss O'Sullivan, and once said cannot be unsaid. 'I do frequent this place. I make it a policy to have at least one serving of ice cream every two days.'"

"'Then I am surprised at your trim figure, Mr Gold.'"

"'My servings are light, and my habit is to walk. I generally prefer a solitary walk to a solitary drive.'"

"And why is that?"

"I don't think this is small talk anymore."

"Don't be silly. Anything that doesn't mean anything is small talk."

"You have to define 'meaning' something."

"You sound like…" She bit her lip. "I need to stop saying that. But you are a lot like him. I mean, you're not, but..."

"What makes you think we're similar?" he asked. He turned to study her, a line between his brows.

"Well, I mean, you don't hurt people or anything."

"Assume that we were both angels."

"Who's to say what we'll all be like as angels?"

"All right, assume that neither of us has hurt anyone too terribly. How are we similar?"

"Well, you both think about things and study things before making decisions, and you both spend a lot of time thinking about and planning for the future. You're both very logical, and you're both hard to argue with and fun to talk to at the same time. You're both stubborn and secretive, or 'private,' depending on what spin you want to put on it. You both have a certain flair for doing things and living, even if it's a low-key sort of flair. You both have a hard time expressing your feelings, though I think you at least are secretly kind of vulnerable. You're both very determined to get your own way and are very good at getting it. You're both rich, and intelligent, and…relatively attractive; I mean, you even have the same brown eyes. And I think you've both got high standards for yourself and for everyone else, maybe in different areas."

Mr Gold didn't say anything after this analysis. They went on walking until they reached the ice cream parlour.

As he opened the door for her, he said, "You may find, Austen, that too much observation may get you in trouble."

"You're saying that my analysis was too accurate?"

He shrugged. "I couldn't say." But then he smiled at her, a little sadly, it seemed. "You're very sharp, aren't you? You make connections easily. Just be careful that you don't put people in boxes and forget to study them as individuals."

"Don't worry. I think about that all the time; try to realise that people aren't who I think they are or want them to be, and that I can't really change people."

"Oh, you can change people, Miss O'Sullivan. But it's much, much easier to change them for the worse than it is to change them for the better."

"You're saying this from experience?"

"Well, I'm saying this from being very old, and having seen a great deal more of the world than you."

They ordered their ice cream: vanilla in a bowl for Mr Gold and rainbow sherbet cone for Austen, who felt like trying something new.

"You're not that old," she said when they sat down. "Have you really seen the world? You've been here as long as I can remember."

"Well, I've been a great variety of places and known a great variety of people, and I'm likely much older than you think."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me how old?"

"I don't make a habit of sharing personal details, as you so astutely pointed out."

"I'll tell you how old I am," she wheedled.

"Oh, that won't be necessary. You're almost twenty three."

She stared at him. "How on earth did you know that?"

"I told you. I make a point of researching potential assets."

"And that's all you're going to say about it? Okay, fine. What else do you know about me?"

He smiled, put down his spoon, leaned back in his chair, and pressed the tips of his fingers together. "I know that you have four sisters, one of whom you live with and care about very much. I know that you're unusually intelligent. I know that your family is poor, and that you've been working since you graduated high school to make enough money for college, because you have a horror of going into debt that is matched only by your uncertainty about leaving Storybrooke. I know that you're musical; I know that you love word games and metaphors. You're bad with details, you can be clumsy, and you occasionally let anger and prejudice cloud your judgement; you tend to place a great deal of faith in first impressions, but also try to understand things and people. You've never been in a relationship because you've never found anyone who could compete with you intellectually. I also know that you're very tactile and enjoy being touched and held, though you downplay that for the sake of social acceptability. Will that do for a start?"

"For a start?" she gasped. "I thought you said too much observation could get you in trouble!"

He resumed eating his ice cream with a calm air. "Turnabout is fair play, dearie."

"How did you know that last one? I don't tell people that. I don't…I mean…"

"No, indeed. People don't. Perhaps I don't care for people as much as you do, but I can be quite perceptive when I choose."

"And why would you choose so in my case?"

He only smiled.