37

Poor Unfortunate Soul

Nottingham could barely contain his amusement as he handed the pouch of coins to Rum. "You ever play before?"

"Of course," Rumple said calmly. He knew from his experiences in playing the game in the Enchanted Forest as the Dark One that people eventually created their own variants of the poker game but the card rankings were the same for the most part.

"Then follow me!"

Nottingham took him back into the barroom where a group of men were seated. "Boys! Got us a new player. Make some room!"

One of the men eyed him curiously. "What'cha gonna wager with? Bread or somethin'?"

The others laughed. "Hell he should wager that pretty little Injun wife he's got at home."

Rumple dropped the pouch of gold on the table. "How's that for a wager, dearies?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

"You won't even last two hands," challenged another player.

"Let's find out, shall we?"

Another player at the table shuffled the cards and dealt one card face down to each of the participants followed by a second card face up, each player making a wager. Rumple's face card was a seven of hearts, Nottingham's card was the highest showing allowing him to open the betting. He dropped three coins on the table and smirked. Two of the players groaned in frustration and tossed their cards aside. When it came time for Rumple to place his wager he tossed in three coins, waiting patiently for his next card. It was a Jack. Nottingham's next card was a ten of spades that allowed him to make a possible straight or flush with his king.

"Boy, do yourself a favor and fold 'em," a man sitting next to him advised. "Nottingham always gets good hands."

But Rumple wasn't ready to fold yet. Though Nottingham's cards were still higher in the ranking, his facedown card was also a seven, keeping him in the game with a pair.

Nottingham added more coins to his pile on the table. "Okay, boys...you wanna raise me or give up?"

"Dammit! You markin' the cards or what?"

The silence at the table was frightening,

"Porter...shut your goddam trap! You wanna get shot?!"

The other men at the table recalled an incident three years earlier where a new player made the unfortunate mistake of accusing Nottingham of marking the cards when he was having another of his lucky streaks and earned a bullet between the eyes for his mistake.

"You better be foolin' around, Porter," Nottingham's hand moved inside his coat for his gun.

"I...I was just foolin, Keith. You know that," Porter laughed nervously.

Now only Rumple and Nottingham were the only two players in the hand. Rumple's second card was another Jack. He smiled. "Still think I'm only going to last one hand?"

"We'll see," Nottingham murmured, turning his last card up revealing a king.

The others stared in shock when Rumple turned his card over.

"Son of bitch. Two pairs! Not bad!" Porter praised.

"Yeah...WE never beat Nottingham on our first hand!"

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Nottingham growled.

He never enjoyed losing.

Though he was having somewhat of a lucky streak, Rumple didn't want to be playing too long. Stefan needed him to get him inside to find Aurora. He deliberately folded a hand even though he had a chance of winning and excused himself, claiming he had to visit the necessary.

"Yeah, I'd want to be sick after losing all that!"

Now that his rival had decided to do the brave thing and call it quits, Nottingham busied himself humiliating the rest of the players at the table by taking every cent they had.

Rumple quickly took his money and made his way towards the back door, leaning a bit heavily on his staff. He wanted to seem slightly drunk and disabled, no threat to anyone. He had drank a few shots of whiskey as he played, but little did they know, a softly worded spell beforehand turned the alcohol to water before it touched his lips, enabling him to drink and never get drunk. He would never succumb to the bottle not like his papa had.

One of the men laughed at him as he staggered past them. "Be careful you don't piss your drawers!" he called out.

"Or shit!" another snickered.

Rum ignored them. Ignorant rubes, they were getting fleeced by the good looking wolf in sheeps' clothing every time they set foot in here and they didn't even realize it. But Rumple had known Nottingham's kind before and knew exactly what kind of game he was playing.

One of the girls came downstairs as he was walking past her. "Need a little help, honey?" she cooed. She wore a low cut dress of amber velvet with killer high heels and a soft fuzzy stole, her brown hair piled high on her head. Underneath the lip paint and makeup she looked to be about twenty-six.

He shook his head, reddening slightly. "Thank you kindly, dearie, I'm fine."

"You sure? I can fix up you right." She brushed against him. "Been kinda slow tonight...come upstairs and I'll make your night more interesting...no one has to know..."

"I . . . I'm married . . .my wife is expecting . . ." he coughed. All the while his mind was spinning. He knew he needed to get upstairs to look around. Without being too obvious. Oh heaven help me! What should I do? he beseeched his Manitou.

Be clever and be swift, Beloved, came Fox's gentle yip. Play the game.

"Honey, you think these men here give a damn about their wives? If they did they wouldn't be here. All they give a damn about is that little stick between their legs and what woman to put it in."

Rumple felt his ears heat up at her frankness. Then he swallowed sharply, reminding himself why he was here, and that this was a golden opportunity. "Err . . .some friends recommended . . . err . . .a lady named . . .Aurora . . . would you happen to know . . ."

Please forgive me, Belle. I have to find this poor child! he thought penitently.

She glared at him. "Oh sure! You're one of THOSE eh? Prefers a sweet young thing...not me with my saggy ass!"

"N-no . . . you shouldn't talk about yourself that way," he stammered. "You're not ugly . . ."

Rumple, quit chitchatting and just get a move on, his conscience hissed. But he couldn't stand how these women were treated. Poor unfortunate souls, all of them . . .because he had a feeling these girls weren't there because they enjoyed selling their favors. They were desperate-and Nottingham had them trapped in his web. He knew an extortionist when he saw one.

"Tell that to that asshole in the bar!" she snarled. "He tells the customers to put a bag on my head when they wanna do it! I wouldn't even be here if...if that bastard hadn't taken everything my husband had and sent him into an early grave!"

Gold met her world weary brown eyes and murmured, "My apologies, ma'am. I know what it's like to be a desperate soul," he said compassionately.

She pulled him aside. "You ain't here just to...do it...with that girl are you?"

"I need to find her. Please, it's very important." He fished a ten dollar gold piece out of his pocket. "If it's money you want . . . take this and be welcome to it."

"I don't want your money. I want outta here," she said sadly. "But if can't get out...at least that poor girl can."

"Maybe . . . maybe I can help you too," his hissed. "What's your name?" He moved so it looked like he was fondling her in the corner, leaning his staff against the wall.

"Emily. Least that's what my mama called me. Folks here know me as Amber though."

"All right. If you tell me where Aurora is, I'm going to try and help her. But first I need a certain pair of hands waiting for me outside around the back. Help me and I'll see you go with us when we leave. You have my word-and no one breaks deals with me, dearie."

"You leave it to me! Come on honey!" she called out loud enough for the other men to hear. "I'll help you with your little...problem..."

"Yeah...better make sure he handles it right!"

"He might need a little encouragement, Amber, baby!"

"Can give plenty of that...right, boys?" She leaned forward, displaying her cleavage.

They hooted and whistled in appreciation.

"She's a gold mine awright! And you jus' struck it rich, old man!"

"Thought they were gonna shoot their guns off, they do sometimes," Emily muttered.

"A twenty-one gun salute?" Gold teased, relaxing slightly. But he was still wary. He put his arm about her, pretending to nuzzle her so he didn't need to whisper, since whispers carried.

"We need to let my pair of hands in," he said softly.

"Come on then. Don't want any of those idiots to think something's up."

"Excuse me, darlin'," he prompted. "Wait a moment, while I . . . relieve myself of this whiskey." He slipped from her while they were in the hallway, and made his way to the back door, opening it and walking out into the alley.

It was all shadows and for a moment he couldn't see anything, as his eyes hadn't adjusted yet to the moonlight. "Stefan?" he called very softly. "Lad, where are you?"

There was a rustling sound, then Stefan's pale head came into view. "Mr. Gold? I'm over here!"

"So am I," Thomas murmured. "How much longer?"

"Give me another twenty minutes," Gold whispered. "I was dragooned into playing a few hands of cards."

Then he explained about Emily also coming with them, then said, "Quickly, Stefan, let's go back inside. Before someone suspects something."

"Be careful, Rum," warned Thomas. "It's a den of vipers."

"Aye, I know that," he replied. "C'mon, lad."

He held open the door so Stefan could nip inside, then followed.

Emily was waiting for them near the steps. "Quick!" she whispered.

Stefan darted up the stairs like a mongoose after a cobra, and Mr. Gold put his arm around Emily again and began singing in a soft Scottish burr, "In the bonny bonny Glen o' MacNamora, my true love did come a'callin' . . ."

"Oh I do love that accent, honey, and if you weren't married..."

He winked. Then he pretended to slip a bit and said, "Pardon this old war wound . . . but I may need a wee bit o' help . . . had a bit more t' drink than m' usedta."

"Don't you worry...you just relax and let me do the work..." Emily grinned.

They reached the top of the stairs. "Which way?" he mouthed.

Emily pointed to a door at the end of the hall. "Hope she doesn't have someone in there..."

"Lemme see," Stefan said.

Rumple grabbed the boy's arm. "No, lad! You let me see. Wait," he ordered, not even wanting to think about what would happen if the boy saw what went on in those rooms.

He pretended to stroll down the hall, motioning for Emily and Stefan to keep out of sight.

He reached the door and hesitated, hoping it wasn't locked. It turned, and he opened it and peered inside.

"Aurora?" he called.

The room was dim, just enough light from a gas lantern to illuminate the bed, which had the sheets crisply made-oddly enough. The girl who sat on the edge of it was combing her gilt hair, humming softly to herself, her blue eyes fixed upon the mirror over the wash stand. She wore a soft gauzy pink wrap and pink slippers. Cheap paste jewelry glimmered in her ears and on her wrists and neck.

She looked barely older than Regina, Gold thought in dismay and sorrow. Oh, child, what have they done to you?

A tale as old as time-the imp giggled in his head, and he felt ill.

He shut the door behind him. "Aurora?" he repeated, taking a few steps into the room.

"Who...who are you?" she asked fearfully.

It's not your place to ask she could hear her employer's scathing tone in her mind. Your job is to do what you're told.

"My name is Mr. Gold, dearie," he soothed. "I'm not here to hurt you. Your brother Stefan came to me, he was worried when you disappeared."

She lifted sorrowful blue eyes to his. "Sir . . .sir please . . . leave and tell him . . . tell him I'm fine. That I . . . I got a new job and . . . and . . . he's not to worry about me anymore . . ."

"I can't do that, dearie. You shouldn't be here," he began sympathetically, walking over to the bed to sit on the edge of it.

"You're wrong. It's the only place I belong," she cried angrily. "Now that . . . I am this!" she gestured at herself.

She bit her lip as tears formed in her eyes.

"Rory . . .why did you choose . . ." he began awkwardly.

"I needed the money!" she declared defiantly.

It was an act.

"Did you? I think you and I both know there's more to the story than that," he said quietly.

"Why do you care? I'm just another fallen woman!" she flared.

"Because no child ought to be forced against her will to sell herself," he answered bluntly. "Did Nottingham put you up to this? Threaten you?"

"He . . . he . . . at first I thought he was nice, hiring me to clean when I had no references and no experience. I came from a good home, Mum and Dad always had a staff to clean our house. But then they died before we got to America, and there was nobody to help so I had to go look for work. So I started asking around town-but nobody would hire me because I didn't have a character, so . . .then I asked here and Mr. Nottingham he . . . agreed to take me on. For a few weeks it was all right . . .I cleaned in the morning and through the afternoon, then when evening came I went home. But then . . . about three weeks after I started, the boss began asking me to stay later, he said he liked how I did my job, that nobody could make the floors shine so bright. So I began keeping later hours and he gave me a nickel more! I couldn't refuse that, sir. Next thing I know, he asked if I wanted to stay for dinner one night, I'd been working since sun up, the bar room was filthy. He brought me the best they had-tender steak with some kind of mushrooms, oysters in a cream sauce, even a chocolate cake! I hadn't had chocolate cake since my mum died. And he brought me some special fruit punch-with orange and lemon juice in it. It was so good I drank the whole thing and he brought me seconds. Then I drank that too . . .and before I knew it I . . . fell asleep. When I woke up . . . I was here . . .but my arms and legs were tied and Mr. Nottingham was . .. he was . . ."

Unable to finish, her breath hitched in a sob.

Rumple felt his heart shatter. "Ah, Aurora! I'm so sorry!" he said, and he reached out a hand to stroke her hair.

"I . . . I didn't know that men could . . . or that he even wanted . . .me like that. But after . . . he said . . . he said I'd get used to it and this was why he . . . wanted me. His customers needed someone like me-someone young and pretty and . . .innocent. Only I wasn't. Not ever again."

She began to tremble. "Now do you see? I can't come with you. I'm his now. He's marked me . . . forever."

"No! You're not his slave, Aurora! You're a human being, and deserving of mercy and love," he argued. "You were forced into this life, dearie. You didn't choose it. And you don't need to stay here, imprisoned like some caged nightingale!"

"But . . . where would I go? What would I do? No one will hire me like this!"

"No one knows what happened here," he persuaded. "And no one needs to know. Look, my partner, Jeff Hatter, just lost his wife. He needs someone to take care of his little girl Grace while he works. He'll pay you a fair wage and you can stay at the Red Hood Inn with your brother. I'll tell Mrs. Lucas you're a friend of mine and she'll work something out with you as far as room and board go and at least breakfast. What do you say, dearie? Have we got a deal?"

Aurora hesitated, disbelieving. Then she began to cry. "Why . . . why would you help me? I'm . . . I'm NOBODY!"

"Once I was nobody too . . . and someone helped me," he crooned, drawing her into his arms. "Shhh, poor child! I've come to set you free." He held her while sobs wracked her petite frame, and tears soaked his finely tailored suit.

His hand rubbed her back comfortingly, like a father would do to a daughter crying after a nightmare. Unfortunately, this nightmare was devastatingly real.

He knew the clock was ticking and he had to hurry, but he also knew he couldn't just drag the girl off, in her current state she was more likely to get them caught then not.

"Hush now, wee lass," he muttered, patting her back. "Hush! It's gonna be all right."

She clung to him like a drowning maid did to a spar upon a storm tossed sea, and allowed his touch and words to soothe her as she used to wish her father could do when they had first arrived in this foreign country and she had wept alone in her cot because she was afraid she and Stefan might starve.

Finally she stopped weeping and sat up. "Sorry, I've gotten you all wet."

He chuckled. "A little salt water never killed me. Get dressed and we can leave," he urged.

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm a man of my word," he encouraged, then he turned his back to her so she could dress.

Aurora dressed hurriedly, choosing one of her plainer gowns, the one with the least trim and lace and ribbons. Ingrid had liked her to sometimes play the shy debutante, so the lilac dress was not as bad as some of the others she had worn. At least it didn't scream tart the moment she walked out in it.

She quickly braided her hair and pulled on her slippers-they weren't suited for walking in the dirt, but they were all she had. She left the paste jewelry in the box, and then reached in her pillowcase to retrieve her tiny purse with her money in it.

She had far less than she should have, since Nottingham and Ingrid both charged her for things like room and board, clothing, even laundry was a fee, and so was food.

Swallowing, she said bravely, "Mr. Gold, I'm ready now."

He turned around. In his eyes was genuine fondness and not disgust. "You look lovely, Rory. Now, come, let's get your brother and Emily and we'll get out of here."

Emily was waiting out in the hall with Stefan having taken only her money purse as well.

Aurora blinked. "Amber, what are you doing here?"

"Leaving honey."

Aurora stared. "You . . . but . . . you've been here longer than I have . . ."

"D'you think I enjoy it? I don't. Fell on hard times and these rats take advantage of that."

"C'mon, dearies. Less chitchat, more walking," Gold urged. His sense of foreboding was tingling. "Aurora, you and Stefan come behind us. We're going to provide a distraction while you sneak out the back. Then we'll come after you."

"Be careful...please! I don't want anyone hurt because of me!"

They began to walk down the stairs. "Never you mind!" Rum ordered. "You just concentrate on getting out of here. Let me worry about me."

He put an arm about Emily, a goofy grin on his face. Then he began to sing loudly, "Oh Danny boy the pipes-the pipes are callin' from glen to glen . . ."

She giggled.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and while Gold continued to sway drunkenly, clutching his staff and Emily, Stefan and Aurora raced to the back door.

"And I must gae . . . and ye must bide . . ." he sang in his haunting lilting accent.

"You done already? Hell that didn't take long!" one of the men asked.

Gold hugged Emile. "A fine time I had wi' ye, darlin' . . . would ye be so kind as tae see me to my chaise?"

"Of course, honey!"

He pretended to stumble on the threshold and hiccupped. "Whoops! Mebbe ye oughta drive, dearie!"

"Wouldn't want you to have an accident on the way home, would we?"

"Nope . . ." he hiccupped again, and more laughter followed.

They sashayed right out of the saloon with no one the wiser.

As soon as they were outside, Rumple abandoned the drunken act once he was out of sight. "Come, I think Thomas has the wagon over here."

"Good!"

True to form, the reverend was waiting with his buckboard and they climbed inside. "Where to, Rum? The orphanage-or the marshal?"

"Better tell Graham first, the sooner the better," he urged, and Thomas picked up the reins and they were off.

They arrived at the marshal's home in a few minutes and knocked on the door. It was opened a few moments later by Graham, who looked as if he had just gotten up from bed. "What seems to be the trouble now, gentlemen?"

"Marshal, these girls have something interesting to tell you. About a certain saloon owner," Thomas, said, helping Emily and Aurora down. Stefan jumped down also.

An hour later, Graham had statements from them and was ready to get together a posse to close down the saloon, since one of Storybooke's ordinances was it was illegal to open a bordello in the town limits. But this had been overlooked because Tolle and Spencer both frequented the place, as Emily attested.

"Not that I enjoyed it mind you. Tolle was a bastard and Spencer even worse. They abused the poor girls," Emily said angrily.

"Tolle . . . he liked . . . whips . . ." Aurora shuddered. "He liked to play master and slave . . ." she dropped her eyes to her slippers.

"He hit you?" Stefan snarled. "I wish he was alive now an' not in hell so I could punch his lights out!"

The boy hadn't heard everything the girls told the marshal, but he understood that his sister had been held captive and hurt.

"Simmer down, little teakettle," Graham said softly, but with authority in his tone. "No sense in getting all hot under the collar now. I'm gonna round up a posse and shut down Esmerelda's tonight and take Nottingham and this madam Ingrid in for questioning and some time in my jail. Meantime, you good folks all get on to wherever you call home or the boarding house and get some sleep."

They bid the marshal goodnight, then Thomas drove them over to Granny's Inn, and Rum persuaded the young man who was running the desk to provide lodging to Emily, Aurora, and Stefan.

"I'll be back in the morning to tell you how my partner reacted to my job offer for you, Aurora," he said quietly.

Then he looked at Emily. "Would you like me to look for a job for you also?"

Just then Thomas spoke up. "I need someone to clean my house on Thursdays. I can't pay much but . . ."

"Reverend, whatever you can give me is fine," Emily said. "I've got a good nest egg saved so . . ."

She would strip away her old persona and make herself anew. No one here ever saw her without her paint so they wouldn't recognize her. She looked over at Mr. Gold. "Mr. Gold, I will always be eternally grateful for you helping me, but . . . what I don't understand is why? No one's ever cared about people like me before."

He fixed her with his determined chocolate-eyed gaze. "I do. Because you see, dearie, there by the grace of God go I." He coughed again. "Now, I must be getting back to my wife over at the orphanage, she fell ill nursing some of the children, but luckily I was able to cure her. If you need anything, come by my shop or the orphanage and we'll talk."

"The same goes for me. My church is always open." Thomas offered.

Aurora and Stefan hugged Rum, and thanked him shyly.

Rum bid them goodnight, then he wrote a letter to Jeff and sent it around, hoping that Jeff wouldn't reject his offer, since he knew his partner was agitated about finding someone to watch Grace.

When he finally made it back to the orphanage he was tired, hungry, and just wanted to eat supper and talk to Belle about what had gone on over at Esmerelda's. He found his supper still hot in the warming oven and took it upstairs to eat, along with a cup of tea.

Belle had laid aside her knitting and was writing down names for the baby on a small copybook. "Rum, you're back!"

"Didn't I say I would be?" he asked, and bent to kiss her on the cheek. "How are my bonny lasses doing?"

"Well, one of them is wearing out her pen trying to think of just the right name to call the other one," his wife admitted impishly. "What would ye think o' calling her something Scottish, laddie?" she asked, trying to mimic his accent, which she adored.

"I'd say that was a grand idea, dearie," he returned, exaggerating his broadly. "But dinna fash yerself, my love. Just the right name will come to ye, in the good Lord's own time."

He peered at the list, and giggled at the cross outs. "I'll gi' ye a few suggestions after I eat supper. I'm famished."

He began to eat hungrily of the plate of ham, baked beans, mustard greens, and freshly baked bread with butter. But no sooner had he finished his plate and was bringing it down to the sink, when he heard a slight commotion in the room where the sick orphans were still quarantined, even though they were nearly well.

"But . . . but . . . Lucy . . . I don't wanna take my medicine!" Zelena cried shrilly. "I'm almost all better!"

"You ain't better till Mr. Gold says so," retorted the older girl, who was almost seventeen and had proven to be one of the rare ones who was immune to the red scourge, and she was invaluable as a nurse. "And until he says so, Zelena Greene, you just hush up and take your medicine."

"No! And you can't make me, Lucille!" Zelena wailed stubbornly, and she hid her face in the pillow.

Lucy looked like she wanted to haul Zelena out of bed and stick the spoon down her throat. Either that or turn her across her knee.

Deciding to prevent another war, Rum came into the room and said, "Is there a problem, girls?"

Zelena scowled and sat up. "Lucy says I gotta take my medicine again!" she pointed an accusing finger at the older girl, who wore glasses and was slightly overweight, wearing a violet day dress.

"Mr. Gold, she's being impossible! You said all the children who were sick have to take your elixir until three days have gone by. Well, it's not three days and she's throwing a fit," the older girl huffed. "Always putting on airs, she is! My mama woulda taken a wooden spoon to her backside, so she would!"

Lucy gave Zelena a fierce look, as if wishing she had a spoon handy.

Rum sighed. He was tired, and not truly in the mood to deal with Zelena's shenanigans. He approached Lucy, saying, "Give me the elixir, then go make some tea and calm down. Let me deal with her."

"Thank you, sir. For some reason you're the only one able to get Miss Bossyboots to mind like she ought!" Lucy said, and stalked from the room, taking his plate and cup with her and giving him the spoon and elixir in exchange.

Rumple went and sat down in the chair next to the child's bed. The other two girls who were sick were sleeping, and luckily hadn't been woken up by Zelena's protests. When the child didn't get her way, she grew quite whiny and shrill.

"Zelena, how are you feeling today?" he began.

"I was feelin' some better—till bossy ole Lucy said I gotta take my yucky medicine again!" the girl sulked.

"I see. And do you know why you're feeling much better?" he queried.

She put her chin in her hands. "Umm . . . cause!" she said stubbornly, not wanting to admit the truth.

Rum raised an eyebrow. "Could it be . . . because of that nasty medicine? Hmm?"

Zelena huffed. She hated being made to admit she was wrong. "Dunno."

Rumple rolled his eyes. "Do you know what happens to little girls who don't take their medicine?" he asked gravely.

"Uh huh. They're happy."

"Oh, I suppose that's true. For awhile. But then they start getting sick again. Next thing you know, they're stuck in bed, and can't play or do anything fun . . . and they're even sicker than they were the first time."

She looked alarmed. "Even sicker? Like . . . they're gonna die?"

He hated to scare the girl, but he knew that some children needed to be scared a little so they would do what was best for them. "They could," he agreed solemnly. "Because the medicine helps sick little girls' bodies get well by making them strong."

"I'm strong, Mr. Gold! I beat Sarah in a race across the yard twice."

"That's very good, dearie, but I'm not talking about that type of strong. I'm talking about the kind of strong that makes sure you don't get sick like this again. And the only way you get that type of strong, Zelena . . . is to take your medicine like a brave girl."

She pouted. "But Mr. Go-old!" she whined. "It's all bitter like yucky green apples!"

"I know, but the bitter part is why it helps you," he coaxed.

Her lower lip stuck out. "I don't want it."

His brows lowered, then he said, shrugging, "Then I guess you'd better start planning your funeral. Do you want flowers?"

Her mouth dropped open. "You want me to die?" she wailed.

He put a hand over her mouth. "Hush the dramatics, dearie, your sisters over there are sleeping."

She began to sniffle. "But . . . I don't wanna die!"

"You have a choice," he said, removing his hand. "So . . . what's it gonna be? The medicine . . . or do I need to order some black crepe?"

She shook her head. "No! No! I'll be good!"

"You sure? You aren't gonna change your mind?"

"Uh uh!" She glanced around. "Where is it?"

"Right here," he produced the bottle and a spoon. "Now . . . you take two spoonfuls and I'll give you some cocoa and tell you a story also. Do we have a deal?"

She held out her hand. "Yessir!"

He shook it. "Now then—open wide."

Grimacing, she did so.

He poured out the medicine, then said, "Oh, and you can hold your nose. Makes it harder to taste."

She promptly did so, and Rumple popped the spoon in.

"Swallow. Good job! One more."

Once all the medicine had been given, he went downstairs to make the promised cocoa. He brought it to her and then told her the story of the brave little tailor.

She listened to him and then said, "Can I have another story, Mr. Gold?"

He tapped her nose. "Do you like my stories then? Once I remember you saying you hated them."

"I did? I don't remember."

"Don't you? Tell the truth and shame the devil," he wagged a reproving finger at her.

"Umm . . . oh-kay! I was . . . mistaken," she said with great reluctance. "You tell good stories, Mr. Gold. Better n'anyone I know."

He tweaked her nose. "I know someone who tells stories as good as I do," he said mysteriously.

"You do?" she squeaked. "Who?"

"Why don't you lie here and think about it?" he suggested, hoping she'd fall asleep. "If you think you know, come and tell me. I'll be in Mrs. Gold's room, sewing."

"You makin' clothes again for the baby?" she asked knowingly.

"Yes, because a baby needs lots of clothes."

"Cause babies are messy," she said with authority. "Mrs. Muffet had a baby here once, fore somebody 'dopted him, and all he did was spit up and poop and cry." She rolled her eyes. "I don't like babies."

"You might change your mind one day," he said, amused. "Finish your cocoa, dearie, and then think about who else could tell good stories."

She nodded, her busy brain already pondering. Rum left her sipping her cocoa and returned to Belle, saying, "I'm sorry, but Zelena was giving Lucy a hard time so I had to step in before blood was drawn."

Belle chuckled. "Sounds like me and my sister. We could try the patience of saints according to my papa. What do you think of this?" She showed him the paper with a name circled.

"Niamh," he read pronouncing it "Neeve." "Meaning "beauty, radiance—a dazzling brightness".

Belle looked at him. "Ever since I saw her—in the Place Between Worlds—I can't seem to . . . everytime I think of her I feel all warm and full of light, like a great wave of light is . . . is flowing through me." She shook her head, amused at her own whimsy. "I'm sure you think I'm just having silly flights of fancy like all pregnant mothers but . . ."

"I never said that, Belle," he corrected. "I would be the last person to ever criticize someone for their dreams, considering what I've done in the dreamscape. If this is how you see our daughter then . . .perhaps this should be her name. It's a lovely name."

"I think so too," she agreed. "Now, how about a middle name?"

"Well, what was your mama's name?"

"Elise. But my sister has named her child after Mama. Anna always said she would do so and now she has."

"I wasn't aware you and Anna were speaking to each other."

"Well, we weren't . . . until the month before you arrived, when she wrote to tell me that she and Mark had a baby girl named Elise." Belle sighed. Then she brightened. "What was your mother's name, Rum?"

"Aileen," he said quietly. "I don't remember her. She died when I was born."

"Then perhaps we should call our daughter Niamh Aileen," Belle suggested.

"We could. Or . . ." he hesitated. " . . . we could call her Willow. I . . . I consider Willow Heart almost like a mother. A cantankerous busybody mother but . . .my mother nevertheless." Even though Willow Heart was a ghost and none of his blood, he felt closer to the crotchety old spirit than he ever had to the faceless nameless mother who had bore him.

"Niamh Willow. I like that too, Rum. Whatever you think feels right. You're the shaman after all, and names are your province." Belle acquiesced.

"I'll have to think about it. We have two and a half more months to decide," he pointed out.

Just then Zelena pattered into the room, saying, "Mr. Gold, I can't think of anybody that tells stories as good as you, so can ya just tell me 'fore I go crazy?"

"Why don't you sit here on my lap, Zelena, and we can—"

"I'm afraid that's not gonna be an option, Gold," drawled an icy cold voice.

Gold jerked his head up as Nottingham appeared in the doorway of the room, pistol leveled at Belle. "What are you doing here?" he gasped, reaching for his staff. "The marshal was going to arrest you!"

"Ah, yes. The good marshal tried, but he lacks finesse and connections," purred Nottingham, his gaze hard as flint. "In short, I was warned about the posse in time to get away, though my saloon and my girls are now in custody of Marshal Cracker," sneered the gambler.

"Why come here, sir?" Belle demanded, trying to not to shiver. "We are not going to harbor a fugitive from the law."

"Indeed, madam," Nottingham said urbanely. "Nor do I need harboring. I came to settle a debt."

"What debt?" Rum demanded.

"The one you owe me for stealing away two of my best girls," spat the irate gangster.

"You mean your prisoners?" Rum corrected icily. "The girls you procured and used as your soiled doves?"

"They worked for me. Made me good money. And now thanks to you and your meddling, I have nothing! So I'm here to settle the score." There came the bloodchilling sound of the pistol being cocked. "I'm going to kill your wife and unborn child, Gold. Right now, while you watch. Then you'll know what it feels like . . .before I put a bullet in your brain too, tailor. Because no one crosses Keith Nottiingham—dearie!"

Rumple's hand closed on his staff. "Wrong!" he declared and used his magic to render Nottingham's gun useless.

Nottingham pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"What?" he sputtered.

Before he could react, Zelena ran up and kicked him hard in the crotch. "Nobody hurts Mr. Gold! Take that, you ugly buzzard! Pow! Right in the pisser!"

Nottingham's eyes went wide before he doubled over, the gun clattering to the floor.

Rumple stood up to retrieve the gun, while Belle started to laugh, and then they heard another voice, like hoar frost on the mountaintop hiss, "That wasn't very nice, was it, girlie? Somebody shoulda taught you better manners. But since they didn't—I will!"

"Rum! Behind you! She's coming in through the window!" Belle shouted.

Rumple half-turned. A tall woman wearing a white cloak, a blue and white velvet dress, platinum blond hair tumbling down to frame a face that was beautiful as it was cold, climbed in through the window. She fired her gun at Zelena with deadly accuracy.

There was no time to do anything except one thing.

Rumple moved, and the bullet slammed into his shoulder.

As white fire consumed him and he fell, he heard screams echo in his ears.

"Rum!"

"No! Mr. Go-o-ld!"

Then the darkness took him.

A/N: What will happen now? Will Rum survive?

Thanks to CJ for helping me write the beginning of this chapter. Please read and review!