The first half of the match was over. Ruby would be taking over in goal for the second.

Gold picked up his water bottle and loped off the field towards Belle, Neal and Killian who were waiting offside by the picnic tables. Jefferson thumped him on the back as he ran past angling for the beer cooler. "Great job man. Not a single goal got in! Here's to you- the wall!"

Gold allowed himself a small smile and then a big one as Belle and Neal gave him a big group hug and then he felt Killian's small arms around his legs joining in.

"Gampa Cro'dile win!" cheered Killian, then detached himself and picked up his own small soccer ball. "You play with me now G'ampa! Yah! You be goalie and I'll kick the ball at you!"

Gold smiled weakly at his grandson without the heart to tell the boy he needed to sit down. He was completely wiped.

"Hey there Buddy," said Neal, coraling Killian by the shoulders. "Grandpa Crocodile's probably a little too tired right now. Why don't you play with me and let him sit down and rest for a second?"

"Oh, okay," said Killian. "C'mon Dad!" he cried, kicking the ball down the grass with his little sneakered feet. He turned momentarily towards Gold. "Sorry can't eat lunch right now, I gotta go practice, then I can play in the World Cup when I get big!"

Gold watched Killian deking around Neal's purposely clumsy attempts to defend the goal they'd made out of sticks offside from the big field. Neal wasn't really trying hard to keep Killian's ball out, but still Gold could see the little kid had some moves on him. He was small, but quick and determined for his size.

"You watch, I bet he'll do it, too," said Gold proudly to Belle. He admired how Killian completely didn't give a shit about his missing a hand, he just did what he wanted to do. Sometimes, when Gold worried about not being able to do something because of his leg, or about other people looking at it, he thought about Killian and tried harder not to give a shit. "He's a tenacious little guy," he said gruffly.

"Hmmmm…Remind you of anyone else we know?" murmured Belle.

"If you are going to call me a 'little guy' why I do believe I am going to have to go sit at another picnic table Miss French," said Gold, with mock affrontory.

"Yes, a big wiseass is rather more like it," said Belle and ruffled her fingers through his hair. It was wet with sweat. "Just wanted to say I'm proud of you love."

"What, for not causing the team to lose entirely?"

"Psssh…have it your own way."

"It was hardly my most stellar on field performance, is all I'm saying."

"But it wasn't terrible either. Wasn't it nice just to play again?"

"Yeah," he smiled blissfully. "I suppose I wasn't a complete embarrassment."

She gave him a calculating look.

"Alright I admit it," Gold's eyes lit up like a little kid on Christmas morning as he bounced a little in his seat. "It was bloody fantastic! Didn't realize how much I'd missed it!"

"Uh-huh," murmured Belle indulgently. "And you didn't let in any goals."

"They were taking it easy on me, I could tell," huffed Gold, determined not to let his enthusiasm run away with him. He still didn't want to get too invested in playing soccer again, afraid he'd just end up frustrated by his limitations, or worse yet, the others would just humour him. "Probably worried I'd sue the pants off them if they hit me," he groused.

"Hmmm, I don't know," mused Belle. "It could've just been me, but Cora did look like she was aiming for your nutsack during that one attempt on goal... "

"Good thing I caught the ball then!"

"I'll say. I happen to be rather fond of your, what-do-you call it- 'wedding tackle,'" she said, supplying her own air quotes.

Gold snorted, laughing hard into his napkin.

"What?"

"Sounds ridiculous when you say it!"

"Oh, what? This sounds better? 'Wedding tah-kell,'" she said, trying to imitate his accent.

"Gah! Stop it! Stop it! I do not sound like that!" Gold was laughing so hard he was practically falling over at Belle's absurd accent. "Some day I gotta take you to meet my dad," he said as soon as he could take a breath. "He'd think you were a real scream. So, what's there to eat around this dump?" Gold made to stand, but Belle put her hands on his shoulders.

"Sit tight you, I'll get you something. Hamburgers are mainly what they have. Anything in particular you want on yours?"

"Toothepaste and bootpolish."

"C'mon, be serious."

Then he gave her his precise order down to exactly how many squeezes of ketchup he wanted on the bun. Halfway through he realized he was being a little ridiculous, but he couldn't help it if he was a man of peculiarly precise tastes, now could he?

As Belle sauntered off towards the food table, Gold thought some more about the game.

There had been a few goals that had almost made it in, ones he knew he could have easily swatted away were he back in peak condition, but as it was, he knew Belle was right and he was proud he'd done a decent job of acquitting himself on the field. He had come such a long, long way since he was shot.

He thought about how things had been just a year ago, sitting in a wheelchair with all those metal fixators sticking out of his leg and his arm in a cast, a badly wrapped stuffed crocodile on his lap, waiting to meet his grandson for the first time, having just made up with his son, still worried he might scare the boy off.

He'd always prized himself on degrees, awards, certificates earned to be put on a wall and cases to be mentioned as precedents in the anals of the law society, in legal briefs and court decisions. He'd always thought achievements needed to be of a certain kind to be deserving of recognition and celebration. But there was no way he knew of measuring today on that sort of scale, playing half a game of soccer for charity and feeling like he'd been elected to the supreme court or something. It really was quite remarkable.

He remembered lying in the park in the grass, on that other day that seemed so long ago now, how just feeling sunlight on his face and brushing the grass with his fingers had felt like heaven. He remembered convincing himself that he would get better, and that dream image in his mind of kicking a ball around with Neal and Killian, playing soccer together. It was real now.

Then he remembered how he'd imagined Belle on the picnic blanket beside him, even though they hadn't exchanged a single e-mail in months back then. Even then she was still the one he longed to have with him, running her gentle hands through his hair. It had seemed like such a preposterous fantasy, too ridiculous to hope for. And now… sometime he felt like pinching himself.

Not that there weren't other things around to remind him that no life, no matter how good, was ever perfect. He winced as he shifted in his seat. No question, he would definitely be feeling this tomorrow and the tomorrow after that. But at least it was manageable for now. According to what he'd read on the internet, (always a bad place to go for health advice if you're the least bit worried), some day in the future he'd probably need more operations once the hardware inside him wore out and/or he got arthritis from it. Something to look forward to then, he thought with his usual black humour.

Earlier, when he took the field, he'd noticed the police liaison, David Sheppard, by the drinks table. It was the first time he'd seen the cop since hospital. He remembered silently listening to David talking to Emma about him as he lay in bed pretending to be asleep, facing the opposite wall, trying to hide the fact that he was crying over what they were saying. It had been very hard to hear about it that way. Leg's shot to shit… probably never walk straight again. Shame not a bad guy. Not that David had been wrong, Gold had to admit, well except for the part about him not being a "bad guy."

Gold could be plenty bad, especially when Belle put him up to it. He had been one of the Rakes of the Law Society, after all, and that did come with a certain dollop of carnal knowledge and kinked desire. Also, once Belle began to trust him more, he was pleasantly surprised at the things her imagination could whip up with. Apparently, there were areas of knowledge, even in this subject, that could be gleaned from the books she read, (what were those books and how might he obtain them?) that he had hitherto be unaware of. Just thinking about their adventures in that particular realm, made him feel excited again.

Gold thought about the future and wished he could know what would happen for sure. There were possibilities there, he was willing to admit now, for him and Belle, things he would never have dared dream about before. It wouldn't be easy, but then, nothing ever was, not for.

He could leave things as they were, certainly. What would he do after the picnic then? Get in the car with Belle, let her drop him off at his house. Shrug off the brace which probably reeked of sweat now and need to go in the washing machine. Raid the freezer for ice packs and ice cream, bed down on the couch in front of the big screen TV, his ankle buried under a mountain of ice packs, take a few advil night-times washed down with the good scotch and fall asleep. Wake up in the morning, his mouth feeling like a dirty sock, brush teeth, shower, get dressed, go to work. What would he do at work? Get annoyed by Ruby, go across the street for lunch with Jefferson, their traditional Monday pub lunch which they'd been doing for years, then back to the office and tackle their new case, maybe see Belle for dinner after working all afternoon if he felt up to it, which might lead to a movie, her spending the night over at his place, sex and sleeping together, falling asleep holding her precious body in his arms, lying on their sides, his hand around her waist, her bottom nestled into his pelvis, his lips brushing the tips of her auburn tresses on the big shared pillow.

It was a pleasant enough future. Only he wanted to share so much more with her than the occasional night. Gold, being Gold was never quite satisfied. He always wanted more.

Still, after so much strife he really felt no desire to rock the boat. He'd become cautious and careful since his injury. Sometimes he was terrified that if he tried to change things, even in a way that might bring him and Belle closer than he'd ever hoped, he might accidentally cause everything to break apart. Wasn't it better to be safe, to not take a chance on her refusal? We're things okay the way they were now?

"Hey Ian! Got you that hamburger!" sang Belle as she walked up to him. There were actually two hamburgers on the plate he noticed. "Oh yeah that one's for me."

"And this," she said. She handed him an ice pack, clearly pilfered from the beer cooler. "Figured you might need one of these."

"Thanks," he replied, genuinely gratefully for the ice pack.

They went off to sit down on the picnic blanket Neal and Killian had been using.

Gold lowered himself awkwardly down towards the blanket the now dripping ice pack in one hand and the plate with the burger in the other.

His process was clumsy and of course, the plate tilted, the burger sliding off.

He watched it start to fall—and then the strangest thing happened. Belle reached out and caught it.

And something clicked into place in his mind as he sat down heavily on the picnic blanket.

He had wanted to wait for the perfect moment, but if he'd learned anything this past year, it was how everything could get snatched from you in an instant without warning, and how important it was to make every moment you had count. If he waited around for everything to be perfect, for him to offer himself to Belle only once he was strong and fully healed, he'd be waiting around for eternity. And really, after all he'd gone through, he quite thought he deserved to be happy.

"Hey don't worry," said Belle. "My hands are clean. Five second rule right?"

Gold nodded and took the burger from her. Some of the ketchup had got on her hand.

"Let me help you with that," he murmured and began cleaning her hand off with a napkin.

She was staring at him, he could feel it now, the heat and love in her eyes, pouring out over his head as he bent over her hand and gave it a kiss.

Screw your courage to the sticking place old man, he told himself, egging himself on to try and say what he wanted to say. He opened his mouth to speak…

"I don't think it works that way," Belle spoke instead.

"What?"

She pointed at the ice pack. "You need to take the brace off before you put on the ice pack. It won't work if you put the pack on top of your brace, you'll just make the plastic cold," she said sensibly. She pulled at ne of the Velcro straps to help him get it off.

"Just leave it on for now, okay?" he asked and took hold of her hand, preventing her from going to work on the rest of the Velcro.

Belle frowned and looked at him. She was trying to make him less self-conscious about his injury around other people, but she knew from personal experience that learning to feel comfortable with yourself didn't happen overnight. It wasn't good to push someone else too hard, just so they would be where you thought they ought to be. People did things at their own rate.

Gold was attuned to her thoughts now, and realized that she was getting the wrong idea about his refusal to let her help. w "No, no, it's not that. It's not because I'm shy about my leg—"

Belle raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes, there's no particular reason at all why you haven't worn shorts all summer."

"Okay, maybe a little shy," he admitted, "but that's not it, it's just, before we get distracted there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Okay."

Gold licked his lips, tongue darting out to get at some mustard at the corner of his mouth. Belle watched his tongue go to work, thinking of him licking up other things than mustard. She blushed and felt something tighten inside her between her legs. She clenched the muscle again and concentrated on the feeling.

"So what do you think?" he asked, his eyes nervously searching her face for some kind of ascent to his proposal.

"What? I—I kind of spaced out there for a second."

"What? You—"

"Spaced out, yeah. You were doing that, that licking thing with your tongue and I started thinking about that time when you—"

Gold buried his head in his hands. "Aaaah!"

"What? C'mon you have my attention now. It's alright," she said putting her hand on his shoulder. "Just tell me what you wanted to ask."

He looked into her eyes. They were as blue and bright as the sky above them. "I- I wanted to ask if you'd move in with me. I want—I want to live with you Belle."

Belle breathed in and out slowly. "Cool," she said at last.

"Cool? What does that mean? Do you want to live with me too or-?"

"Yes I do, I want to live with you Ian. If you'll take me, in full knowledge of my messy habits, which let's be realistic, are probably rather unlikely to change, then I think we've got a deal."

"Oh, fuck it I'll get a maid!" he said with a big sigh of relief, glad to have gotten it out of his system at least. "I'll get two! It's going to be great, Belle!" he grinned.

"Now," said Belle, tapping him on the chest. "Let me ask you something, Mr. Ian Gold."

"What? I'll do anything for you except buy you a pony."

"Would you Ian?"

"What, buy you a pony? If I've said it once, I've said it a million times—those things shit everywhere."

"No, no, not that," Belle paused, before saying one single, quick stream of words, "Ian, would you marry me?"

"Marry?" Gold's eyes grew wider. "Belle, Belle, you're sure? You really want me?"

"Well, I certainly don't want anyone else, so yes, I would say it looks like I do."

"Really? Me and everything—everything that goes with being me."

"What? The Cadillac, the crazy knickknacks, cute grandkid, flamingo pink house, wonky flush on your downstairs toilet and bedroom TV with unreliable cable? Yeah, I think I can handle them."

He gave her a light shove. "You know what I mean."

"Eh," she shrugged her shoulders. "As long as you don't mind me still going to all those raves I'm so accustomed to attending, you know with all that drug fuelled all night hard core dancing with glow sticks, I don't see a problem."

Gold snorted. "Like you've ever been to a rave!"

"Like you have?"

"No."

"What about me? You think you can handle all this?" she said with a smirk and a slight shimmy of her hips.

"Hmmmm, you know what?" said Gold cocking his head. "I really don't know. Let's see!" he said slyly, and launched himself at her, hugging and kissing her, filled with the most indescribable joy. She laughed, pulling him down on top of her on the picnic blanket as he gave her a nip on the neck and she pulled at his hair. He kissed her deeply, caressing her hair as he held her, rolling over so they were side by side, one ear each on the blanket, her hands snaking up under his soccer jersey to touch his chest.

Somewhere, a few feet away, unnoticed by the two lovers, Cora grabbed a cider and the burly arm of her newest boy toy and stalked off to nurse her drink in peace, the image of Belle nipping that asshole Gold lightly on the tip of his nose, forever burned into her aggravated brain.

"So, after the game," said Belle. "You, me, city hall?"

"Can I bring Neal and Killian as witnesses?"

"Sounds good," said Belle lifting her beer.

Gold lifted a completely unopened can of cider which someone seemed to have forgotten on the bench in their speed to be elsewhere and toasted his bride to be.

"To us!" said Belle.

"To us!" said Gold.

Wow! I never thought this would go on for so long! Thank you, thank you everybody who's PM-ed me, followed and favourited this story! I am so grateful to you all! I hope you found the ending satisfying. I spent a long time on this last bit, because I do so hate movies and books that end in an unsatisfying and frustrating manner. I wanted this to be true to the desires of myself and you, the readers, and to follow the general arc of the characters.

I do believe what Orson Welles said is true: "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story."

The versions of Belle and Gold in my story, as I picture them moving on with their lives won't always have happy times. We can already see there will be quite a few hurdles that they will probably have to face in the future, BUT what's important is that they have the companionship of each other, someone to love and laugh with, a shield against whatever will come their way. Understanding and indulging in another person's craziness and wonder, getting to truly know them, soul to soul, talking and sharing this complex world we live in together. And really, at the end of the day, that's one of the best things I can think of in life, my experience of having that kind of friend, whether they are with you for a long time, or a short time. My hope is that every one of you will meet someone like that at some point, whether they are a friend, relation or lover and treasure them for what they are: Someone willing to get to really know you and your darkest corners, who loves you all the more for what you really are.

You may not realize this, but you have given me a huge gift—confidence in my writing—and the feeling that I can write something that other people actually WANT to read. (No small feat by the way!)

When I first started writing this, I was coming off a round of disappointment and rejection (from publishers, agents etc.) and depression, feeling like I had nothing to say that anyone wanted to hear. It is hard to keep on working, when you feel like no one will ever read what you write or that your words that you pour your heart and soul into as an artist are worth nothing to anyone else. For a while I stopped writing I was so disillusioned.

I started writing this piece completely without pressure and totally for kicks, just because I loved OUAT and the fan fiction I'd been reading concerning the show online.

Writing this has had the unexpected effect of unlocking my ability to find writing fun again and kickstarting my progress on a novel and a bunch of other stories! It's so great to write on this forum, to have access to an audience that is open to reading something without its author being a famous name or some well connected person.

Thank you for giving me the opportunity to entertain all you wonderful people without second guessing myself and worrying about marketplaces and trying to satisfy some patronizing executive gate keeper who cares more about a name than the quality of the story.

Seeing that this story was read by thousands of people (*!* I still cannot f-ing believe that, by the way) and all the kind people who bothered to leave comments has helped restore some of my faith in myself. Thanks for helping me from the bottom of my heart!

If you like this story I have another one called "Little Friends" which I publish under the name of "Degby" (yes, unnecessary Robert Carlyle-related obscure "Trainspotting" reference once again). I hope you will enjoy it, along with the other ones I have under the name Strummer Pink (unnecessary Clash related obscure reference not withstanding).

Much love to everyone!

-SP