A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S3E22: There's No Place like Home. The Bethnal Green Tube Station did not open until 1946, but the Shoreditch has been in existence since 1876. I haven't been able to find out whether a turn-of-the-twentieth-century East-ender would actually call Cockney rhyming slang 'Cockney rhyming slang', but that is what Robertson Gee is using. Apologies if the phrases referenced here didn't come into use until after 1905; finding the vocabulary is relatively easy, but finding out the first use of a given phrase in a particular context is a little trickier.
Chapter 24
Three weeks later, Bae excitedly informed Rumple that he'd found a place. "Or, at least, Robertson Ay did," Bae clarified. "His older brother is moving into a housing estate near Bethnal Green."
"Bethnal…?" Rumple repeated.
"It's near Spitalfields," Bae said breathlessly. "Anyway, the houses have six rooms!" He took another breath. "Six rooms, Papa! And Robertson Ay's brother is looking to let out one of the bedrooms." His smile dimmed a fraction. "It's still stairs, Papa; the houses all have the bedrooms on the second floor there. But even so, it's just one flight. And there's a scullery where we can cook our own food and a kitchen…"
Rumple smiled. By the middle part of this century, it would be the kitchen that was most associated with cooking and food storage. But in this time and place, a kitchen was more like the family living room—the parlor on the other hand, was where one would entertain company—while food was prepared in the scullery. He wasn't certain what the custom had been in the Enchanted Forest. In their hovel, cooking had either been done over the hearth or out of doors. And in his castle, he hadn't bothered himself with naming the rooms; he'd simply ensured that one of them contained a cooking range and used it as needed—when he wasn't brewing a potion in his workroom and had the hearth there free for a soup or stew cauldron.)
"But what rent, Bae?" he asked a bit nervously.
"Robertson Ay is going to find out when he sees his brother on Sunday," Bae admitted. "But he said that the whole house rents for twelve or thirteen shillings a week! We only need one room!"
It sounded like it was within their price range. Still, Rumple cautioned, "One bedroom, Bae. You recall how we were taxed in our village. It could well be that we'll be expected to pay for our use of the scullery as well. We might need to rent space in the larder to store any food. Or contribute to the upkeep of the grounds, if there's a garden."
"I don't mind tending to a garden," Bae said confidently. "And as for the rest, we can wait to hear from Robertson Ay. What have we got to lose, Papa?"
Hope, Rumple supplied mentally. We shouldn't raise our expectations too high with too little to justify them. Aloud, though, he only replied, "I should think a bit of sleep, perhaps. In the East End, we'll be a bit farther from the bank. We'll need to rise earlier to arrive on time, and we'll likely be home later as well. And it will make it more difficult to get to Kensington Gardens, should you be so inclined."
"It's near the Shoreditch Tube station," Bae said. "Like Spitalfields. We won't be able to walk it, but we can still get there."
Rumple hesitated. It sounded promising. Indeed, it sounded nearly too good to be true. But perhaps… "Well," he said, "I suppose it will do no harm to wait for your friend to come back with his report." Likely the brother had already found a lodger, he told himself. But perhaps not. "But Bae," he added, "if this opportunity fails to materialize, there will be others."
Bae grinned. "I know, Papa. Say, speaking of Kensington Gardens, when can we go back there?"
"Oh, Bae…" Rumple whispered, feeling his eyes burn. The door to his room eased open and he swiped at them furiously.
"Hey," Whale greeted him. "I just stopped by to let you know we should be able to move you into a regular room in about a week, assuming no setbacks."
Rumple forced himself to smile. "Well," he said, wincing a bit at the slight wheeze in his voice, "that is good news."
The doctor wasn't fooled. "But…?"
Rumple shook his head. "I was hoping I'd be able to leave this establishment altogether by now."
Whale shook his head, but his eyes were kind as he said, "Based on your progress, I shouldn't think you'll be infectious in a week's time. Once you aren't we can get you out of isolation. Like I told you the other day, you're responding extremely well to the medications. And although you'll need to follow the treatment regimen for about six months, I'm fairly sure we'll be able to discharge you long before that. But as far as discharging you soon? You're aware that TB is also called 'consumption'? There's a reason for that: the disease looks as though it's actually consuming the body of the patient. You weighed barely a hundred and ten pounds when you came in. That's down more than thirty percent from the amount recorded at your last physical. Now, as of this morning, you're up two point two. While that's good news, I still want to, at the very least, get you over the healthy weight threshold before discussing sending you home."
He'd lost nearly forty-five pounds. His head reeled. He'd noticed—how could he not have—that the clothing he'd procured in London had gotten progressively looser over the last year. More recently, it had appeared as though he no sooner took in a seam than he had to do it again. But he hadn't realized it was that bad! "How… how much more do I have to…?"
"About ten pounds," Whale said gently. "That's the bare minimum to get you into the proper range for your height and it still won't be nearly enough. At least then, though, we can have that discussion. Might be sooner than you think," he added. "Your appetite should be increasing as your condition improves. Don't worry," he continued. "We've got this."
Rumple pressed his lips together in a semblance of a smile and nodded jerkily. After the doctor had gone, he pressed his palms lightly to his elbows and wondered why he hadn't noticed how sharp they'd grown. Then he looked at his breakfast tray with its half-eaten omelet congealing on the plate, shook his head, and twisted the cap off the nutrition shake beside it. He concentrated on getting that down without swallowing wrong.
This time, when Emma stopped by to look in on him, he made certain that the blankets covered him from the neck down. The last thing he wanted was to be an object of pity. And while he suspected strongly that he already was one, he had no intention of letting anyone realize how frail he was if they didn't already know. And if Emma's earlier misplaced feelings of guilt had somehow blinded her to his gauntness, he wasn't about to give her another opportunity to notice.
"A regular room?" Emma repeated, smiling. "That's great! Henry will be glad to hear it too."
"Will he?" Rumple asked. It was good to hear, but his grandson hadn't been among his visitors thus far and Rumple rather wondered whether Emma wasn't stretching the truth just a bit, or perhaps blinding herself to it.
"Yeah," Emma said, sounding a bit surprised. "Whale told him he couldn't see you until you got out of isolation." She rolled her eyes slightly. "I thought most hospitals dropped age restrictions on visitors years ago, but either that's not true for isolation patients, or maybe since this place was frozen in the 80s for so long, it hasn't kept up with the times." She gave him a rueful smile. "I mean, if the library still uses a card catalog…" She left her sentence hanging and half-shrugged. "Anyway, he's been asking me and Regina how you're doing and I promised I'd give him a full report."
"Did you?" Rumple asked faintly. "Well. When you do, please tell him I appreciate his interest." It came out far more stilted than he'd intended and he murmured apologetically, "I-I meant… thank him for me."
"I will. I'm just glad we're staying here longer than I'd planned on when Killian found me in New York."
Rumple raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing there—?" Realization struck. "When Pan cast the curse…"
"It would have sent back everyone to the… the land they'd been born in. Regina had me take Henry over the town line before it hit. And she gave us new memories, because—"
Rumple nodded. He hadn't exactly crafted the Dark Curse from scratch; he'd taken bits and pieces from other curses and spun them together into a whole far greater than the sum of its parts. And he'd examined each diverse part, carding and combing it until he'd thoroughly understood the forces that he intended to unleash. Once it was set in motion, there would be scant margin for error and he'd tried to anticipate every consequence. He'd failed, of course. It had never occurred to him that personas intended to mimic that of the world to which the Curse would transport everyone would reassert themselves should anyone try to cross into that world after the Curse was broken. Still, he'd tried. And knowing all he did about the work he'd fashion, he knew clearly what must have happened when Regina had used the scroll to cast the curse anew. "When the town vanished, your memories would have as well," he supplied. "Both yours and Henry's."
Emma nodded. "I-I remembered what happened after Belle… I'm sorry," she said quickly. "But I didn't want to suddenly look at the passenger seat beside me and ask myself who this eleven-year-old was. And Henry could have freaked out and thought I was kidnapping him and… Anyway, when Regina offered to change our memories, so it would be like I'd never given him up, I went with it. And after we crossed over the town line," she shrugged. "I don't know. Things are kind of… hazy, but I think those false memories included one of my apartment in Boston being destroyed in a fire. Henry and I ended up in New York." She paused for a beat. "I mean, until Killian found me. Still not sure how," she added.
"Were you… living clandestinely?" Rumple asked, his interest piqued. "As Bae was when we went in search of him?"
Emma shook her head. "No. I probably should have had my number unlisted, what with bail-bonding being a profession that can, uh, make you a whole lot of enemies, but I didn't. I guess he could have figured out how to Google me. No, I meant he said he got word of Zelena's curse from a bird. He assumed it came from my mother, but she says never sent it."
Rumple smiled. "No, she didn't," he confirmed. "Bae did. You'll recall that before you separated us, there were times when one or the other of us came to the fore."
"I'm sorry," Emma said heavily. "I know you said it wasn't my fault, but it still feels like it was." She gave him a sharp look. "You remember that now? Because when I found you in the woods… I mean, I wouldn't have had to pull you apart if—"
"Having two minds in one head makes it harder, not easier to recall things. But when my mind was in the ascendancy, Bae… didn't know how to disengage. I suspect it has something to do with the focus and concentration that advanced spells require. When Bae's mind was dominant, I could draw on that skill, pull back and keep my thoughts from troubling him. But I was still able to observe everything from within his—our—head. And after you separated us," he couldn't quite keep the sorrow from his voice, try though he did, "well, I could still recall his words and actions. I can even now," he added. And he hoped he always would. Those memories were now all that remained of his son.
When Emma squeezed his hand through the blanket, he gave her a quick jerky nod and a smile that was equal parts gratitude and reassurance.
Bae's enthusiasm had been warranted, Rumple had to admit. The room that Robertson Ay's brother showed them was easily one and a half times the one they now occupied and it was a good deal cleaner.
"I suppose if we're to carry on the conwention, you can call me 'Robertson Gee'; Gee-for-George, y'understand," the older, stouter version of Bae's friend introduced himself with a half-smile. "I know the view's not much, but we're just a ball and chalk from the tube and me wife she sets a fine table, she does."
Rumple smiled. "I'm sure she must." Then, mortified, he realized that his comment might have been taken for a joke about his potential landlord's weight and he quickly changed the subject. "You said, 'ball and chalk'?"
Robertson Gee laughed. "Eh, course you wouldn't know what that meant, Guv. Sorry."
"It means a walk, Papa," Bae spoke up. "It's a rhyming code; Robertson Ay's been teaching me a little. 'Ball and chalk' means 'walk'; 'apples and pears' are 'stairs'—"
"Sometimes we just say 'apples,' lad," Robertson Gee rumbled. "Confuses those not in the know all the more. But I should know better than to use it with people not from these parts."
"How much are you asking, then?" Rumple asked, turning the conversation back to the business at hand. He knew what Robertson Ay had quoted him and the amount had been satisfactory, or he'd have never allowed Bae to drag him here. But Robertson Ay wasn't the landlord, and until a lease was signed, nothing was ironclad. Perhaps, not even then; he really wasn't familiar with tenant law in this time and place, but a rental contract would at least spell out for them what rights and protections they did have, the amount of their rent, and how and when it might be subject to change.
Robertson Gee named the same figure that his younger brother had provided, and Rumple thought carefully. It was a bit more than they were currently paying, but it included breakfast and tea (supper, Rumple translated automatically), and they were welcome to save a bit from breakfast and eat it for lunch.
"Well," Rumple said slowly, "the matter will bear consideration. May I inform you of our decision by week's end?"
"Not much beyond that," Robertson Gee cautioned. "We need a lodger's rent so's we can pay ours. If we wait too long, well, we can't fall behind." He lowered his eyes. "We can't be out on the street with a baby on the way, y'see."
"Of course not, dea—my dear sir," Rumple reassured him, even as he chastised himself for nearly addressing a potential landlord as 'dearie'. "Rest assured, we are interested. But I would like some time to think matters over. Should we send word with your brother, then?"
Robertson Gee shook his head with a smile. "Eh, Robertson Ay's a good chap, but if his head an't up on some cloud it's down on some pillow. You'd best hinform me direct-like."
"I don't understand, Papa," Bae protested, as they made their way back to the tube station. "The place looked fine. And I know we can afford the rent. I-I'll get up earlier and walk to work and back to save the fare, if it helps."
"And what about once you pass the scholarship exam and you're off to school instead of working?"
"I don't have to take the exam," Bae groaned. "Not if it means we can afford to live someplace better. Papa—"
"It's important!" Rumple snarled in a tone he hadn't used since they'd come to this land. Seeing his boy flinch, he fought to control himself and speak more calmly. "An education is important, son. You must trust me on this. Perhaps not now, but a decade from now, you will thank me." He hoped. A decade from now, Bae might well be in Neverland and by the time he returned, a turn-of-the-twentieth-century education would be all but worthless. But if that didn't happen, if Bae found himself caught up in the First World War, if the British army was anything at all like the armies of the Enchanted Forest, then those soldiers most likely to be officers were those who were either better born or better educated. Officers were less likely to be sent to the front, and those that were generally weren't thrown into the thickest part of it as cannon fodder.
Rumple wished his curse memories would give him some insight as to whether various professions would be draft exempt. Back in the Enchanted Forest, as he recalled, both those who practiced magic and those who served them enjoyed such an exemption, though many felt it their patriotic duty to volunteer. Smiths and armorers might be conscripted, but were generally placed well behind the lines to work their craft in safety. The same was true for horse-trainers and a number of other trades deemed too important to the war to risk their practitioners. Even as the Ogre War raged on and those classes became less-protected, there was still none of the wholesale conscription that had plagued so many. It was generally one crafter in ten—senior apprentices who knew their trade and were nearly ready to set up their own shop—promised a pension and commission after two years' service so that they might be able to do so in relative comfort once discharged. And again, they were far less likely to be sent to active combat. If there was anything like that here, Rumple had every intention of steering Bae in such a direction.
Bae shook his head dubiously. "If you say so, Papa, but I really think that—"
I think that one way or another, son, I will lose you. My becoming the Dark One might have hastened our separation, but you're beginning to know your mind and you're beginning to know your heart and I believe that sooner or later, you will strike out on your own and I don't know how I'll manage when that day comes. But one thing I do know is that the more I try to tie you to me, the more you'll struggle to break free and one day, like everyone else I've ever cared for, you will succeed. But if I'm to nurse any hope that you, unlike so many others, will one day come back, then I must accept that day when it comes. Until then…
Rumple smiled indulgently. "There's nothing wrong with the room, son. In a day or two, I'll advise Mr. Robertson of such."
"Then… Then I don't understand, Papa. Why didn't you just tell him?"
Rumple's smile broadened. "One oughtn't to appear too eager. It might make another man think he didn't ask enough and then he's like to start finding little tricks to push the price up. Waiting a little—but not too long—lets him know his rate was fair."
Bae thought about that for a moment and then his puzzlement gave way to a smile of his own. "It's like when you want five copper for a skein of wool, but you know if you ask five, a customer will try to haggle you down to three, but if you ask eight, he'll haggle you to five and think he got a deal, when all he did was pay what you wanted in the first place."
Rumple nodded approvingly. "You're catching on, son. And if you're fortunate, that customer might close the transaction at six and then you both feel you got the better end of it. In two days' time, we'll go back and tell Mr. Robertson we've had time to consider. He may just ask us our decision. Or…"
Bae frowned. "Or?"
Rumple chuckled. "Or he might offer to shave another thruppence or so from his original price…"
"Hey."
Rumple's eyes had been half-closed, but he opened them in response to the familiar voice calling out a casual greeting. "Twice in one day," he said dryly. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Emma took another two steps into the room. "Uh… I was wondering, that is, my folks were… I mean…"
"Ms Swan?"
Emma took another breath. "My brother's coronation ceremony is at Granny's tonight. They're having a potluck." She tilted her head to one side. "I always thought a coronation was supposed to be when someone took the throne, not when they got their name, but I guess I was wrong."
Rumple smiled. "Well, there are some who say that a good name is a crown in and of itself, but what has that to do with me?"
Emma shifted her weight from one foot to the next. "According to my parents, the whole town is supposed to be there. I mean, they don't have to be, but they're all invited, and you too, of course," she added. "I mean, Mom was saying she wanted to wait until you were out of hospital, but we can't keep calling my brother 'Hey, you' all this time; it's been almost three weeks already."
"She wanted to wait," Rumple repeated disbelievingly.
"She… uh… said that if you didn't want to be there, that was one thing, but she didn't feel right about scheduling it when you couldn't be and she wanted me to ask you, if... if…"
"If I minded?" Rumple snorted. "I must say that that while I'm unaccustomed to this degree of concern, it's not entirely unappreciated. But since your brother does need his name, and since even in this realm, members of the ruling class seldom content themselves with filling out a few forms at the registry and mailing announcement cards, I'm hardly going to resent your having your little affair without me."
"Actually," Emma said, "she asked me to find out if you wanted to be part of it. We can… set up a video link in the diner, get a laptop in here—unless you've got your phone on you, I mean," she tilted her head questioningly.
Rumple responded with a quick shake of his. He had no idea where his phone was; he certainly hadn't had the opportunity to visit his house or the shop since the second curse had brought them here. He wasn't certain whether he'd been carrying it on Main Street before that when he'd finally confronted his father, for that matter.
"One wonders why your mother is suddenly so quick to include me in the festivities," he said, his eyes narrowing. "It's hardly as though there's any precedent for it."
"For the first time in what's probably forever," Emma replied, "she's not telling anyone anything about what she's thinking. But if I had to guess, well, the last time you were… uh… not being controlled, you did kind of save all of us. And from what they told me earlier, if you hadn't mentioned to them that Light magic was Zelena's weakness, they wouldn't have known to bring us all back here so I'd find them. And if Neal hadn't got that message to Killian, or…" She sighed. "Look, if it's not something you want, I'll just tell her you're not feeling up for it. But if it is…?"
His first instinct was to refuse. He might be a part of this town, but he'd always been apart from it, as well. Always on the sidelines, tolerated at best, shunned at worst, and ignored most of the time—unless his expertise was needed and then they demanded it of him... No he didn't need their condescension or their pity. But what if he was misreading the intent? What if, in her bumbling, self-righteous, do-gooder way, Snow White was actually offering him a second chance? Well, he rather doubted that was the case. The last time she'd clapped eyes on him, he now recalled, it had been when Zelena had abducted the guest-of-honor-to-be at tonight's ceremony. And he'd stood at the witch's side when she had. He hadn't wanted to. He would have fought her if he could have. But he'd had enough exposure to these hero-types to know how comfortable they were with drawing a line in the sand and lumping all villains on the other side of it as though each was interchangeable with the next.
"I get Cora's heart, I control her and make her do the right thing, and I let you die. Takes care of two evils at once."
An evil. That was how she saw him. How she'd always seen him. There was no use getting his hopes up that she'd changed. Except that there were differences in the ways that everyone else acted in his presence now. Some of it was almost certainly pity. But perhaps…
Well, if this was truly a second chance, it would be the height of ill manners to fling the offer back in their faces. And if things grew too sickly-sweet, he could always turn off the machine.
"They won't be expecting me to make some gracious speech from my hospital bed to welcome the new arrival, I hope?"
Emma's eyes crinkled at the corners above her mask. "I'm pretty sure my mom's the only one who's going to be doing that. Dad hates that kind of thing and I'd rather retake my SATs than get up and talk in front of everyone." She rolled her eyes. "Actually, back when I ran for sheriff and you gave me all that help? In hindsight, I kinda think I ought to thank you for getting me out of that debate. Seriously, if I hadn't already owed you a favor before that…"
A wheezing chuckle escaped his chapped lips. Emma started toward him, but he waved her off. "I'm all right," he said, reaching for the open protein shake by his bedside. Chocolate this time. He took a careful sip from the drinking straw inside.
"All right," he allowed. "I suppose you can set up whatever apparatus you need to. I don't promise to be awake for it, but if I am, I will endeavor to watch."
Emma grinned. "I'll let Belle know," she said. "Chances are she'd rather watch with you anyway."
It was some time later that Belle knocked smartly on the door to his room, before entering, laptop in hand. "I… uh… was going to bring take-out from Granny's," she said, half-lifting the shopping bag in her other hand. "But when I went in to order, people were already dropping things off for the potluck and Granny had shut down the grill."
Rumple smiled easily. "Well, I'm sure something might be scrounged up from the cafeteria for you," he said. "And I believe a nurse will be in with my dinner shortly." Which he would do his best to eat. In actuality, his appetite was improving; he'd finished nearly three quarters of his lunch. It still wasn't anywhere close to where it needed to be, if he wanted to be out of here anytime soon.
"Actually," Belle said, setting down the laptop, "Granny packed up some of the potluck items for us. Here," she set the bag down beside him. "I'm just going to get the laptop set up."
Rumple blinked. "Well, that was… unexpectedly kind of her," he said. "You're certain it's not some lasagna she's fobbing off on us to clear space in her freezer?"
Belle made a sound that Rumple wasn't certain whether it was a snort or a chuckle. "Is there an outlet?" she asked. "Or do we need to use the battery?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you on that one," Rumple admitted. He'd barely stirred from the bed except to use the ensuite. Generally he could manage that much without needing to press the call button for assistance. And he did loathe having to ask assistance in general, but particularly when it came to matters such as that! And as much as Whale was encouraging him to rest and recuperate, he knew that getting on his feet now would save him a fair bit of physical therapy down the road.
"Found it!"
She turned on the laptop. "Now how do I…? Oh." A moment later, the screen showed the interior of Granny's. "I'm glad that Dr. Whale lifted that fifteen-minute visit restriction," she added. "The coronation won't really get underway for at least another hour," she added. "At least, not the naming. I think right now, people are just mingling. And eating," she added. Her hand flew to her mask. "Oh," she murmured in consternation.
Rumple nodded sadly. "I'm afraid we won't be able to eat together. At least, not until I'm in a regular room and the current precautions are no longer necessary. But if you want to make up a plate to enjoy elsewhere…"
Belle shook her head. "I actually had something not too long ago," she admitted. "Old habit."
"Sorry?"
She sighed. "The… uh… clothes we tended to wear to banquets back in our land were kind of… sumptuous. Not what you wanted to get stained. And Father didn't think that it was proper to go into the hall ravenous. So, I always had a light meal before the banquet, so I wouldn't be hungry."
Rumple nodded. "Did it work?"
Belle sighed again. "I wasn't hungry, but the conversation at those things was never very interesting and I kept reaching for the soft rolls just because, if my mouth was full, nobody expected me to make small talk." From the way her eyes crinkled above the mask, Rumple could tell that she was smiling again, as she continued, "I don't think that's going to be a problem tonight."
"Well, if it becomes one," Rumple said, "I certainly don't intend you to starve. Really, Mrs. Lucas is many things, but stingy isn't one of them. She likely sent more than enough for twice our number."
"I'll keep that in mind," Belle said, as she lifted a cushioned wooden chair and carried it closer to the bed. "Here. Let's see what she sent."
Rumple reached into the bag and pulled out a large Styrofoam clamshell. "There's a second one here," he said. "Yours, I believe."
"I'll take it with me when I go," Belle said.
Rumple smiled an acknowledgment and lifted the lid. "Well," he said, "I must say it's not my usual fare." He was looking at a spiral of dough with some sort of meat filling, a large stuffed mushroom, some sort of slider, a skewer of fresh fruit and cheese cubes, a slice of some sort of vegetable quiche, a cookie, and a frosted square that was either a brownie or piece cut from a chocolate slab cake. "Quite the feast, in fact." And he was likely to be three days eating it. "Might I ask whether you're responsible for any of these?"
There was a smile in Belle's voice when she answered, "The skewer. I… You've seen some of my kitchen disasters."
"And your successes," Rumple reminded her.
"Somehow," she replied ruefully, "I don't remember those nearly as well. And if I was making something for the entire town, it was going to be something even I couldn't ruin."
"Well," Rumple replied genially, "then I believe I know what I'm sampling first."
He finished the skewer. And, over the next hour and a half, he managed to down the quiche and mushroom as well. He'd been opting for the dishes that were most likely to be unappealing if left overnight.
He understood well Belle's aversion to small talk; it wasn't something he took interest in either. And Belle was one of the few people he knew who didn't think that there was anything wrong with sitting quietly and enjoying the company of another. The feed was on, but Rumple didn't pay it much mind. He couldn't see the point of watching everyone else filling their plates and indulging in meaningless chit-chat. When the prince rose to his feet and called for everyone's attention, though, he sat up a bit straighter, even as his hand reached absently for the cookie.
"Excuse me," he said, and while he didn't actually raise his voice, it carried clearly across the room. "If I could have everyone's attention, just for a moment? This coronation ceremony is something we've looked forward to for a very long time. The arrival of our new son has been a cause of great joy for our family. And we hope you can share in it as we name him for a hero. Someone who saved every one of us. Whom we loved… and he loved back." He leaned down slightly and rested a hand on his wife's shoulder.
Snow looked up and smiled as she shifted the baby in her arms. "People of Storybrooke, it's our great joy to introduce you to our son… Prince Neal."
The cookie fell from his hand and he didn't notice when he hit the floor. Eyes wide, he stared at the screen as though willing it to replay what he'd just heard. And then, Belle wrapped an arm about his shoulders, and his gaping jaw slowly closed in a disbelieving smile. He would have exhibited more self-control had he been there in person. He did have a certain image to uphold, perhaps especially now. But in the privacy of his hospital room, with only Belle present to see, he made no effort to stop the tears that leaked from his eyes and slid down his cheeks.
