Nine years before the Dark Curse struck. . .
"Go," Rumplestiltskin commanded, calmly, evenly.
Belle stared at the back of his head. After all they had been through, all the struggles and changes. Every turn had been different: going from a dungeon to a room, from a dreary kitchen to a library, from lonely nights to nights watching him spin. No, she wouldn't go. 'Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow.' Her mother always taught her that heroes didn't run from their problems; good people saw past twisted facades to kind interiors. This man wasn't as much of a beast as he thought, and she would prove it to him.
"No," Belle stood and walked around to face him.
He didn't even look down. He just stared right over the top of her head. His face was a blank slate, betraying none of the emotion she had seen when she kissed him. 'I'm not unhappy. . .'
Belle wrapped her hands around his leather lapels, "We can be happy, together. You're afraid, and that's okay. Why won't you just let me get rid of your curse? Why won't you let yourself be free?"
Rumplestiltskin backed out of her grip, still not looking at her, "It's simple, really. My power means more to me than you."
Belle's lip trembled with a sob that fought to break free. He was pushing her away, but she wouldn't let him go now. She loved him, and love was worth fighting for, even if it broke her in the end.
"Then I will wait. I promised you forever, and I will wait until that promise is fulfilled. I will wait in this dungeon and starve; I will wait outside and freeze; I will wait anywhere for you, Rumplestiltskin, because I love you, and whether you like it or not, I know you love me," Belle nodded her head firmly.
For the first time, Rumplestiltskin looked down at her. She saw the swirling emotions on the surface of his eyes. Fear and hesitance warred with love and hope. He was letting his walls stretch high, obscuring her vision of his thoughts. There was a reason he wanted his curse, there had to be. Whatever it was, she would wait for him.
"Why would you wait for a monster?" he growled, "I'm freeing you."
"And I'm choosing to stay," Belle locked her jaw with determination.
"Your naivety is impressive, dearie, but that doesn't change the fact that you must go. Despite what you think, I'm a monster, a beast, and I always will be," Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips.
Belle took a deep breath and stepped closer, "Life is made up of small moments that lead to choices. Our choices define us, and our mistakes mold us. Many people think mistakes and choices are the same thing. They're not, though. If you make a mistake, your choice should be to try to fix it. Agreeing to come with you wasn't a mistake, but leaving would be. If I left, I can't say for certain that I would make the choice to come back. So, now, I make the choice to stay so that we never have to find out whether I would find my way back to you or not."
"Sorry, dearie, but I made a promise," Rumplestiltskin flicked his wrist.
All of a sudden, the cold enveloped her. She squeaked in surprise as snow covered her body, making her shiver; not that the dungeons had been much warmer. She stood up and tried to shake off all of the snow as it melted into her thin dress. Her arms were bare and exposed to the biting wind, the one thing her cell had actually protected her from. It took only minutes for her teeth to start chattering from the cold, goose flesh raised along her arms under her fingertips as she hugged herself. If he thought this would make her quit, he had another thing coming. Huffing indignantly, she marched up to the large oak doors of the castle and pushed. Usually they would open on their own for anyone who dared seek Rumplestiltskin out, but not this time. Belle leaned on them with all her body weight, but still, they did not budge.
"I know you can hear me!" Belle shouted, smiling at the sense of deja vu, though last time, she had been kidnapped, "I told you I would freeze if that's what it takes! I'm not going anywhere!"
And with that, she plopped down in the snow and stared fixedly at the double doors. If he wanted to be stubborn, she would be, too. If only she had her books to keep her occupied.
{[(/*\)]}
Storybrooke, approximately thirty-seven years later, November thirtieth. . .
Emma felt as though she was having an out of body experience as she pushed open the door of the animal shelter. Her brain didn't quite catch everything that happened, completely in a daze until she was leading Mary Margaret to her Bug in handcuffs. As she slid into the driver's seat, it finally hit her. She had just arrested her best friend for a murder she couldn't have committed. It just wasn't possible. The sweet school teacher who trapped spiders in between a cup and plate so that Emma wouldn't squish them couldn't have murdered anyone.
The betrayal was clear in Mary Margaret's voice when she finally spoke, "Handcuffs, Emma? Really?"
"I'm sorry," was all Emma could whisper as she drove them to the station. Such melancholy silence hung in the air as she drove. There was nothing to say, nothing truthful anyway. 'It's going to be fine' was a load of bull, 'I'll get you out of this' was a promise she didn't know she could keep, and 'we'll find a way' just sounded so cold and empty in her head. There was no way around hard evidence. Fingerprints were something she couldn't ignore, even if she wanted to. There were no lawyers in town for her to call, no way to get her friend out of this. It was inevitable: Mary Margaret was going to jail. Henry would be distraught when he found out that the woman he looked to as his grandmother was imprisoned for murder. According to him, she was arresting her own mother. How could she get her friend out of this?
{[(/*\)]}
"Hey, Mr. Gold," Henry chirped as he entered the pawnbroker's shop.
"Hello, Mr. Mills," Gold smiled cordially.
Henry grinned. Pressing his hand one more time to his pocket, just to make sure his recorder was still there, he moved further into the shop. His book was held tightly in his left hand while his backpack was slung carelessly over his shoulder. He had heard of Snow White's capture, and now he was going to get his answers.
"What brings you here so early? You should be in school, should you not?" Gold passed him a sly smile as he spoke.
"That's beside the point. I came for something else," Henry hummed, trying to sound nonchalant.
"And whatever could that be?" the pawnbroker stopped wiping down the display case.
"That deal you have with my mom, I want to know if it could apply to me, too. Every day, just like her," Henry tilted his head to the side.
"So you do know about the deal," Gold nodded, "Here I thought Miss Swan was trying to be secretive about it."
"I know more than I let on," Henry smirked.
"Very well. I shall answer some of your questions," he smiled and waved his arm for Henry to start, "I'll give you. . . three per day."
"What's your name?" Henry smiled victoriously.
"Gold."
"No, your first name," Henry pouted.
"Is that your second question?" Gold raised his eyebrow inquisitively.
"No. Who made Kathryn disappear?" Henry pursed his lips, "Remember, you have to tell the truth."
"Regina," Gold maintained eye contact with him as he let the name slither from his lips.
"I knew it!" Henry jumped up, "Wh- ehem, I, ah, wonder why you don't just tell Emma."
Gold laughed lightly, "Nice save. I can't tell her, because I have no evidence."
Henry didn't claim to share his mom's super power, but he sensed that wasn't the whole truth. There was some other reason, there had to be. He knew Snow White didn't kill Abigail; she would never do that, not even in competition for her prince. His last question - How did she do it? - died on his lips when he thought of another one. Maybe he could even use the answer to help Snow White feel better.
Henry's mouth twisted up in thought, "What's the difference between hope and faith?"
Gold took a moment to think before finally looking at Henry, "Faith is. . . faith is belief based on knowledge. Now don't get me wrong, faith and belief are also different. They say 'take a leap of faith,' but that isn't particularly hard. Faith stems from something you already know; there should be no leap required. Faith is just the little bit that fills in the gaps of something that you can't completely and certainly know. Faith is for people who don't believe.
"Now hope, hope is something else entirely. With hope, your imagination has no bounds. Hope is for people who believe in dreams. Hope is a belief based on nothing but a whim and a chance. Hope is something some people pull out of thin air just so it can push them through difficult times. Hope. . . hope is dangerous at the wrong times, for it can pull you in, intoxicate you with lies; it can also be a strong ally, though. Hope can light up shadows. Hope can cause you to waken up from a despairing sleep. Hope can even bring true families together. Only true believers can keep hope at all times. Hope that things can get better; hope that someone can be saved; hope that battles can be won. In the right hands, hope can be the weapon that wins the war. You have hope, Mr. Mills. Now, you just need to coax Miss Swan out of her faith and give her some hope. It might do her some good."
As Gold spoke, Henry's smile grew with every word. There was no way he wasn't awake. 'Hope that battles can be won' was surely just code for 'hope that the Savior can win the Final Battle.' Gold was definitely awake, and he wanted to help Emma win, that much just had to be true.
"Thank you, Mr. Gold," Henry discreetly turned off the recorder, "You see the world with such. . . clarity. It's almost like you know everything."
"I wouldn't say everything, but tale spinning happens to be one of my talents," Gold smirked, as if sharing his own private joke.
"Have a good day," Henry waved.
As Henry walked out, something caught his eye. There, hanging near one of the display cases was the same mobile that Henry had seen in the book. It was the one that had hung over Emma's crib.
Walking over to it, Henry tapped one of the tiny unicorns. It was mesmerizing, the way it swung in the air, as though galloping.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Gold said from the other end of the shop, "Like a fairy tale."
Henry turned so quickly, his back popped, "What did you say?"
"Oh, nothing. I just think it's too bad no one bought it," Gold really did look sad as he stared at the mobile, "It could have lit up a room. . . once upon a time."
What Henry saw on Mr. Gold's face looked almost remorseful. He looked like he was stuck in a memory that was causing him pain. The only reason that mobile was never used was the curse. The curse the queen cast. Why would he have anything to do with it?
Henry smiled and nodded before dashing out the door. Whoever it was in that shop, they weren't on the heroes side. They were someone to fear. Maybe he didn't want Emma to win, after all.
{[(/*\)]}
Emma sighed and let her head fall against her desk. She had closed her blinds about thirty minutes ago, unable to look at Mary Margaret's sad puppy face a moment longer. It was always the eyes that she couldn't say no to. Henry always did it, too. It was just so hard to look at the plea and refuse. She couldn't even talk to Mary; there was nothing to tell her. She had already spent a night in that dreary little cell, the same one Emma had stayed in, actually. David had been cleared earlier, but he had been no help. Emma had suggested therapy with Archie, which he readily agreed to. It was all just a mess. She needed good advice, but she wasn't sure who to take it from. Gold had been the most helpful so far, but she hadn't seen him since his apology.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall of the station. Emma's head popped up off her desk and turned to look at the clock. It was four o'two, which meant. . .
"Ms. Blanchard!" Henry was out of school.
A smile slid across Emma's face as she slid out of her seat and opened the door of her office. Henry was attempting to hug Mary Margaret through the bars, which probably wasn't allowed, but the school teacher was smiling brightly enough to lighten up the cell. Henry looked at her with the eyes and she decided not to say anything; it was just a hug.
"I have something for you," Henry declared proudly a few moments later.
He pulled something out of his pocket and pushed a button. Emma was surprised to hear Gold's silvery brogue suddenly floating through the air. She wasn't quite sure where or when he made that, but he was giving both women a hundred-watt smile as it played.
Faith stems from something you already know. . .
Faith is for people who don't believe. . .
With hope, your imagination had no bounds. . .
Hope is for people who believe in dreams. . .
Emma listened as Gold aptly explained the differences. Mary Margaret seemed enraptured with the speech, perhaps even gaining a little hope of her own. Emma snorted as the recording ended with 'It might do her some good.' Henry grinned up at her with that mischievous spark in his eyes that clearly said 'Mr. Gold is on my side.' What they said was true: to get to the parent, you go through the kid. That jerk.
"I have hope everything will be okay, Ms. Blanchard," Henry beamed up at her.
"Thank you, Henry," Mary said, looking as though she would cry.
"I believe in you," Henry stated firmly.
Emma put her hand on Henry's shoulder, "So do I."
"Does that mean you finally have room for a little hope, Miss Swan?"
Emma jerked around to see Gold smirking. He moved out of the hallway's entrance and made his way toward her. His eyes never once left hers as he crept toward her like a predator.
"Why are you here?" Emma narrowed her eyes.
"No need to be hostile, Sheriff. I'm merely here to offer my legal services," Gold cocked his head.
"No. There is no way you are a lawyer now, too. Is there anything you don't do?" Emma scowled.
Gold matched her scowl with a wry grin, "You."
Emma's mouth hung open and she looked at Henry, who appeared rather confused by that confession.
"Henry, why don't you go wait in the hall?" Emma smiled tightly.
"Sure," he skipped off to wait for her.
"I'm not the ice cream man, either," Gold frowned.
"You are not defending Mary Margaret. No way," Emma crossed her arms.
"No offence, Miss Swan, but I believe that's for Miss Blanchard to decide," he turned to face the cell.
"Emma, we can't do this alone, we need help," Mary Margaret rushed.
"But him? There is no way in hell he's looking out for your best interests," Emma hissed.
"He's the only lawyer in town. Emma, please," Mary Margaret pleaded.
Emma turned back to Gold, "You always have another agenda. I swear, if you let her get caught up in whatever this one is, I will gut you."
Gold gave her a cocky smirk, "I'll be looking forward to it."
"Please leave," Mary Margaret sighed from her cell.
"Thank you," Emma smiled and looked at Gold, "You heard her. Beat it."
"A-Actually, I was talking to you," the school teacher said meekly from her cell.
Emma huffed, giving Gold one last death stare, "Fine."
{[(/*\)]}
After Emma left the room, Mary Margaret stared sullenly at Mr. Gold. If he was her only choice, she really had hit rock bottom. She couldn't even look him in the eyes when she spoke to him.
"I-I don't have any way to pay you," she whispered.
"That's okay, dearie. Let's just say. . . I'm invested in your future," Gold smiled down at her.