Trick of the Light
Rumplestiltskin's sitting alone in his cage, quietly in the dark.
Spoilers for 3x13
Madness is his only sanctuary here.
His darkness fallen and embraced, descending upon him through the fleeting moments of open light and her.
Rumplestiltskin's sitting alone in his cage, quietly in the dark. Filthy and scattered in appearances as his mind twists and turns repeatedly and sings to him with a strange and echoing song; a pulsating rhythm humming loudly over the vacant drum of memories trying desperately not to be buried away and forgotten.
He's done terrible, terrible things; he just can't seem to remember them these days. But they're still there, deep inside; festering and leaving him screeching violently in shifting bouts of rage and utter ruin.
These are the sum of his days now; waiting, and awkwardly disjointed but repetitive. Twitching back and forth, to and from in his small cell, and ranting aloud in rhymes. Hours upon hours spent running his restless finger through his filthy hair; clawing and tugging at length through the ends as if doing so will offer him a reprieve from his constant and maddening thoughts. They're tricking him now, toying with him, and delightfully amusing themselves at the expense of what little remains of his fleeing sanity.
And then there is the light; the cruelest of all the tortures inflicted upon him because she always comes along when the brightness floods.
It breaks into the darkness.
This time with an unexpected bang and heavy clang; striking his blackened senses, momentarily blinding him, and leveling him disoriented. Instinctively, Rumplestiltskin cowers from it; collapsing down harshly and pushing his back up roughly against the cold steal of his prison wall.
There's an audible click, and a heavy thud falling on wood, followed by a low voice saying, "hello?"
He says nothing, but his body instantly tenses, tingles, and numbs. He hears thumps blaring rapidly in his ears. They're a combination of sounds; of footsteps descending down steps and of his heartbeat screaming inside of him.
He blinks away the dark, for the light has illuminated his little world. A lone figure stands within, but the shadows have gotten a hold of her so he can't make out the woman's face.
He narrows his eyes, tries to make some sense of what he's seeing. He thinks he catches a hint of green, but then realizes that the blazing color is actually red. His mouth stutters at the realization and yet no words come forth. Again, the voice calls out, "anybody in here?"
It's a familiar voice, it's her voice.
Rumplestiltskin's whole body suddenly lurches forward wildly, slamming loudly against the thin bars. His fingers curl through the grating. His breathe drawing out heavily with a tormented anticipation.
This shouldn't be real.
"Gold?" there's shock and confusion, and he can hear the hesitation in Emma's movements; his chaotic appearance having obviously startled her. "Christ…Is that really you? How is it possible? What is this?
"Too many questions, dearie, too, too, many questions" he mutters absentminded, words spilling out rapidly, "but where have all the answers gone? I'm afraid I've lost mine."
"What the hell happened to you?" she asks softly, cautiously. There's blunt confusion in her voice, even a bit of concern. As if she cannot quite believe what she's seeing in front of her. He feels very much the same.
He tries forcing his jittering body to remain still, eyes focusing because he desperately wants to see the details of her properly. He won't even allow himself to blink as Emma begins to move once more. She's coming closer and closer. Then stops, but now she's standing right in front of him. Though they still remain on opposite sides—as always, it seems—but the light has followed through and has finally brightened her features enough for him to truly see.
There's a horrible notion of false clarity, of a feeling of terrible trickery to all this. And yet, there is that simple and tickling desire; of the possibility and the inevitability of this moment that it fills Rumplestiltskin with such a sheer sense of hopefulness.
Emma says nothing further, as is her nature on occasion. She simply takes action. Gripping her trusty pistol she levels it, "I'm getting you out of here," she declared. And then fires. The lock dangling at his cage explodes into a sparkling array of silver pieces upon impact before she proceeds to rip it off with a firm yank of her hand. Swiftly, she pulls open the door but makes no move to step inside the darkened space of his prison.
He only watches Emma hovering at the lights edge—in bewildered like fascination—for she seems to be drowning brightly under its glow and yet there's a present darkness dancing across her calm face. He can't reason its meaning. So he hesitates, but all he wants to do then is reach out and touch her; to make certain she was there. That she'd really come, had been the one to find him, and was here to save him from his cursed entrapment.
Like she's supposed to, he thinks dizzyingly, giddy despite himself, because she was always supposed to save him. It's why he has her. "It's alright, I've got you." She said with radiant certainty.
She'll forever be his destined Savior. "You came back," he moves towards her, an uncertain but buoyant smile flickering across his lips as he does.
"Emma."
And then there is darkness once more.
Rumplestiltskin's sitting alone in his cage. "Emma—Emma—Emma," he sings out loud, on and on, lilt deranged in pitch. He's delirious and lost to the world for the time being.
Zelena stands by idly and studied the unhinged man, her curiosity sparked and raging. She had striven for too many years to understand her one time mentor; decipher his weaknesses, and figure out how to best the powerful man who had abandoned her so long ago. Yet, she grasped so little of this. This inclination he left so exposed within his deteriorating mind. And the realization of that failure made her vengeful blood boil.
She grips his precious dagger, holds its handle in her hand tightly. It appeared that despite her best efforts; his current captivity, his forced obedience, the horrors she'd forced him to inflict, and even his downward spiral of sanity Rumplestiltskin still, somehow, continued to cling on to the one thing that the Wicked Witch of the West was most determined to strip him of.
Hope, he still held on to hope.
Who was this girl, this savior of his? The one she knew to be the lost daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. The witch wondered what possible loyalties that woman could hold for the Dark One that he would be so confident of her eventual emergence here, and of her ability to free him.
What was it about Emma that inspired his unyielding and nearly devout faith?
Over and over the scenario of his escape that she would conjure up into his mind's eye for her own amusement would play out with the same end results. The one time savior would find him and would always be the one to free him from Zelena's prison.
Not his cherished son, not his former pupil, and not even his beloved. There was significance in that; relentless, but seemingly beyond her comprehension and reach.
Something would certainly need to be done about that.
If Rumplestiltskin was so absolute in his belief that Emma would be the one to save him from captivity then perhaps some fiendish and cunning intervention was in order. It was perhaps time for her to send out a precaution, and a distraction. She would send out Walsh immediately to seek out the savior and to keep a close eye on her.
If everything was to go according to plan then Emma Swan would need to stay far, far away.
Turning away, the Wicked Witch made her way out of the darkness, away from her prisoner's mad chanting, and stepped back into the blinding light of day. She beamed wickedly.
Author's Notes:
I caved and watch the first two episodes of the second half of the season. Ridiculous but still managed to somehow inspire this little story out of me. I mean seriously...Emma was banging a monkey, and Rumple is all alive and bonkers. That's honestly all I took away from the episodes.
Thanks for reading!
xoxox