Dr. Hopper pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose. "So, how are you sleeping? Any more bad dreams?"

"No, actually," Rose confessed to the red-haired man sitting across the office. "I still have vivid dreams sometimes, but I don't wake up in the middle of the night now."

"So, you're getting plenty of rest." When she nodded, he checked something on his notepad. "That's good. Do you care to tell me a little about the kind of dreams you're having now?"

His patient shrugged. "Mostly, it's the same one. I'm in this huge castle, but I'm not a princess. I'm cleaning things, like a maid."

"Hmm. And are there other people in the dream?"

"Just one. He's the one who owns the castle. I never see his face, though, just his back. He's always sitting on this little stool and turning this wheel around and around…" Abruptly, Rose chuckled out a scoff. "That's ridiculous, isn't it? I mean, a king or somebody, just sitting around all the time spinning a wheel. That couldn't possibly mean anything."

"It might," Dr. Hopper disagreed. "The subconscious mind has extraordinary abilities that mankind is just beginning to understand. Like dreams. Most people tend to write them off, like you just did. But more often than not, those dreams are trying to tell us something."

"What are they saying?" Rose wondered, her interest piqued.

"Well, that depends. Whenever we can't make sense out of our lives, or we don't know what to do next, the subconscious sends us dreams to help us figure things out," he explained. "In your dream, you're alone except for one person, and you can't see his face or talk to him. That tells me you feel lonely and excluded. And your place in the castle says a lot about your frame of mind. Unlike a princess, you feel you have to work to earn your place in the world. Good things don't come easily to you."

"Sounds about right," she admitted, shoulders slumping. "Still doesn't explain the wheel, though."

"Let's think about that between now and next time," the therapist suggested, standing and shaking her hand as the session concluded. "Maybe between us, we can figure it out."

*LL*

Mr. Gold had finally finished what he hoped would be the last deal he'd ever have to make with Moe French – the truck, for power of attorney, and the cancellation of all debt for Rose's legal guardianship. The price was more than fair, as far as he was concerned, and the florist had been almost too eager to take it. It was as though he wanted to be rid of his daughter, and his shame. He'll stay away from her, Gold thought pragmatically. He knows now that there are worse people to cross than the mayor.

It had been two weeks since his first visit, after which he'd visited Rose faithfully, every day. He was also becoming a regular at the town library, as his visits to Rose always included both of them reading to each other. Today, he was returning The Darkangel, a book Rose had enjoyed immensely. The tragic fantasy played out similarly to their own tale – a villain, once a normal man but transformed by evil, took a girl captive and made her a servant in his castle, only for them to fall in love. In this story, the villain was redeemed and made human again. He could only hope their own story would end so happily.

The librarian, a plump, dark-haired older lady with a pert little smile, nearly met him at the door. "Well, look who's here! Finished that one already?"

"Rose is a fast reader," Mr. Gold related with an unusually tender smile. "How are you today, Miss Withers?"

"I told you, Mary," she insisted, her eyes twinkling as her button nose scrunched up.

"Mary," he amended graciously. "So, how's our little project coming along?"

"The room's all ready! See for yourself." The librarian whipped out her phone and pulled up a picture of a cheerful room with a single bed. "And when do we get to meet the girl herself? My sisters are getting anxious!"

He grinned, exposing a gold tooth. The youngest of three ridiculously convivial old spinsters, Mary Withers and her sisters Fiona and Faye were a reputedly pleasant bunch. Rumplestiltskin had never been fond of fairies after a certain incident long ago, but the three who protected Princess Aurora were at least tolerable to be around. Besides, the Withers did a good job raising one girl without parents, he reasoned, thinking of the golden-haired girl about Rose's age named Dawn that they still mollycoddled when she'd let them. "Soon. If all goes well, she's to be released on Thursday."

Mary beamed. "What wonderful news!"

"Indeed," he nodded. "So, do you have another book picked out, or should I just browse?"

"Don't be silly! Of course I have one," the librarian chortled, all but bouncing back to her desk. "See what you think of this."

Mr. Gold took the book in his hands. "The Lightning Thief?"

"I know, it's a touch young-at-heart, but the author's got such a sense of humor! I laughed the whole time I read it!" Mary cheerfully confessed.

"Well, the last book was a bit sad," the odd shopkeeper nodded, "so this should make for a pleasant change. I'll take it."

*LL*

Rose arched an eyebrow, seemingly bemused. "You found a place for me to stay?" she repeated.

"Yes. It's a room for rent, in a house with three lovely little old ladies. I know that must sound a trifle dull, but the space they're renting is much nicer than any room Granny has available, and you'll never want for a home-cooked meal," Mr. Gold propounded. "The Withers sisters are the best cooks in town. Ask anyone. Just mind that you don't sit in on their knitting circle; you might never get out again." He'd been teasing, but he was surprised when Rose frowned instead of laughed. "What's the matter?"

The girl hesitated, then finally muttered, "I thought I'd be living with you."

His heart wrenched so painfully, he had to clutch at his cane to steady him. She was finally about to gain her freedom, and she wanted to live with him. Touched as he was, though, he knew it was impossible. "Me? Nonsense. You'd be bored out of your mind," he said disarmingly. "A confirmed old bachelor who spends most of his time running his business? That's no kind of roommate for a young girl. No, you wouldn't want to stay with me."

"Don't tell me what I want," Rose denied firmly, showing some of the spirit he remembered from her days as Belle.

Seeing that he'd have to explain, Mr. Gold reached for her hand and clasped it. "This is a small town, dear. People talk. And what do you think they'd have to say about a pretty young girl living alone with a wealthy older man?"

His beloved recoiled, withdrawing her hand. "I don't care what people think!"

"Well, I do." Mr. Gold sighed. "And I don't want your reputation ruined because of me." Harsh words and gossip might not be as painful as flogging whips and shackles, but he still wouldn't let her endure more torture on his account.

"My reputation?" Rose scoffed. "I've been locked away in a nuthouse for three years, and you're worried about my reputation?"

"I'm not exactly a well-liked man, Rose. If you want to get on well in this town, you won't want to be too friendly with me once you're out," he said honestly. "The Withers are good people. No one will think badly of you if you're living with them. I'm just trying to do what's best for you."

"Like my father was trying to do what's best for me?" she accused. When he clenched his jaw shut and closed his eyes, clearly wounded, guilt flooded over her. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean that. It's just… you're the only friend I have in the world. If I have to give up seeing you to be accepted by a town full of people who never liked me to begin with, then it's not worth it."

His eyes stayed firmly shut, lest he start crying like a sentimental fool over her display of devotion. "You're saying this out of gratitude because I saved you," Mr. Gold murmured, "and because I've shown you some measure of kindness when you've been starved for it."

"That's not true."

"You'll get a life of your own and you'll forget about me," he went on as though she hadn't spoken. "And it's better that way."

Rose shook her head in utter disbelief. "I don't believe that. I know you don't want that to happen."

"What I want and what you need are two very different things." Mr. Gold's eyes finally opened and met hers again, forlornly accepting. "I can't keep you all to myself and deny you the chance to live your life. That's not love."

"And this is? Telling me I can't stay with you, and that we shouldn't spend time together?" she shot back.

"Yes," he replied, with such straightforwardness that it surprised her.

"So, it's that easy for you? Walking into my life only to walk right back out of it?" Rose questioned, crestfallen.

"I never said it was easy." The sight of a tear slipping down her cheek as she tucked her chin to her chest undid him. As if of its own volition, his hand reached up to cup her face and wipe away the offending droplet. He lifted her chin and met her gaze. "I'm not abandoning you, dear. I'm just stepping back to give you some space."

"And what if I stay with these people and I'm miserable? What if I decide I don't want space?" she posed.

"In that case," he murmured, unable to deny both her and himself that fully, "I'm an easy enough man to find."