AUTHOR'S NOTE: This scene and the next couple scenes are actually taken from the episodes, but the intent is to explore the thoughts and motivations behind what is said and done.
The bed was hard, and the bars were bringing back too many unpleasant memories. He could feel her eyes boring into him from across the room. While he was furious with himself for allowing things to go this far, he had no worries that he would be able to get himself out of it. That man deserved every strike. As for the one who put him up to the theft in the first place...
"Pastrami...you want half?" He glanced over in Emma's direction and saw her holding up the sandwich in her hand. "You know, I still owe you that favor." With a roll of his eyes, he turned away again. "Nice, fatty pastrami. Delicious way to clear the books."
"Well, I don't need you to remind me that you owe me a favor," he answered in a low, calm voice, although inside he was roiling. "And when the day comes that I make my request, it'll be for more than half a sandwich." They stared at each other for a moment, and Emma chuckled quietly to herself.
Then she came.
"Sheriff Swan, I'm letting you have thirty minutes with Henry," Regina's strong voice rang out as she entered the room with the boy. Emma stood and approached them, the surprise very clear in her face. He watched the interaction silently, a deep uneasiness settling in his stomach. Uneasiness and rage. So she was here to gloat. "Take him out. Buy him ice cream."
"You want me to leave you alone with a prisoner?" Emma asked uncertainly.
Regina wasn't looking at her. Her eyes were already fixed on him. "Twenty-nine and a half minutes," she counted down. No nonsense.
The boy and his mother shared a quick greeting, and then Emma glanced at him in the cell. There was no getting around this. The longer Emma stayed, the more frustrated Regina would get. If he wanted to maintain his control of the situation, he would need to let Regina continue thinking she had control of the situation. That would mean getting the sheriff out of the room as soon as possible. With a shrug at Emma, he said, "Bring me back a cone?"
Emma gazed from one to the other, clearly sensing the tension. "Just this once," she consented, reaching back for her coat. "Come on, let's go." Grabbing Henry, she left the room.
Regina continued staring at him. He glared back. "Well, you really wanted that little chat, didn't you?"
"Apparently this is the only way I could do it," she said, grinning and stepping toward him purposefully.
"Please," he bit out, pointing at the garishly blue couch beside the cell, "sit."
Her smile faded into a scowl as she moved to sit where commanded, positioning herself on the arm closest to him. There was a flicker in her eyes.
"Now," he said, choosing his words carefully, "when two people both want something the other has, a deal can always be struck." Looking at her intently, he asked, "Do you have what I want?"
She waited a moment to answer, a smug grin spreading across her face. "Yes."
It was no surprise to him, but he felt like he had been kicked all the same. She knew where and how to hurt him, but what made him the most uneasy was why she had done it. Why now? Had something happened? Was this because Emma was here, fulfilling prophecy and perhaps about to break the curse? No doubt Regina was angry that he had thrown that little surprise into the mix. Was she taking one last chance to strike at him before all her carefully laid plans fell apart?
"So," he grimaced, "you did put him up to it, then."
Regina shrugged. "I merely suggested that strong men take what they need."
He didn't hide the venom in his voice. "Oh yeah, and you told him exactly what to take, didn't you?"
"We used to know each other so well, Mr. Gold," she replied, almost condescendingly. "Has it really come down to this?"
He wasn't in the mood for her games. "It seems it has, yeah." Now it came to it. "But you know what I want. What is it you want?"
"I want you to answer one question," she said, holding up a finger. "And answer it simply." He froze, dread spreading through his body. "What's your name?"
So she knew. Or, at least, she suspected. That wasn't entirely surprising, either, but he hadn't wanted to lose this advantage quite yet. The edges of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "It's Mr. Gold."
Her eyes turned to ice, and her voice growled. "Your real name."
"Every moment I've spent on this earth, that's been my name," he answered, knowing it would drive her crazy. Still, it was the truth.
She leaned forward. "But what about moments spent elsewhere?"
He hesitated, feigning confusion. She wasn't the only one who liked playing games with others. "What are you asking me?"
"I think you know," she said matter-of-factly. Obviously she wasn't going to give up, not that he really expected her to do so. There was no getting out of this one. "If you want me to return what's yours, tell me your name," she demanded.
He gazed at her, judging her resolve, then finally grinned and chuckled softly in defeat. "Rumpelstiltskin," he admitted through gritted teeth. As much as he hated to give away his position of knowledge, he did take a moment to revel in the shock that filled her eyes as her suspicions were confirmed. And now that she knew, he definitely had no reason to hide his frustration with her. Standing up, he gripped the bars tightly. "Now give me what I want," he snarled.
"Such hostility," she commented.
"Oh yeah." His eyes were blazing. She wouldn't be so calm and sure of herself if these bars weren't between them. His eyes followed her every move as she slid her purse from her shoulder and withdrew the precious item from within it.
"Over this?" she asked, almost laughing. She held up a china teacup with a pale blue pattern on the side. Its rim was chipped.
He swallowed hard and stared as she held it none too securely between two fingers. One slip and it could shatter on the concrete floor below. Reaching for it automatically, he held his breath while she swung the cup back and forth, taunting him, seeming to enjoy the helpless look on his face and desperation with which he sought the his treasure. "Such a...sentimental little keepsake," she purred, and he finally grabbed it, pulling it firmly from her grip.
"Thank you," he murmured, relief evident in his eyes, "...your majesty." There was no gratitude in his voice. Pulling back, he held the cup possessively, sitting down on the bed once more and looking over it for any damage. The memories that were tied to it flowed over him once more. To think that he almost lost this...it was unbearable. He was angry with himself for allowing it to happen. It may seem like a "sentimental little keepsake" to the queen, but to him it was everything. Everything he lost. He could never get her back, but as long as there was hope that he could find his son, he would keep going. This reminded him of the price he paid, much dearer than he expected it to be.
"So," he said, much calmer than he had been a moment ago. "Now that we're being honest with each other, let's remember how things used to be, shall we?" He watched her closely. "And don't let these bars fool you, dear. I'm the one with the power around here. I'm going to be out of here in no time, and nothing between us will change." There was no hiding the threat in his last comment.
She stood and put her face up to the bars, not looking intimidated in the least. "We shall see."
His eyes widened at the threat in her own voice. She smiled confidently once more and then stalked out of the room, leaving him alone. What exactly did she mean by that? What could she possibly have that would turn the tables on him? He knew there was nothing. She didn't know what he knew. The only thing left that he cared for, she knew nothing about. Still, he couldn't shake the disquiet that had fallen over him at her final words. He stared at the cup in his hands, turning it over and holding it protectively.
She was bluffing.