CHAPTER 14
It was a rainy evening in March when the knock sounded at Amy's door.
At her new door, that is, not the door to her old room at the inn. Amy had just moved into a condo in the same building as Mary Margaret and Emma. She had signed the lease a couple of weeks earlier, when the first of the life insurance checks had cleared, but due to various circumstances she had only officially moved in a few days previously. Technically the condo was for sale, not a rental unit. But the owner of the building had been more than happy to allow Amy to rent the place on a month-to-month basis, or so the real-estate agent had told her. (Amy wasn't 100 percent sure as to the identity of the building's owner, but she had her suspicions.)
For the first time in her life Amy was living alone. So far she liked it, although it hadn't been quite a week yet so she supposed it was too early to know for sure. However, she did know she definitely liked the condo itself. It was nothing fancy, consisting of a living room, a small eat-in kitchen, a tiny half-bath off the entryway, and a single large bedroom with a full bath and an alcove. The alcove would serve as the nursery for the time being.
The condo had been the only thing available on such short notice—Storybrooke wasn't exactly the real-estate capital of Maine—but even if it hadn't been Amy still thought she would've chosen it anyway. Although it was small and not exactly equipped with the latest appliances, its hardwood floors and exposed-brick walls gave it a certain charm. Being small also made it easy to keep; once Amy gave birth and was on her feet again, it would be a cinch to keep clean. Since she would be a single mother with a newborn to care for, that was definitely a bonus. Besides, she had a feeling they wouldn't be living there all that long.
Though the rest of the condo was sparsely furnished for now, the nursery was all set up. Marco had finished the cradle and given it to her as a combination housewarming and baby gift. It stood by her bed, made up and ready for its soon-to-be occupant. She had found a changing table and a small dresser of the same polished maple as the crib, which were likewise ready for use, fully stocked with clothing and diapers.
Leroy Brown had come to set the furniture up the very day she moved in. Strangely enough, he had been happy to do so. Even stranger, he had showed up without a trace of alcohol on his breath. The little cooler full of beer he usually carried around with him was likewise absent. When she heard him humming under his breath as he put together the changing table, Amy couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer. "What's with you, Leroy?" she'd asked, handing him the bottle of water he'd requested when she asked him if he'd like anything to eat or drink. "Have you been taken over by body snatchers or something? You're acting like a pod person."
To his credit, Leroy had laughed. It transpired that the new and improved Leroy Brown was due not to an alien invasion, but a girl. Specifically Sister Astrid, a novitiate at the convent outside of town. It was like something out of a rom-com, Amy thought to herself as Leroy shared his unlikely love story. Bad boy meets good girl, boy tries to impress girl, and boy fails at first but manages to redeem himself at the eleventh hour with a wacky— and slightly illegal—stunt. The upshot was that Sister Astrid was working on getting released from her vows (not as hard to do as if she'd been a full-blown nun) and Leroy was attending twelve-step meetings. He proudly showed Amy the chips on his key ring; soon, he said, he would mark one month sober.
Before he left, Leroy apologized to Amy for gossiping against her in the past. Although he was some time away from the making-amends step of the Program, he had apparently decided to get an early start. "I never really meant any of it," he told her. "I always knew you were a nice kid. But when you're as down and out as I was, sometimes you get your kicks from another person's troubles. I don't want to be that way anymore, though."
"You won't be, Leroy," Amy assured him graciously. "I don't think you were ever really that person to begin with. I always thought there was a good man inside of you somewhere. Seems like Astrid saw him too, and managed to bring him out."
Leroy beamed, an expression no one would have ever believed just a few weeks earlier. "That's what love will do for you," he declared. "Who knows? If it worked for me, it might even work for…well…you know." Although he was one of the few in town who'd never been on the wrong side of a deal with Mr. Gold (if the man had run a liquor store it would be an entirely different matter) he still preferred not to invoke the pawnbroker's name.
Amy thought about that for a long time after Leroy left. She had always heard that love could change a person, but could it change a man like Mr. Gold? Moreover, did she really want Mr. Gold to change?
No, she finally concluded after hours of puzzling and puzzling until her puzzler was sore. She wouldn't want him to change even if he were capable of doing so. No matter how duplicitous he could be…no matter how many questionable things he'd done in the past…somehow, inexplicably, she wouldn't want him any other way.
Or perhaps it was all too explicable. Perhaps that was what true love was really all about.
But it had seemed to her at their last meeting that Mr. Gold, himself, wanted to be different. That he was trying to be different. It would have been so easy for him to keep her inheritance from her. He could have used all manner of dirty tricks to get her back in his house and under his thumb. Instead he had honored his promise to her father. He had set her free. Although he wanted her, he wanted her happiness more. Maybe that was true love too.
Maybe Leroy had been right in a way. Maybe even the most desperate characters could be inspired to be a better person, if they had someone who loved them for what they were. Hell, even Regina Mills…Nah. Amy discounted that theory quickly. There were some people who even love couldn't reach. (Amy was not entirely correct in this statement. She had no way of knowing that Regina had once loved someone with all her heart. But Regina's heart had already been fragile and damaged since her earliest childhood. Being separated from her love by the one divide that even magic couldn't bridge had been enough to turn that heart to stone.)
She had only seen Mr. Gold in passing a few times since the reading of her father's will. He had treated her much as he had when they first met, polite, kind even, but aloof. Amy saw right through the act, however. His eyes gave him away. Those huge obsidian eyes seemed to glow with an inner light when he looked at her. The man literally burned for her. Once she might have found that frightening, but now it was simply enticing. She wondered if he knew she burned for him as well, then realized he probably did. For that matter, most of the town probably knew. Her sudden flushes, which had always been the true barometer of her feelings, always seemed to occur when he was near.
Yes, he obviously yearned to take her in his arms every time their paths crossed. Amy suspected that, were she not so heavily pregnant, he would actually like to throw her down on the nearest surface, tear her clothes off, and have his way with her (and wasn't that a fantasy she had replayed several hundred times in her head). But he never so much as intimated this by word or gesture. As he had kept his promise to her father, he was now keeping his promise to her. He wasn't going to push her. He was going to let her take her time. And she truly believed that he would accept whatever decision she ultimately made.
She had made her decision, in point of fact. She was going to give him another chance. But it would have to be different this time. They would have to start over. All the secrets and half-truths and flat-out lies would have to come out. And he would have to promise her that he would be a little more…scrupulous in his dealings. Amy was no longer so naïve as to think he would do a total 180, a la the Grinch on Christmas morning, but she did believe he could at least tone down the ruthlessness a touch.
Not that she expected him to cut it out completely, or even wished he would. She rather liked his devious mind. She enjoyed their verbal sparring and their cerebral back-and-forths. She would always have to be on her toes with Mr. Gold; their life would never be boring.
Though she had reached a decision, she hadn't yet been able to inform him of this. Events seemed to be conspiring against them. Storybrooke, once a little town where nothing much happened, was now a constant whirlwind of drama. As Ruby had so colorfully put it, "This shitty little backwater has turned into Peyton fucking Place."
For one thing, yet another stranger had arrived in town. This was the third stranger to show up in less than a year, which was unprecedented. Like Emma, though, August W. Booth quickly assimilated into the town. Amy had met him a time or two, and hadn't been able to help thinking that whenever strangers showed up in Storybrooke, they always seemed to be hot.
The ruggedly handsome newcomer was the indirect cause of a spat between Ruby and Granny. Those two had had more than their fair share of tiffs over the years, but this one had been the worst by far. Ruby had actually gone so far as to quit the diner and move in with Ashley in her rented room over the Family Shoppe. They had made it up, though, as they always did. To Amy's way of thinking, Ruby's short stint on her own had done her a world of good. She had grown up a bit, discarding her wild dreams along with her outrageous outfits and makeup. Without the paint, her true beauty was able to shine through. But it was more that; Ruby was happy now, satisfied with her life in a way she had never been before. She was back living with Granny and working in the diner, and they were getting along better than ever.
But the main event had been the disappearance of Kathryn Nolan, David's wife. The woman had finally realized the depth of her husband's feelings for Mary Margaret. David and MM, it turned out, had resumed their love affair. Though they had managed to keep it a secret at first, word had gotten out as it does in a small town. There had been some ugly scenes, between David and Mary Margaret, between David and Kathryn, and finally between Kathryn and Mary Margaret. The last had occurred at the school, in front of a hallway full of horrified students and staff. Amy hadn't been sure how she felt about this turn of events. She was very fond of Mary Margaret, and it was obvious to her that the schoolteacher and David Nolan were meant for each other. But she could see Kathryn's side of the story, too. The woman had just gotten her husband back, only to lose him to another woman. Amy couldn't blame her for being hurt and angry. She knew quite well how it felt to be betrayed by someone you loved.
Then Kathryn had disappeared. Her wrecked car had been found in the woods on the outskirts of Storybrooke. It was eerily reminiscent of what had happened to Emma a few months earlier, and to Ashley's father years ago. But when their cars had been found they had still been in them. In Kathryn's case, only the car had been recovered. The lady herself had vanished without a trace.
But a trace of Kathryn Nolan had soon turned up: specifically, her heart. During her extremely short-lived career as Emma's deputy, Ruby had come across the heart in a box buried by the Toll Bridge. The box in question had turned out to be Mary Margaret's jewelry box. DNA testing had confirmed the heart to be Kathryn's, and a hunting knife had been discovered in the grate in Mary Margaret's bedroom. Incredulous as it seemed, all evidence pointed to the gentle schoolteacher as the cold-blooded killer of her lover's wife.
Mary Margaret had insisted that the whole thing was some kind of horrible misunderstanding. Emma had believed it was a frame job. Amy, disabused of much of her naïveté in the last few months, was inclined to believe Emma's theory. But they were in the minority. Everyone else, particularly Regina Mills, seemed to believe that sweet Mary Margaret Blanchard had committed a crime of passion, and the general consensus was that she should pay for her heinous act as soon as possible.
But MM had had one unlikely ally: Mr. Gold. He had offered her legal representation, and had done his best to get her cleared of charges. Of course, being who he was, he hadn't done it purely out of the goodness of his heart; he had made a deal with Mary Margaret, that she would "owe him a favor in the future". Even so, he was the only person besides Emma, Amy and Mary Margaret herself who truly seemed to understand the ludicrousness of the charges against her. Even David had been plagued with uncertainty. On an intellectual level Amy could understand that, but in her heart she couldn't help but berate the man for turning away from the woman he so obviously loved.
Although it hardly seemed possible, even Mr. Gold's power had limits. Even the fearsome pawnbroker couldn't do much against what seemed to be concrete evidence. It had looked like Mary Margaret's goose was cooked, when unexpectedly she and her small group of defenders were vindicated: Kathryn had been found, dazed and disoriented, with no memory of where she'd been since her disappearance, but unquestionably alive.
The shit had really hit the fan then. Though Mary Margaret's name had been cleared, there were still countless questions to be answered. Where had Kathryn Nolan been? Why had the DNA test shown the heart to be hers? How had the heart come to be in Mary Margaret's jewelry box, and the supposed weapon in her apartment? These last two were easily answered: it had clearly been a frame job. But who had been behind it? Although she couldn't come right out and say so, Amy knew Emma saw Regina's fine hand in the whole mess. Though she hadn't had a chance to discuss it with Mr. Gold, she had a hunch that was his theory as well. That made it unanimous, because Amy was one hundred percent certain that Regina was somehow behind the whole thing. She was even more convinced when Sidney Glass confessed to kidnapping Kathryn and falsifying evidence. He claimed he had done it in order to later produce Kathryn and look like the hero, but Amy was calling bullshit and she knew Emma was too. Sidney had always been Regina's lackey. It was plain to anyone with a brain that he had taken the fall to deflect suspicion from the mayor.
For now, though, things had settled down somewhat. Sidney was in jail. Kathryn was still in the hospital, but she was on the mend. She had come to terms with the situation and given David and Mary Margaret her blessing, a move which Amy truly admired. Mary Margaret was a free woman, back in the town's good graces. Just a couple of nights previously Amy had attended her welcome-home party. (She had had to excuse herself to the bathroom for a towel-muffled laughing fit when Henry presented a homemade card from MM's class stating, "We're So Glad You Didn't Kill Mrs. Nolan".)
Now, Amy thought as she prepared to settle in for the night with a copy of Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, which she'd wanted to read for some time, maybe things would calm down. She was ready to take it easy for a little while. Very soon now her life was going to undergo some major changes, and leisure time and relaxation would be a thing of the past. She planned to grab as much as she could while the getting was good.
That was when the knock came.
"Damn," Amy muttered as she made her ponderous way to the door. "Who could it be at this time of night?" This was to have been her first night alone in many months, since well before she got pregnant. Though the plan had been for Ruby and Ashley to take turns staying over until the baby came, tonight was Ashley's night to work at the bowling alley, and Granny hadn't been feeling well so Ruby had stayed with her. Even in her illness, the old woman had tried to insist that Ruby stay with Amy anyway, but Amy would have none of it. "I'll be fine," she had assured Granny over the phone. "If I need anything, Emma and Mary Margaret are just upstairs. They both told me all I have to do is call and they'll be here in two shakes of a sheep's tail." Finally the old woman had relented.
Emma was on duty tonight, but maybe Mary Margaret had decided to check in. with this thought in mind, Amy wiped the scowl from her face and pasted on a cheerful look. As soon as she opened the door, though, her expression melted into one of surprise and genuine pleasure. "Mr. Gold!"
There he stood, big as life and twice as sexy. Somehow Amy managed not to blush at the thought. He wore the black overcoat that always made him look so dashing, and under his free arm he carried a wooden box about the shape and size of a shoe box. At the sight of her, his face broke into that genuine smile that was becoming more and more common. "Hello, dearest."
"Come in, come in," Amy bubbled, suddenly more than willing to have company. "You haven't seen my new place yet. As you can see, I haven't quite settled in," she said as his eyes took in the small, sparsely furnished condo. "But I've got the basics." She stepped aside and allowed him to enter.
"It's charming," he said honestly. Then he turned his gaze to her. "And just look at you. You're very…pregnant." Amy giggled, and his smile widened at the sound.
"Just a few more weeks to go," she said as she led him into the living room. She gestured at her one major piece of furniture besides what was in the nursery, a sturdy plaid sofa. Though it was rather nondescript it was quite comfortable, and converted into a sleeper that was much comfier than most sofa beds. "Please, sit down."
He did, setting the small wooden box at his side. "I've been meaning to come by and see you," he told her, his eyes never leaving her, "but with all the recent excitement things have been quite hectic."
"And how," Amy agreed, curling up on the sofa's opposite end. "It seems like things are finally calming down, though."
"Let's hope so," he replied.
Amy's curiosity got the better of her. "What's that?" she asked, indicating the box.
His face grew somber. "Well," he began carefully, "I went by your father's house this evening—you know, of course, that it's getting ready to be sold."
She nodded. Melissa Vincent had informed her of this. For a short while after Joe's death, Amy had considered moving back there. Ultimately, though, she had decided against it. The house held few happy memories for her. She had realized it was best to sell it and make a truly fresh start. She thought her father would have understood.
"I found some personal items that I thought you might like to have," Mr. Gold continued. "They were all in this very box, by his bedside. It seems he wanted to have them close by. Would you like to take a look?"
Not trusting herself to speak, Amy could only nod again. Mr. Gold handed her the box. As he did so he clasped her hands for a moment. The gesture was brief, but undoubtedly affectionate. Amy felt her eyes begin to well up.
There was nothing of real value in the box, but to Amy it was a treasure chest. There were pictures of her parents, looking impossibly young and happy, and very much in love. The pictures seemed to date from the beginning of their courtship to the end of Grace's pregnancy. What people had always told her was true: Amy did look like her mother. But now, seeing him as he had once been, she could see her father in her too. There was their marriage license, dated a full two years before her birth, as Mr. Gold had said.
Amy's birth certificate was there, as well as the tiny hospital bracelet she must have worn as a newborn. At this sight the tears spilled over. She had never realized he had kept that. Nor had she known of the other mementoes her father had saved: the cards she'd given him for his birthday and Father's Day, the homemade ones of her childhood as well as the store-bought ones of more recent years. He had even saved her baby teeth, in a Tic-Tac box of all things. She laughed a little through the tears at this.
But the real treasures were at the bottom of the box. Amy let out a cry of joy. "My mother's jewelry!" she exclaimed delightedly, lifting out the thin gold chain and simple ring that were her mother's only legacy to her.
Being what he was, Gold couldn't help casting an assessing look over the ring and necklace. Even at a glance he could tell they were of little monetary value. But to Amy the crown jewels of England couldn't have been more precious. And that was the only thing that mattered.
"I think he always meant to give you these things, Amy," he said softly, with gentleness in his tone that few had ever heard. "I'm not sure why he took your mother's jewelry from you. Perhaps he thought your young man would get hold of them somehow and pawn them. Perhaps he just couldn't bear to lose the one tangible memory of your mother besides you. But whatever his reasons were, I do believe he was going to return them to you. I think…" He faltered for a moment before continuing. "I think he knew somehow that his time was short, and in case there wasn't time to tell you himself, he wanted to leave you proof that he did love you. He loved you all along."
Amy was crying, but he could tell they were tears of happiness. She lifted her face to him. "Mr. Gold," she said through her sobs, "thank you. Thank you so much. I can't tell you how much this means to me."
Maybe she couldn't tell him, but he knew. Although he had the means to gift her with anything her heart desired, he knew that no matter what lavish presents he gave her in the future, none would mean as much to her as this simple wooden box and its contents. "Amy," he said huskily. He had to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. What he would say next, he didn't know, but the words escaped him before he realized. "Amy, I love you."
She went very still. Her wet eyes bored into his, searching, searching. He met her gaze squarely, praying she would see the truth in his words.
Slowly, so slowly, she brought a hand to his face. For a long moment she didn't speak, only cupped his cheek with infinite tenderness. Finally she broke her silence. "I love you too," she said softly.
They never quite knew how it happened, but suddenly she was in his arms. As their lips met Gold thought that if he were to die at this moment, he would die as a happy man.
It seemed as if the fates heard him, for suddenly he felt he was dying. Gasping, he pulled away from the kiss. Amy was confused. "Mr. Gold?" she asked. Her confusion turned to alarm as she realized he was struggling for air. "Mr. Gold!" she cried.
He was drowning. Oh, God, he thought fuzzily as the world turned black around the edges, he was going to meet the same end as Sheriff Graham. He was going to die just as he'd finally found happiness. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. Just before he blacked out completely, that door in his mind that he had been pulling on flew open, and he remembered everything.
…
Rumpelstiltskin awoke with his head in Amaia's lap (not Amaia, Amy; she's Amy in this world). For just a moment he was dazed, wondering what in the hell was going on. The feeling passed in a heartbeat, but for Amaia (Amy's) sake he pretended to come to more slowly. He remembered all of it now, but he couldn't be sure if she had remembered as well. True love's kiss, he thought. True love's kiss can break any curse…well, any curse except for one.
Then another thought occurred to him. With a grunt, he brought his hands to his face. When he felt the same smooth skin he'd felt for the past twenty-nine years he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. As he opened his eyes, he realized they were still in Amy-Amaia's living room, still in Storybrooke. Make that two curses that couldn't be broken by true love's kiss. He'd done a good job of it, he thought ruefully.
"Mr. Gold," Amy-Amaia gasped as his eyes fluttered open. So she still didn't remember. That was all right. He remembered, finally. The curse wasn't broken, but it was weakening. Now that he was himself again he would be able to help it along.
"I'm all right, dear," he said faintly, grateful that his voice was still Mr. Gold's Scottish burr. "I'm…all right."
Amy-Amaia wept with relief. "You scared the hell out of me!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know what was wrong…I thought you were…" She couldn't finish.
"I'm fine, love," he assured her with a grogginess he didn't truly feel. Though he felt as though he could have bounced right up and turned a couple of cartwheels (the pain in his leg had disappeared entirely) he forced himself to sit up slowly. He knew she wouldn't understand his sudden miraculous recovery, or the instantaneous healing of his leg. All in good time, all in good time.
For the first time in nearly three decades, Rumpelstiltskin saw the face of his sweet Amaia. He had found her…just as he had promised her all those years ago, he had found her. How, he didn't know. It had taken him twenty-eight years, when it should have taken less than a day. Had the enchantment not worked? Then he cursed himself for a fool. Of course it hadn't worked…she hadn't been wearing the ring when the curse hit, so he hadn't been able to find her immediately in the new world. Some all-powerful being he was. He hadn't even realized the Queen had gotten the curse back, not until it was nearly too late. It was just damn lucky he had managed to harness enough of his magic in that fucking cell to enchant the thing.
Luck was something he'd never had much of, before the Dark Curse or after it; but occasionally fortune had smiled upon him. It had done so the day he'd met Amaia in the true world, by the stream near his home, pregnant, alone and desperate. He had known from the beginning that she would be important to him, but he had never guessed how important. Now, all these years later, fortune had smiled on him again. Somehow, blindly, he and Amaia had found their way to each other. Somehow, with only the vaguest hints of what they had been to each other, they had managed to find love a second time.
But how had he suddenly remembered? Had true love's kiss worked that much? As Amaia (Amy) reached over to brush his hair out of his eyes, he saw the glint of her mother's ring on her hand. So that was it. She must have put it on before they kissed. He hadn't seen her do so, but it was the only explanation. "As long as you're wearing it, I'll be able to find you," he had told her in the world-that-was. And so he had. The minute it was actually on her finger again, he had found her. Or rather, he had remembered her…he had remembered who she truly was, who he truly was. He filed this away for future reference: objects that had been enchanted in their real world still had some magic here, in what was supposed to be a world with no magic.
Unfortunately, the magic wasn't as powerful as he'd expected. The curse was still in effect, and Amaia (ye gods, how was he going to remember to call her Amy?) was obviously still under its spell. Perhaps not for much longer, though. The curse was still holding, but it had weakened, he realized as the pieces of the puzzle flew together in his head. The Savior was here. Time was moving again. Other Storybrooke residents were slowly beginning, perhaps not to remember, but to take on aspects of their true personalities. The cricket had rediscovered his long-misplaced integrity and absolute conviction of what was right. Little Red had regained some of the confidence and bravery she had possessed in abundance in their real world, as well as the close relationship with her grandmother. The surly dwarf had reunited with his clumsy fairy. Snow White and her prince had made their way to one another, although they were currently estranged. Maybe he needed to give them a little push back into each other's arms.
Or maybe not. He wasn't exactly sure what the curse breaking would entail. They might find themselves exactly where they'd been before. This wouldn't be such a bad thing for most of them, even for him, though he'd grown to loathe that dank cell in the old dwarf mines. But for Amaia…God, no. He shook his head quickly to rid himself of the horrible image of his girl as he'd seen her last in that world: pale as milk, the light fading from her eyes, lying in a rapidly spreading pool of her own blood, while he looked on helpless to intervene, cursing the damned fairy who had bound his magic…
"Mr. Gold?" He heard her sweet voice again. With an effort he opened his eyes. There she was, his darling, glowing and healthy and alive. She had been barely so when the curse took effect. Surely Regina hadn't known that; if she'd known that the one thing he loved had been at death's door, he thought darkly, she would have held off an extra few minutes. There would have been no possibility of a happy ending for him, even in this world.
But thank the gods, she hadn't known. And his Amaia, his happy ending, had now taken his hand in hers, her face creased with worry.
He smiled. "I'm fine, love," he assured her. And he was fine. He hadn't felt this good since…when? It would have to be the morning he'd left the cottage for the last time, not knowing it was the last time, since, as was the case with most seers, he couldn't see his own future. He had woken before dawn, thinking to slip out without waking her, but she had sensed him leaving their bed and had held out her arms to him, still half-asleep, and he had gone into them as he always did, and they had joined as they so often had during the past few months, although the growing mound of the baby had made it more difficult of late. He'd gotten a late start that morning, but had never regretted it, especially after what had happened later that day. The memory had given him something to hold onto in that wretched cell, something to cling to that kept from going well and truly mad.
She must have wondered what had happened, when night fell and he still hadn't returned. He had promised her he would be back that evening. The little cinder-princess (Ashley Boyd in this world), had sent word to him, wanting to renegotiate a certain deal. It shouldn't have taken long at all. But it had been a trap.
"Are you sure you're OK?" his Amaia asked, still full of concern. "Maybe you should go to the hospital, get checked out."
That was the last thing he wanted to do. "That won't be necessary," he said, smiling again as he focused on his angel. He forced himself to stop dwelling on the past for the time being before he alarmed her further. "I just had a bit of a dizzy spell. With everything that's been going on lately…you know, with Miss Blanchard…I haven't been eating or sleeping like I should. Guess it's finally catching up with me." He cringed inwardly. Another half-truth and he'd sworn he was done with them where she was concerned. That was one area in which he and his Mr. Gold persona differed: in their true world, Rumpelstiltskin had never twisted the truth with Amaia. He had kept only one secret from her in that world. But it was necessary for the time being, he knew. If he told her the truth about what had just happened to him she'd think he had gone insane. Later, once she had awakened…surely it wouldn't be too long now…he would tell her everything. Maybe even the one thing he hadn't told her in their true world.
She seemed to accept this. "Well, if you're sure…" she said doubtfully, biting her lip. He'd forgotten how she did that when she was worried, or thinking hard. Another gush of love rose up in him. He fairly longed to surge forward and capture those sweet lips again with his own.
But that wouldn't be the act of a man who had just emerged from a near-faint. So he settled for squeezing the hand that held fast to his. "I'm positive," he told her.
"How about I make you some tea?" she offered, rising. Rumpelstiltskin nearly groaned aloud at the loss of contact. It was with a monumental effort he managed to refrain from saying I don't want tea, I want you! And said instead, "Tea would be lovely, dear, thank you." Half-truth number two in as many minutes. Gods, let her remember soon.
Although it wasn't so bad as he got to watch her move slowly and a bit awkwardly around the small kitchen, just as he'd watched her so many times before. It was so strange to see her in a modern kitchen rather than the rudimentary kitchen of his cottage, wearing modern clothes instead of one of the baggy shapeless dresses he had conjured for her to wear as she grew heavier with child. As usual, she was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and one of her crazy T-shirts. "The Many Deaths of Kenny" it said. She had explained it to him before, back when she was still living with him: Kenny was a character on that TV show she liked so much, the cartoon show with the little foul-mouthed children…what was it called? Oh yes, South Park. One of the running gags of the show in its first few seasons had been that the character called Kenny had died in nearly every episode. He recalled that he had actually watched a few episodes with her and had found himself enjoying some of them, particularly the one about the succubus and the one lampooning Scientology. He would have enjoyed them a lot more as Rumpelstiltskin, he realized as he watched her bustle about preparing the tea. One thing Rumpelstiltskin and his Storybrooke counterpart did have in common was a certain warped sense of humor.
Although, truth be told, he mused, he and his cursed alter ego were more alike than any of the other victims of the curse. They were both cunning, sly, and devious, fond of making deals with hapless fools who had no idea that he would always come out ahead. No one ever bothered to read the fine print of contracts, in this world or the one from which they had come.
Amaia had, though. In fact, she had refused to sign a contract with him. "I'll sign when the baby is born," she'd told him, "not before". That had been his first indication that she wasn't the typical desperate soul with whom he normally dealt. That had been the first sign that she was…different. At the time it had annoyed him, but he had still felt a grudging sort of admiration in spite of himself. Later, of course, the thought of a contract had been taken off the table entirely, but he thought if he had ever presented her with a written deal, she would have read over it thoroughly and argued over every detail before consenting to put quill to parchment. Just as she would have in this world. Other than the shyness that had never been a part of her true self, Amaia too was little changed from her fairy-tale self.
And somehow, even with what he had originally planned for her baby, she had grown to love him. That was the part he couldn't quite understand. Even after she knew, she had managed to find it in herself to forgive "Mr. Gold". Rumpelstiltskin had been up front with his plan; he had told her right off that he would give her baby to a set of deserving parents. Mr. Gold, however, had kept the truth from her as long as he could, and indeed had only revealed the full truth when she asked him point-blank. Even Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't have gone that far.
It amazed him that they had found their way to each other in the first place, without the enchanted ring to guide him. That love had grown between their two counterparts in spite of all the obstacles was more amazing still. But then, maybe it wasn't so incredible; after all, Snow White and her prince had found each other again, too, and there wasn't any sort of enchantment binding those two as far as he knew. Perhaps there was some sort of magic at play here in this supposedly magic-less world, some sort of magic even he couldn't understand.
Amaia (Amy, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time) brought his tea to him then. She had made a cup for herself as well. Just as she settled down on the couch next to him, the wind picked up and the lights flickered, making her gasp.
"Guess it's a good thing we didn't go to the hospital after all," she said when the wind died down, sipping at her tea.
"Yes," he agreed. "The forecast was calling for major storms. Looks like they're starting."
"Maybe you should stay here tonight," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. That telltale blush crept up her neck and stained her cheeks.
That sounded like a lovely idea to Rumpelstiltskin. But Mr. Gold, he knew, would demur. So he said, with just the right hint of reluctance in his tone, "Oh, dear, I don't know…"
"No, really," she insisted, a bit of Amaia's old fire showing through. "It's getting nasty out there. I'd hate for you to drive home in that." As if to prove her point, a rolling boom of thunder shook the building.
He couldn't give in just yet, much as he wanted to; that wasn't Gold's style. "Are you sure?" he murmured. "You know how people talk in this town, and if someone sees my car parked outside your building all night…" He trailed off.
She grinned at him, her eyes bright with mischief. "Might I remind you," she asked, "that we lived together for, what was it, five months? I'm pretty sure everyone in town already thinks something's happening between us. In fact, I know they do. And I'm sure everyone's getting bored with the whole 'Kathryn Nolan is alive' saga. We might as well give them something new to talk about."
He chuckled. She hadn't changed a bit, his girl, not really. "Well, then," he said with a straight face, "I suppose if it's for the good of the town gossip mill."
He wondered where he would sleep. He knew there was only one bedroom and one bed in the apartment. As if she'd read his mind, she volunteered, "The couch turns into a bed if you want to sleep in here. Or you can share my bed, but I'm such a whale right now I take up most of it. And I have to get up to pee a lot, and I don't want to disturb you getting up and down. You said you haven't been sleeping well."
Curse his tongue. He wanted nothing more than to lie snuggled right up next to her tonight, no matter how often she was getting up and down. But he knew that Mr. Gold would have done the gentlemanly thing and taken the couch. "The couch will be fine," he smiled, wondering if there was any way on earth he could help her along to remembering her true self.
Draining the last of her tea, she set the cup to the side and stifled a yawn. This time Rumpelstiltskin didn't have to think about what Mr. Gold would do. "You're tired, love," he stated. "Why don't you go on to bed? You need your rest. We'll talk more in the morning."
"OK," she said, too tired to argue. "If you promise you'll get some sleep."
"I'll go to bed when you do," he promised, saying nothing about sleep. Rumpelstiltskin had always required very little sleep, and he had far too much to think about now to relax enough to get even the little he needed. But of course, there was no explaining that to her right now.
He walked her to the doorway of her bedroom, careful to use the cane as he always had. He knew he couldn't explain away his sudden spryness. Much as he didn't want to let her go, he was excited about getting to move about freely again once she was in bed. He would have to be very careful, though, in case she got up. It was going to be a long road ahead, having to continue the role of the crippled pawnbroker when he was, in his mind anyway, the trickster Imp. (Though he wasn't really an Imp. She had known that before, had known that he was once an ordinary man who had fallen under a curse, but he had never been specific about which curse. She had never pressed him, seeming to believe the memories of the curse overtaking him were too painful for him to share. She wasn't entirely wrong.)
In the doorway, she turned to him as if to say a polite "Good night" and excuse herself, much as she had done in her first few months in Mr. Gold's home. She must have seen something in his eyes, however, for she wrapped her arms around his waist instead. They held each other for a long moment, each relishing the feel of being in the other's arms again (she had no idea just how long it had been). he buried his face in her hair, smelling that sweet lavender scent that had always clung to her hair and body even in the other world. He smiled a little. She had used nothing but lavender-scented shampoo and body wash in all the time he'd known her in this world. Perhaps there were some things even a cursed mind couldn't forget.
"You sure you don't want to share a bed with a beached whale and wiggly baby?" she murmured into his neck.
No, no he wasn't sure at all. "I'll be fine on the couch," he assured her, thinking that he might just crawl in beside her later, after she was asleep.
With one last squeeze she reluctantly let go. "Good night," she whispered, gazing up at him with those forget-me-not eyes.
He dipped his head enough to plant the softest kiss on her lips. "Good night, my darling," he whispered back.
She turned to go into the bedroom then, and he shuffled back into the living room. When he heard the water running in her bathroom, he put the cane aside and quickly readied the sofa bed, enjoying his body's newfound agility. The bed was already made up, probably from the nights Little Red and Cinderella (no, dammit, Ruby and Ashley; how was he ever going to keep everyone's names straight?) had stayed over. With a sigh he slipped between the sheets; much as he would have preferred to remain with Amaia, it was a relief to be alone with his own thoughts, not having to constantly make sure his Mr. Gold mask was in place.
There was so much to think about, he mused. He wondered if Regina would realize he had remembered. He thought not; he remembered the wrinkle in the curse that stated she would know when someone had regained their memories, but not who it was. he had added that specifically for himself and Amaia, believing that they would find each other immediately in this new world. Well, it hadn't worked out that way…but it had worked.
Even if she did figure it out, he wasn't too worried. He didn't think she would make a move against him, at least not right away. In the old world, he had been the only one with more power than her. In this new world, who was to say it wouldn't be the same? She obviously still had some of her magic (he spared a thought for Graham and for Joe, her unknowing victims; he would get back at her for that somehow, he vowed). If his leg healing was any indication, he just might have some of his powers left too. It would be foolish for her to try anything against him.
If he had to, he would promise to help her keep the curse active for as long as possible. It would give him time to figure out what would happen when the curse finally broke. For it would break, just as he had foretold all those years ago. But that didn't mean he couldn't keep it going just a little longer. If there was a way to save Amaia, he was going to find it. Once he did…there had to be a loophole, somewhere; none of his deals were without them…well, Operation Cobra would have a new member.
That brought his thoughts to young Henry. He had been one of those loopholes. Rumpelstiltskin had promised Snow and Prince James Charming that their daughter would come to break the curse, but he had needed a way to make sure she came to them. He hadn't mentioned that it would be the child of their daughter that drew her to the place of their curse; that part he had foretold later, with only the rats in his dungeon to hear his pronouncement. Somehow, miraculously, it had worked. More proof that this world was not entirely without its magic.
Rumpelstiltskin didn't even realize it when he slipped into sleep.
And we are now officially in AU-land. This was originally part of a super mega long-ass chapter, but I divided it in half. I'm still tweaking the last half, but hopefully I'll have it up shortly. I know I said I wasn't going to use Kathryn's disappearance and supposed murder, but I figured out how to make it work.
As much as I loved this week's episode, it's not going to take place in my version of OUAT. Baelfire's fate and the identity of August W. Booth are completely different in my story. I kept it in canon as long as I could, but now we're at the point where we go from canon off into the recesses of my own hollow mind.
By the way, one of my very first reviewers has an awesome Golden Swan fic out. Check out "Sunshine and Rain" by Ravenclaw992 if you haven't already. I will never be able to hear "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" again without thinking of Mr. Gold. (The song could actually be about him if you think about it. I mean, he makes a deal with a golden fiddle as the stakes. I could see Rumple doing that.)
I don't own anything, blah-de-blah-blah-blah. Walt Disney Corporation and the writers blah blah blah, so on and so forth. That about covers that.
So Mr. Gold/Rumple and Amy/Amaia are back together again! Woot! I knew it was gonna happen, but it was still a relief to write it. And Rumple remembers! What could possibly go wrong now? In a world with an Evil Queen turned Bitchy Mayor, a lot. Stay tuned!