CHAPTER 16
Many hours later—after they'd arrived at the hospital, after the transfusion of his blood to Amaia had been completed and she'd received another transfusions from the blood bank, after the baby had been examined, adjudged healthy, and placed in an incubator as a precautionary measure—Rumpelstiltskin finally had no choice but to answer nature's call. He ignored the urge for hours, refusing to leave Amaia's side while the medical personnel of Storybrooke General labored to save her life. But his darling was out of danger now. She was still unconscious, but the healthy pink had returned to her skin, courtesy of the blood that had been pumped into her. Doc—Dr. Dockery—said she was merely deeply asleep now, as could be expected after such a grueling labor and delivery. He cautioned that she had a long convalescence ahead of her, but that she would recover. That was all Rumpelstiltskin cared about. His love was going to recover, and he would be right by her side the entire time.
Now that she was out of immediate danger, beginning the long road to recovery, and—most importantly—resting under the watchful eyes of Sheriff Emma Swan and Mary Margaret Blanchard, aka Snow White, he could take a moment to attend to his own needs. He went to the small washroom off the recovery room where she was stationed and took care of business as quickly as he could. When he went to wash his hands, however, what he saw in the mirror above the sink made him gasp and stagger back.
Unnaturally large golden eyes stared back at him. His skin was once again the rough, scaly greenish-gray it had been in their true world. He gripped the edge of the sink with his hands, willing himself not to faint, but when he looked down he nearly did so anyway for his hands were once again the same claws ending in greenish talons. Experimentally he bared his teeth at the mirror, seeing the same blackened stumps he had loathed above all other qualities of his appearance after his…change.
How? he thought as he struggled to remain upright. How...And how did no one notice?
Once the initial shock subsided, he was able to answer his own questions. It was the curse, of course. It had been broken for him, and he had reverted to his true form. That explained the disappearance of his limp, too. But everyone else was still blinded by the curse, so they saw him as the same Mr. Gold he'd been for the past twenty-eight—almost twenty-nine, he amended—years. A man to be feared, mistrusted, despised even—but an ordinary man nonetheless.
That was good, he supposed. It certainly wouldn't have helped Amaia if Mary Margaret/Snow had fled screaming into the night at the sight of him, to say nothing of Doc and the dwarf-paramedics. It wouldn't have helped Amaia either to see his loathsome visage. Although she had never feared him or found him repulsive in their true world after her initial fright wore off, he couldn't begin to imagine what the cursed version of her would have thought upon seeing the man she loved inexplicably transformed into a monster.
If his guess was correct, and he was certain it was, only one citizen of Storybrooke would be able to see him as he truly was. Rather than fear, the realization filled him with a grim sort of excitement. Now that was a reaction he rather looked forward to.
Composed now, he left the washroom to find Snow waiting for him. "She's coming to, Mr. Gold," the princess-turned-schoolteacher informed him. "You might want to…" Her sentence was left unfinished as he hobbled quickly into the recovery room. (Someone, he didn't know who, had had the presence of mind to bring his cane to him at the hospital. He longed to break the damn thing over his knee, but that would be…unwise. For now he needed to keep up appearances. But the constant false limping was inconvenient, to say the least. He was already devising scenarios in his head of how "Mr. Gold" could overcome his limp. Surgery, perhaps, or some sort of injections. Yes, injections would be easier to pull off, and much easier than going under the knife. Though he knew it couldn't do him any harm now, he didn't relish the thought of that sawbones Whale sawing into his bones.)
When he entered the recovery room, however, thoughts of his limp instantly left his mind. Amaia was indeed stirring. Her eyes were fluttering, fighting to open, and she was murmuring something. "Baby…my baby…Mr. Gold…"
In an instant he was at her bedside, smoothing back her hair, answering her with murmurs of his own. "Yes, darling. I'm here. I've been right here all along."
Her eyes finally opened completely. She stared at him with an odd mix of contentment and confusion. "You are here," she said softly. "I had the most awful dream, Mr. Gold. I dreamed you were gone…I couldn't find you anywhere…and then I did find you, but you were in this terrible place…like a dungeon or something…and then I was having the baby, and it hurt so much, I thought I was going to die…you were holding my hands through the bars, but you couldn't get out. I was dying and you couldn't get out."
She wanted to tell him more. Wanted to tell him that he hadn't been Mr. Gold in the dream, nor had she been herself. He had been the strange creature from her other dreams, and while she had looked like herself, she had known instinctively that she wasn't Amy Miller of Storybrooke, Maine, but someone else entirely. If only she could remember who she'd been…who he'd been. That seemed very important. Maybe he could help her figure it out. She opened her mouth to ask him, but exhaustion stole her voice.
Rumpelstiltkin's heart twisted in agony as she recounted her "dream". Only he knew that it wasn't a dream at all, but the way things had really happened. He had left her, albeit unwillingly. She had finally found him, only to go into labor nearly as soon as she did so. He had looked on, helpless to intervene, as her blood—so much blood; too much blood—had soaked into the filthy floor of his prison. Just as the light faded from her eyes the dark cloud had come rolling over them both, and they had awoken in this new world, as completely different people, yet destined to find their way back to each other and play out the same scene.
But this time it had ended the way it was supposed to. He pressed his lips to her forehead, whispering, "Shhh. Don't try to talk now, darling. It's all right. Everything is all right. Rest now. You need to rest."
She opened her mouth again, this time to ask about the baby. But before she could get the words out, darkness stole over her again.
…
"Rumple!" she cried, rushing to his cell as fast as her burden would allow.
He looked up, scarcely believing his ears. Surely it had been his imagination…or perhaps it was a trick of Regina's. But no, it was truly his girl, running towards him in a slow and awkward way. In one fluid motion he reached the bars of his cell just as she did.
"Amaia, my love," was all he could say. Heedless of the bars between them, he snaked his arms through and clasped her as closely as he could in an embrace.
Her grunt of pain was almost inaudible, but of course he heard it. Quickly he let her go and she stepped away, but only a step. Her hands still grasped his.
"You found me," he stated, smiling down at her. It was his true smile, the smile no one now living had ever seen, save her; and despite the rotted teeth and unnatural skin, there was no more beautiful sight in the world to her.
"Finally," she breathed. "Finally. Oh, Rumpelstiltskin, I was so frightened. I knew something awful had befallen you, but I didn't know what it was. You told me not to leave the glade, no matter what, and after the last time…oh, gods, but now I wish I had…what have they done to you?"
"It's all right, my sweet," he assured her, brushing her hair back from her face as he had done countless times before. "You did right. They haven't done anything so horrible to me, darling. They've treated me quite well, considering."
Her lower lip quivered the tiniest bit. "I know," she said. "I know what they think you did, and I know why they think it. Rumple, it was her again, wasn't it?"
She didn't need to say the name. They both knew perfectly well who she meant. "Yes, love," he confirmed. "When she couldn't get at me one way, she figured out another way. Thank the gods you listened to me this time, and were protected." His eyes narrowed a bit. "Yet here you are now. How did you get here, Amaia? And how did you find out where I was, and why?" He knew no human could have breached the wards he had placed around his home. Those within could leave at will, but only he and those with him could enter.
"It was a bluebird," she explained. "Snow's bluebird, to be exact." She told him how the bluebird had found their enchanted glen and had communicated to her his fate, the crime he was accused of. The bird had further told her that the Evil Queen was in the midst of preparations for the Dark Curse which the countryside had whispered of for months, and that she, Amaia, could slip out of the glen undetected.
"So I did," she concluded breathlessly. "I found your cloak,"—she gestured at the red velvet cloak trimmed in gold, which he saw perfectly well, but made the wearer invisible to human eyes—"and I came."
Questions, he had so many questions. He settled on one. "The bird spoke to you?" She nodded. "And you understood?"
Her forehead wrinkled adorably, as it always did when she tried to explain things she didn't quite understand. "It didn't exactly speak," she said slowly. "It…chirped, and twittered, the way birds do, you know…but in my head I could understand what it was trying to tell me."
He didn't bother asking how that was possible. He knew. The other time she had left the glen…the time the Evil Queen had very nearly put an end to her…he had found her in the nick of time and labored long and hard to save her life. In doing so he had transferred quite a bit of his own magic into her. He had been aware of this all along, as had she. They'd known a little of what she could do with her new power, but he had told her there were things yet to discover. Apparently the ability to communicate with animals was one of them.
But there was one thing he still didn't understand. "And the bluebird…Snow's bluebird…came to you? It betrayed her?"
Amaia shook her head. "No, no. The bluebird said Snow is honest and fair. She truly believes you did…that horrible thing. If she knew you were innocent, she would free you immediately. Especially with what's coming now."
Yes, what was coming now. The Dark Curse. What little of his magic he still had told him it would be soon, quite possibly that very night. The Queen had done what he had believed—what he had hoped—she would be unable to do. She had sacrificed the thing she loved most, and in doing so had sacrificed the last remaining shred of goodness within her. And there had been goodness within her, once. Deep in his heart, Rumpelstiltskin mourned the woman who was more to him than anyone knew, even his sweet Amaia. He mourned the woman she could have been, the woman she should have been. Gods, there were so many things he should have done differently. But the dice was cast now. There was no turning back.
Poor Amaia. He saw in her eyes that she believed there could still be a chance. Her next words confirmed this. "Listen, Rumple, I'll go to Snow," she said excitedly. "When she sees me, she'll know the truth. She'll know you couldn't possibly have done what you're accused of. She'll free you, Rumple, I know she will! And once you're freed, with your magic unbound, you can figure out a way to stop the Queen."
He shook his head slowly, sadly. "It's too late, my love," he said quietly.
Her eyes filled with tears. "No," she said. "No, it can't be!"
"The Curse is in motion," he proclaimed, hating to shatter her fragile hope but knowing it was inevitable. "The Queen enacted the last step tonight. The hardest step, the one I thought she wouldn't be able to bring herself to take…but she did it. I underestimated her." Her tears spilled over at this, but he continued. "Or perhaps I overestimated her. It amounts to the same thing in the end. The Curse is coming. Even if I were free I couldn't stop it now."
"But…I can still try," she protested, tears streaking her cheeks. "Rumple, I have to try."
"There's no way," he reiterated. "There's no time. Snow White is giving birth to the princess as we speak. Our savior. Emma…She's our only hope now."
Finally Amaia grasped the futility of her desperate plan. "Then what can I do?" she asked, her voice breaking only a little despite her weeping.
He answered without hesitation. "Stay with me."
They sank to the floor of the abandoned mine where he was being held, still holding hands through the bars. How long they sat that way he was never sure. It could have been minutes or hours.
They spoke little. Once Amaia asked, "Where will we go?"
"I don't know," he replied honestly.
"Will it be…terrible?"
"Perhaps," he shrugged. "Perhaps not. There'll be no magic where we're going, I do know that."
"That might not be such a bad thing," she said thoughtfully. "No magic…if there is no magic, you'll be a man again. An ordinary man."
He wasn't sure whether to be cheered or depressed at the prospect. "True," he conceded. "And I made…certain arrangements with Regina, when I told her what she had to do to enact the Curse. Of course, at the time I didn't believe she would be able to follow through, but…we made negotiations and she will have to honor them."
"What sort of negotiations?" she asked. She shifted a little; the hard dirt floor was uncomfortable, and she had a cramp in her abdomen. She hoped it was just from her recent journey.
"In this new land, I'll have comfort," he told her, resting his head against the bars. Unconsciously, she leaned forward until she was doing the same. "I'll have an estate, be wealthy. More than that, I'll have power."
"You have that now," she pointed out, their foreheads now touching as well as their hands.
He chuckled a bit at that, not his demonic cackle but his true laugh. She was quick, his girl. "Yes, but not the same kind. Here, all my power is wrapped up in my magic. There, I suppose it will be wrapped up in my wealth. Either way, I'll be feared, respected."
"Will I fear you?" she asked in a low tone. "Will I even know you, Rumpelstiltskin? Will you know me? Or will this Curse take us away from one another?"
He remembered the ring then. "Let me up a minute, love," he requested, unable to keep the jubilance from his tone. "I've just remembered something."
He retrieved the ring from its hiding place under his straw-stuffed bed tick. "I have something for you, dearest," he said, his back still turned to her. "Something that's very precious to you…and now to me, as well." He turned around then, and she saw the ring in his hand.
"My mother's ring," she gasped, joy momentarily overriding her trepidation.
"Yes," he said. "But not just that, not anymore. This ring is our loophole, Amaia."
That dear line formed between her brows. "Our…loophole?"
His face broke out in a wide smile. "Yes, my darling. This ring will guarantee us a happy ending no matter what world we end up in." Seeing her confusion he elaborated. "I managed to harness just enough of my magic in this…place," he looked around the mine with disgust, "to enchant it. As long as you're wearing it, I'll retain my memories of this world. And I'll be able to find you in our new land, no matter where you are. Once I do find you, you'll remember as well. We can be together, out in the open, as an ordinary man and woman…an ordinary family," he amended, gazing at her bulging midsection. "Think of it, Amaia…together, with our memories and every possible comfort…and eventually the Savior will come to give us a chance of returning to our true world."
She smiled back. His enthusiasm was infectious. If it happened as he said, their new world, however unpleasant, would still be bearable. Her smile faded, however, as a sharp pain sliced across her abdomen.
She cried out before she could stop herself. Instantly he was kneeling in front of her again, holding her hand again. "My love, what is it?"
She gasped for enough air to form the words. Finally she managed to get out "The baby…"
His jubilant expression turned to concern in an eye blink. "Do you think…" he began. Resting his hands on her belly he was able to answer his own question. "Yes, the baby's coming."
"Too…early…" Amaia moaned.
"No, no, not too early," he said soothingly. "Early, yes, but not too early. Your journey must have brought on the labor." At the terror in her eyes, he reassured, "But it's all right. You're eight months now. A baby can survive at eight months. She'll be small, but she will live."
All thoughts of the Dark Curse fled from his mind. He was simply an expectant father now, excited, nervous, but trying not to let her see his apprehension. Reaching through the bars, he managed to take the cloak from her shoulders and spread it out on the floor, coaxing her to lie back on it. He grabbed the poor excuse of a pillow his captors had given him and pushed it through to lie under her head. What now, he thought frantically…what now…ah, yes, water. He stood to fetch the basin of cold water his jailers provided him with once a day, glad he hadn't used any of it.
Neither of them noticed when the ring slipped from his fingers to fall on the cloak beside her.
…
Rumpelstiltskin woke with a gasp. Tears streaked his face and continued to fall from his eyes. Oh, gods, his poor little Amaia. How she had suffered. He was glad he had awoken before he'd been forced to relive just how much she had suffered.
He scrubbed at his eyes impatiently and surveyed their surroundings. They were in a private room now; once she had been declared out of the woods he'd had her moved to one. The deluxe maternity suite at Storybrooke General, no less.
No one else was in the room with them for the time being. He was glad of that, and glad to see that Amaia was still sleeping peacefully. He wouldn't have wanted to alarm her with his tears. Nor would he have wanted anyone else to witness the sight of fearsome Mr. Gold awakening from a nightmare blubbering like a baby.
As he watched her, Amaia began to stir again. Stealthily, he got up and made his way to the door. She would be awake in a few moments. And there was something he wanted to do before she regained consciousness.
…
Amy opened her eyes to sun streaming through the blinds. The light was so bright she couldn't make out anything else at first. Storm must be over, she thought groggily.
As her eyes adjusted she made out a familiar figure hovering over her. Mr. Gold. The man she loved stood over her, and on his face was the gentlest, most loving smile she had ever seen. She was smiling back even before she saw the pink bundle he had cradled in the crook of his arm.
"Good morning, darling," he whispered. "You're just in time. There's someone here who wants to see you again…and she's quite impatient." A tiny cry sounded from the bundle.
Joy such as Amy had never felt gushed through her. She was alive. She had made it through that hellish birth…and most importantly, her precious baby had made it. She couldn't speak; there were no words for this moment. She simply held out her arms.
Mr. Gold nodded, not at her, but at someone behind her. She felt the bed begin to move and realized there was a nurse there, cranking her to an upright position. Once she was sitting up he settled the bundle into her waiting arms, and Amy looked at her daughter for the first time.
She vaguely remembered her earlier glimpse of the baby, before…whatever had happened. She had thought her beautiful then, but it had admittedly been hard to tell what with the darkness and her own lingering pain. Now, in the sunlight, she finally really saw her baby, and she realized she'd been wrong. The baby wasn't as beautiful as she'd thought.
No. She was even more beautiful.
"Ohhh," Amy breathed, gazing down at the tiny perfect face. The baby gazed back up at her, seeming to realize that she was at last in her mother's arms. The small fretful cries stilled; the tiny tensed muscles relaxed. Amy's daughter returned her stare with her own blue-gray eyes.
"Hello, little one," Amy whispered. "I'm your mommy."
The baby's lips moved, almost as though she were trying to answer. Amy could just imagine what she'd be saying, if she were able: "Hi, Mommy. It's about damn time."
She laughed a little and drank in the small face. The baby had inherited not only her eyes, she saw, but her hair as well. There it sat on top of her head like a black velvet toupee, all on top with nothing on the sides. Amy smiled at this, and at the miniature pink bow that had somehow been fastened in it.
Miniature…the baby was her in miniature. Amy had heard the expression "seeing yourself in your child", but now she fully understood it. Her daughter's face was almost a replica of her own. Reverently, Amy brought a finger to touch the teeny upturned nose, the small mouth that pursed at her touch as if in anticipation of food. She ghosted her fingertips across the cleft in the tiny chin; that hadn't come from her, but she remembered very well the identical cleft in her father's chin.
"You look like me," she whispered to her little girl. "You look like me…and your grandpa." A wave of sorrow touched her heart as she realized Joe Miller would never see his lookalike granddaughter.
A hand touched her hair. She tore her eyes away from the baby long enough to see Mr. Gold gazing down at them. He looked from her to the baby with the same infinitely tender expression.
"He knows," he said, so low only she heard him.
She nodded, smiled around the lump in her throat. Once it passed she spoke again.
"She's beautiful, isn't she?"
"Very beautiful," he agreed. "Like her mother…and, it would appear, very hungry as well."
She looked back down to see her daughter's lips moving yet again. The little face wrinkled as if in preparation for a screaming fit, and she saw another genetic legacy she'd passed on: the vertical line between her brows.
"Uh-oh," she said. "Looks like a storm's a-brewin'." She lifted the baby to her breast.
The nurse made a movement, but Gold stopped her with a simple wave of his hand. "Thank you, we can take it from here," he said. The unspoken message was clear: Leave us. The nurse, who hadn't spoken a word, left the room.
So it was Mr. Gold who arranged the front of her gown, who positioned her breast so the tiny mouth could find her nipple. The gestures were intimate but in no way sexual; if he recalled the other times he'd touched these same places in passion he didn't let on. For her part, she was beyond embarrassment now; she recalled the moment of the baby's birth, when it had been his hands that caught her as she slipped into the world. She was glad it was him helping her to do this now, rather than some impersonal nurse. It seemed right, somehow. Natural.
The baby latched on instantly. Amy winced slightly at the sensation of her milk coming down. "Does it hurt?" Mr. Gold asked.
She smiled. "A little," she said. "But it's a good hurt. It's hard to explain." This, at least, was something her reading had prepared her for.
They were silent for a few moments. The only sound was the soft snuffles of the baby as she fed.
"Amy," Mr. Gold said finally. "We need to talk." He cleared his throat before he continued. "I've found a family for the baby."
Amy was jolted out of her reverie. "What?" she asked. "But…I'm not…" Oh, God, what was he saying? Surely this hadn't been part of his plan all along!
"Please," he told her. "Hear me out." His voice was calm as ever, but his eyes were bright with apprehension and something else…was it hope?
"There's a couple," he went on before she could respond, "who lives right here in Storybrooke." He paused, waiting to see how she was taking this. She could only stare at him blankly, but he saw her arms tighten a fraction around the baby.
"They're…well, a bit of an odd couple, really," he continued. "The man is quite a bit older than the woman, and he's…not very popular. He's a businessman, of questionable ethics, but quite well-off financially. He would be able to provide for the baby's every need."
Something flickered in Amy's eyes…comprehension. "And the woman?" she asked, her voice quite calm under the circumstances. "What's she like?"
He couldn't stop the smile from breaking across his face. "Oh, she's a wonder," he said. "She's everything he isn't. She's young, quite young, but very intelligent…an old soul. And beautiful, of course. Not just on the outside…she has an inner beauty that's obvious to everyone she meets. She sees the best in everyone, even the most desperate characters. She makes them want to be better people."
"Well, why is such a paragon of womanhood with…an ethically questionable businessman, did you say?" she responded, playing along, fighting to keep her tone and face serious. "He must have other qualities that you're not mentioning. He must be damn smart himself; otherwise he wouldn't have made all that money. He must be tough, to do things most people would shrink at. He must be handsome and sophisticated, to have turned this girl's head in the first place."
He scoffed at this but she went on. "And there must be more to him than everyone else sees. Otherwise why would she have fallen in love with him? She must see what the rest of the world can't see. She must see the kindness he feels like he needs to hide…she must see the loyalty that's there. I think I know this man you're talking about. He's not someone you'd want on your bad side. But when he cares about you…"
"There's nothing he won't do for you," Rumpelstiltskin finished, his voice just a trifle husky. "I guess you do know him, after all." He swallowed hard. "Do you think he's someone you'd want to raise your child?"
She beamed at him, though her eyes were wet with tears. "I can't think of a better father for my baby," she said softly. She waited a beat before wrinkling her nose. "About this woman, though…"
He laughed before leaning forward suddenly to capture her lips in the softest kiss. "She's fine," he assured her when he pulled away. "She'll be a wonderful mother. In fact, there's only one problem with this couple I can see."
"What's that?" Amy asked, walking right into it.
"They're not married," he declared. "But they will be…if she'll have him."
Before Amy realized quite what was happening, he stood before her with a small black velvet box and a frankly terrified expression. "I can't get down on one knee," he said apologetically. "But I want to do this as traditionally as I can." He took a deep breath. "Amy Miller, will you marry me?" He opened the box to reveal a small, yet perfect round diamond set in some kind of white metal—white gold, her mind gibbered, or knowing him platinum—surrounded by tiny sapphires.
"Mr. Gold," she gasped, thunderstruck at both the beauty of the ring and the unexpected proposal. "Mr. Gold, I…"
He roared with laughter. (A nurse passing in the hallway dropped a tray of surgical instruments at the sound.) "Good God, Amy," he said when he could speak again, "I've just asked you to marry me. I helped you deliver your child. I think you can call me by my first name now."
She giggled as the absurdity of the situation hit her. "I would, if I knew it," she said. "You've never told me, you know. I don't think anyone else in town knows it either."
That was right, he remembered belatedly. Names were power. Even though it was a false name, and even though they were in a world (supposedly) without magic, he had wanted his first name kept secret. Regina had acquiesced. Everyone in this world knew him simply as "Mr. Gold". But he had to have a first name. He knew he had one. He remembered seeing it somewhere…on the deed to his house, perhaps. But what the devil was it?
Then it came to him. "It's Tom," he said. "Not Thomas. Not Tommy. Just Tom." He smirked inwardly, remembering how Regina had come up with the name. One of the versions of your story in this world, she'd told him all those years ago. And much more common in this world than your true name.
"Tom," Amy said thoughtfully. "Tom Gold." She smiled. "I like it."
He liked the way it sounded on her lips. Not as good as his true name, of course, or even his nickname, which he'd loathed until she had picked it up. But that would come eventually. For now, he was content to have her know his name in this world, the name almost no one else knew.
"Well," he teased, "now that you know it, and you approve, will you favor Tom Gold with an answer?" He kept his tone light, but his heart was doing flip-flops in his chest.
Amy's face grew solemn—so solemn he began to think she was going to reject him, until he saw the glow in her eyes. "Come here, Tom Gold," she whispered.
He sat on the edge of the bed and brought his face to hers, careful not to jostle the baby. "What'll it be, Amy?" he whispered back, his eyes boring into hers. "Yes or no?"
He anticipated the answer, but actually hearing it filled him with joy. "Yes," she breathed. That was all she said before his lips met hers once again.
This kiss was as passionate and frankly erotic as the other had been tender and sweet. It brought back memories for both of them. For Amy, memories of the night after Graham's memorial service, when they had come so close to succumbing to their mutual desire for one another. Soon, she thought as she moaned into his mouth. Soon they would have another chance…and it wouldn't be wrong this time. It would be not only right, but inevitable. Oh, God, his mouth tasted amazing. He tasted like—she had to think for a minute—like spices. Like cloves and anise and cinnamon, with a hint of honey and a faint metallic tang underneath which she supposed was his gold teeth, but was actually his magic. In point of fact, his mouth tasted exactly the same to her as it had in their true world, although she had no way of knowing this. Later, she would realize that this also explained her Storybrooke self's fondness of chai tea: the flavor of the drink was the closest thing there was to the taste of his mouth.
Her memories were good, but his…oh, his were exquisite agony. All his half-formed memories of her came flooding back in Technicolor. He remembered it all with perfect clarity now: the smell of her skin when she'd just emerged from a bath. The feel of her hair as he'd drawn it across his face and wrapped it around his throat. The taste of that warm secret spot between her thighs where no mouth but his had ever kissed…her shock, the first time he had dared to use his mouth on her that way, shock that had quickly given way to pleasure she had never even imagined. He hadn't been the one to take her maidenhead, that was true, but he had been the one to truly make her a woman. He had been the one to show her that the act of love was not as limited as she'd thought, and could give enjoyment rather than pain and discomfort.
Thinking this, he nibbled at her bottom lip. He was rewarded with a tiny gasp of pure pleasure. If not for the baby in her arms, there was no telling how far things would have gone between them at that moment. If not for the baby, both of them would have quite forgotten that she had just given birth and had nearly died in the process. They would have forgotten that she had a long recovery ahead of her, and that lovemaking would have to wait until she had at least started down that road.
But the baby was there, and chose that moment to make her presence known with an indignant squawk at being momentarily pressed between them. He drew away quickly, chuckling a bit. "Sorry, little one," he addressed the infant. "Your mother and I forgot ourselves for a moment there." The baby apparently didn't take offense. She quieted and went back to feeding.
Amy's attention focused once again on her daughter. "She needs a name," she declared.
"Weren't you planning to name her after your mother?" he asked.
She wrinkled her nose a bit. "I was," she said. "But somehow Grace just doesn't seem right for her. And it doesn't go very well with Gold. Too many hard G's." Then she smiled. "Besides, you helped bring her into this world, and you're going to be her daddy. You should have some say in the name."
He passed a gentle hand over the baby's soft dark hair. "I do have one suggestion," he said.
"And that is?"
He paused for a moment, just for dramatic effect. "Hannah," he said finally.
"Hannah," Amy repeated. Then again, bending her head to whisper it into the baby's ear. "Hannah." The child stopped nursing for just a moment and gazed up at her. "Well, she seems to like it."
"We can go with something else if you'd rather," he said. "It's just that…Hannah means 'grace' in Hebrew. It would still be a way to link her to your mother." More so than she realized now. When her memories returned, she would remember that Hannah had been her mother's name in their true world.
"Hannah," Amy repeated once more. Another smile broke across her face. "It's perfect."
"Hannah Gold," Rumpelstiltskin said, blinking hard against the tears that threatened to fill his eyes. "What about a middle name?"
Amy didn't even have to think about it. "Her middle name is Josephine," she stated firmly.
"Hannah Josephine Gold," he said. "Yes. It's perfect." Then he did another loving thing. "He would be so proud."
His darling's eyes filled with tears. "Would he?" she whispered.
"Definitely," Rumpelstiltskin assured her. Although he said it to please her, ultimately he knew it to be true. Joseph the miller would have been delighted with this tiny perfect girl-child who bore his name. If his life hadn't been cut short, Joe Miller the insurance salesman would have too (though he might not have shown it as much as his counterpart).
If he hadn't been so wrapped up in this sweet family moment he would have sensed the approaching menace. As it was, he didn't realize that Regina was in the vicinity until she was right there in the room with them.
She had entered noiselessly, probably in an attempt to give them an unpleasant jolt. But it was the queen-turned-mayor who got the jolt.
No, was all she could think as the basket of apples dropped from her nerveless fingers. No…it can't be…how…She hoped briefly, vainly, that it was a trick of the light, yet when she blinked the same image was still before her.
There stood Rumpelstiltskin. Not Mr. Gold, but Rumpelstiltskin. He wore Mr. Gold's suit pants and dress shirt (his tie and jacket having been discarded during the events of the previous night) but he was unmistakably the not-really-an-Imp he had been in the fairytale world. It could only mean one thing. He remembered. The curse, for him, was broken.
And the miller's daughter was gazing at him with the same nauseating expression of adoration as she always had. Dear gods, surely she didn't remember too. Between the two of them, they knew all of her machinations to keep them apart, both in Storybrooke and their true world. She wasn't particularly concerned about the miller's daughter, but she quailed inwardly at the thought of Rumpelstiltskin's wrath. For a split second Regina considered turning tail and fleeing. Then the rational part of her took over. Even if he does know, she thought, even if he's regained his magic as well as his true form, what can he do to me here? This was a public setting with countless witnesses. She was fairly certain that everyone else was still under the curse's influence. She knew instinctively that he wouldn't cause her any harm, at least right now. Not when it would undoubtedly result in his arrest and incarceration. He would do nothing to risk being separated from the girl and her child.
As for later…well, she would stop by the cemetery after she left here. She had enough of her magic stored in the mausoleum to at least put wards around her home and person. Even if he had his magic back, he wouldn't be able to harm her. And that was no one's fault but his, for after all, it had been he who taught her to protect herself against magic.
"Ah, Regina," he hailed her, and it was indescribably strange to hear Mr. Gold's brogue emitting from that creature's lips. "Come to congratulate the new mother, have you?" He flicked his gaze at the basket of apples strewn across the floor and then stared into her eyes. "Why, Madame Mayor, are you quite all right? You look as though you'd seen a ghost."
Damn him, she thought. With great effort, she bared her teeth in an approximation of a smile. "I'm a bit tired, I'm afraid," she replied smoothly. "The storm kept us up all night. but when I heard about poor Amy I just had to come and make sure she was all right."
He bared his teeth in a similar artificial smile. The miller's daughter, she saw, was watching the scene with interest and something like cool amusement. Was it because she too remembered everything, or was the amusement simply at "Mr. Gold" and "Mayor Mills" circling each other like wild dogs, each waiting for the other to pounce?
"Yes, poor Amy had rather a terrible time," he said. And you and I both know who was responsible for that, dearie, his eyes said. "I'm sure you've heard. She nearly didn't survive."
"How dreadful," Regina cooed.
"Oh, yes," he agreed. "You just can't imagine, Madame Mayor, how devastating it is to see the person you love most slipping away right before your eyes."
Regina stiffened. Goddamn him! He knew very well that she had been through that exact thing not once, but twice—the first time through no fault of her own, the second time by her own hand. How dare he cast that up to her? He was going to pay for that later.
Sensing his victory, Rumple turned to the girl in the hospital bed. There was real affection in his gaze as he looked at her and the baby; for a moment he almost looked like Mr. Gold again. "But my girl's a fighter," he continued. "She pulled through—and thank God Sheriff Swan got the ambulance to us in time."
"Yes, thank God," Regina murmured, still seeing red. She gave Amy a sickeningly sweet smile. "And how are you feeling now, Amy dear?" If Amy hadn't known better, she would have believed the concern in the woman's voice was genuine.
Amy was enjoying the scene immensely. There was an undercurrent of raw violence here; she could tell they both longed to rip one another's throats out. However, she was secure in the knowledge that neither of them would stoop to that level—not here, anyway. Watching the two of them being poisonously polite to one another was amusing. She knew well enough, or thought she did, the basis of Tom's loathing for Regina; after all, she had tried to tear them apart by letting his role in Henry's adoption slip to Emma. What she didn't know was why Regina obviously loathed Tom just as much as he did her. It must have been the fire, she decided. That and his coup in getting Emma elected Sheriff. She never dreamed these had only been the latest skirmishes in the long, long war between them—a war in which blood had quite literally been spilled.
"I'm feeling quite well, Madame Mayor," the girl replied, a small smile playing about her lips. "Tom is being modest, though. He left out the important parts of the story." Tom…who the devil was...oh yes, she remembered now. The false name she had given him. Who the devil, indeed. At least she was now almost sure that the miller's daughter hadn't regained her memory. Though, she being Rumpelstiltskin's consort, it was best not to jump to conclusions.
"He's actually the one who delivered the baby," the girl went on. "Mary Margaret was there too, as I'm sure you know. Thank goodness. I don't know what we'd have done without her. But she happened to be out of the room for a moment, and the baby came so fast…" Amy trailed off. It had been only a few minutes after that when she had literally entered the valley of the shadow. Though she knew she had a tendency towards the melodramatic, she knew she had damn near died. She remembered. Though she hadn't had the strength to convey it, she remembered most of what had gone on in that room after her daughter's birth.
"And then when he realized I was still bleeding," she went on, "he did everything he could to make it stop. He did manage to stop it. And as if that weren't enough, he gave me his own blood."
Her brand-new fiancé and the mayor stared at her with identical expressions of shock. "You remember that?" Tom asked finally.
She nodded. "It's hard to explain. I saw it all…it's like I was standing there watching it happen…" She faltered. She really didn't know how to explain it.
Her husband-to-be smiled as he put a reassuring arm about her shoulders. "Sounds like you were having an out-of-body experience, love. I've read about such things before, but I never really believed in it…until now." Though he kept his tone light, Rumpelstiltskin was cautiously jubilant at this news. It might be, it just might be that Amaia too was regaining some of the magic he had passed on to her. And if that was the case, then surely her memory couldn't be far behind.
Even if that wasn't the case, it was more proof to him that this so-called magic-less world indeed possessed its own brand of magic. Either way he considered this latest development a point in his favor.
Regina had reached the same conclusions in her on mind, but she was far from jubilant. It was bad enough that Rumpelstiltskin was now fully aware and apparently regaining his powers; now it looked as though the bit of his magic he had transferred into the girl had awakened in her as well. At least she could now be sure that the girl was still under the curse; if she had been aware of her power and remembered who she really was, Regina knew she would have done something to her the moment she laid eyes on her. She would have taken some form of vengeance on the woman who had tried to separate her from her lover, her child, and her very life. It likely wouldn't have been anything that could truly harm her, since the girl's magic was nowhere near the level of the Dark One who had given it to her, but she would have done something. Then, too, if she had known, Rumpelstiltskin could also have unleashed his vengeance…and his powers were far more lethal.
When the girl regained her memories—and she would; Regina knew Rumpelstiltskin would see to it one way or another—the onetime Evil Queen of the Fairytale Realm was going to be in very deep shit.
But I won't let it go that far, she vowed to herself. I'll take care of them both before that can happen. Even if they possessed magic once again, well, she still had hers. Even if she hadn't, there were ways to deal with this new problem that didn't require magic. She allowed herself a brief vision of the Dark One and his whore lying dead in his palatial estate, the victims of a break-in gone wrong…or, better still, a murder-suicide. Perhaps poor Amy would develop postpartum psychosis, murdering her lover before coming back to herself enough to realize what she'd done, then taking her own life in grief and despair. Or maybe he would be the one to kill her—yes, she liked that better. She would discover yet another of his unsavory activities; they would quarrel, the argument quickly turning violent; overwhelmed with rage, unable to stop himself, he would—Regina had to cut the thought off quickly before it caused her to smile.
And the best part would be that no one in Storybrooke would question it. "I knew there was something wrong there," they'd all say. "There was something off about that relationship right from the beginning." Even the ones who had grudgingly come to see that the strange love affair between the pawnbroker and the young woman was genuine would reverse their opinions once again. And the most delicious irony of all was that Rumpelstiltskin would go down in Storybrooke history as the killer of the woman he had once risked his life to save.
As delightful as these thoughts were she had to put them aside for now. She had never been entirely sure if his magic extended to reading minds or not. Once, many, many years ago, she had asked him point-blank if he was capable of this; he had merely giggled and refused to give her a straight answer. Best to concentrate on something else for now.
Her gaze centered on the baby, who had finished feeding and was drowsing peacefully in her mother's arms. "What a lovely little girl," Regina said.
Rumpelstiltskin's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the words were genuine. The baby was, indeed, lovely. As she looked at the child Regina felt a feeling she hadn't experienced since an infant Henry had been placed in her arms for the first time. If she had cared to examine it, she would have realized that it was the closest thing to love she had felt since she had sacrificed her father to enact the curse. If she were truly honest with herself, she would also realize that this feeling paled in comparison to the love she had once felt, many years ago, when she wasn't an Evil Queen or a corrupt Mayor, but simply a young girl, abused, damaged, but still believing in the promise of a happy ending.
"May I?" she asked, holding out her arms. It was on the tip of Rumpelstiltskin's tongue to simply retort, "No". He had seen her thoughts, in a way; though he couldn't tell exactly what one was thinking, he could read the essence of their thoughts easily. Hers had been dark and murderous until only a moment ago.
But not so now. He saw wonderingly that the evil thoughts had been replaced with something like affection—affection, and a sort of wistfulness. It was almost as if he were looking upon the ghost of that long-ago girl, whose spark of goodness had burned as long as it could before finally being extinguished. That girl was gone now, he reminded himself. What remained was a threat, a danger, and would have to be destroyed eventually…but the glimpse of that long-ago girl stilled his tongue.
Instead he turned to Amaia and said, "It's up to you, darling."
Amy looked none too pleased at the thought of letting the Mayor hold the baby, but as she looked intently at the woman's face her own softened a bit. She saw the same thing he did, Rumpelstiltskin knew. Of course, without her memories she couldn't properly understand it, but she saw it. Regina would not harm the child. She was undoubtedly planning to do some sort of harm to himself and Amaia, and would make her move sooner rather than later, but today was not that day. If anything, allowing her to hold the child for a moment might buy them some time.
Naturally Amy didn't know this, but the flicker of genuine emotion on the woman's face had moved her. "Of course," she said, forcing a polite smile.
Regina took the infant carefully, noting but not remarking on the diamond-and-sapphire ring, obviously new, that sparkled on the fourth finger of Amy's left hand. She didn't even notice the far simpler ring on her right hand. As she settled the tiny girl into her arms, all thought of rings fled from her mind. "Oh, my," she murmured to the pink bundle. "Oh, you're a pretty little thing, aren't you?"
The baby squirmed a little in her embrace but didn't cry. Its tiny eyelids fluttered open briefly before closing again. Yes, this was just how she had felt the day Henry had come to her. She knew it wasn't the powerful rush of love a mother should feel for a child, but it was something.
"Her name is Hannah," Amy announced from the bed. "Hannah Josephine Gold."
So they had named the baby for her dead grandparents. How sweet. Of course, she would change it once the baby was in her custody. Raven would be pretty, and fitting with that dark hair. Or perhaps Sophia. Anything but Cora.
For she intended to have this baby. In this world, that had been her plan all along. Her original plan had been to take Amy in once she discovered she was pregnant. She knew she wasn't the girl's favorite person in the world, but she also knew that she had very few places to turn. She had intended to take the girl in and dispose of her once the baby was born, explaining to the townsfolk that Amy had turned the baby over to her before leaving town. Of course, with the curse she wouldn't have actually been able to send the girl out of Storybrooke, but there was the secret ward in the hospital's basement…
That plan hadn't worked out, what with "Mr. Gold" stepping in before she was able. That was an odd thing, she mused as she cooed soft nonsense to the infant. Even without his memories, with no knowledge of their past relationship, he had somehow been drawn to the girl. Odder still that she had responded. Regina wanted to dismiss this as the pawnbroker's merely seeing another opportunity to make a quick buck, wanted to dismiss the girl's resulting fondness as simple gratitude, but she was forced to admit to herself that it had likely been something far more powerful.
So she had revised the plan: she would convince "Mr. Gold" to give her the child. She knew full well that at the beginning he had had every intention of selling the child to the highest bidder. But she had waited too long. By the time she approached him about "adopting" the baby, he had once again fallen in love with the girl. This turn of events had surprised her as much as it had when it occurred in the Fairytale Realm, though she supposed in retrospect she should have foreseen it. If they had found their way to one another again, it was to be expected that they would once more fall in love.
It was then that she stepped up her plan in earnest. She had managed to drive "Mr. Gold" and the girl apart, using the simple truth as a most effective wedge. But another unexpected wrench had been thrown into the works when "Joe Miller" had decided to reconcile with his daughter. If the man had succeeded, she knew the girl would have moved back into her father's home and raised the baby with his help. That had been another strange thing: though the man's heart had been safely locked in her vault for the past twenty-eight years, he had still suffered pangs of conscience there at the end. It was eerily reminiscent of what had happened to Graham; it was a good thing she had dealt with both of them immediately. If she had hesitated, she suspected she might have gone to the vault to discover both of their hearts gone, once again in their respective rightful places. It shouldn't be possible, but nor should the second love of the Dark One and the miller's daughter, not to mention that of the prince and her dear ex-stepdaughter.
Luckily she had moved quickly enough to get both the erstwhile Huntsman and the former miller out of the way. Although in the case of "Joe Miller" it had still been too late; though he was gone, he had left his daughter with the means to raise her child comfortably. There had been no further need for the girl to consider giving up her baby. Regina was stymied. In a last-ditch effort, she had even tried to bring about the girl's death in childbirth. But the minute she walked through the door of the hospital room she had seen why that plan had failed.
Now, with the girl alive and once again reunited with Rumpelstiltskin, it seemed to be a hopeless cause. But she knew better. Regina still had one ace up her sleeve. With the tragic deaths of her mother and adoptive father, the baby would be orphaned. Regina's path to taking the child would be clear. And best of all, her two biggest potential threats would be eliminated as well.
It was perfect.
Regina's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden howl from the baby. As if she sensed the thoughts of the woman holding her, the child burst into abrupt, furious screams.
In a flash Rumpelstiltskin was beside them, nearly snatching the baby from Regina's arms. "There, there, love," he said soothingly, rocking the infant. "It's all right, precious. Papa's got you now."
Instantly the baby quieted. The round blue eyes seemed to focus on his face. She stared up at the man who would act as her father with something like fascination. The rosebud mouth opened slightly, and to everyone's astonishment a coo issued from the throat that had been screeching only moments before.
It was Rumpelstiltskin's turn to experience a feeling he hadn't for a very long time—not since the day, in another time and place, that he had held his newborn son for the first time. Unlike Regina's vague affection and longing, this was a powerful rush of love that was almost visceral. Mine, he thought as he comforted the baby. Mine.
It was more than he had dared hope for. He had vowed to treat the child as his own. He had known he would love the child, if for no other reason than because she belonged to Amaia. But in the back of his mind he had wondered if he would truly be able to accept the child as his own. Now he knew.
The child was not of his blood. But somehow, inexplicably, it was still his. Perhaps it was his love for Amaia that made it so. Perhaps it was that he had been present at the child's birth, had in fact been the one to see her into the world. Whatever the reason, he knew as clearly as he had ever known anything that the child of his love had become his child, too.
"Yes, Papa's got you," he cooed. Amy, who had reached for the child when she began screaming, let her arms drop. A small but truly radiant smile touched her lips as she watched her fiancé cradle her—their—daughter.
Regina wanted to vomit at the scene. She couldn't resist curling her lip just the tiniest bit. "'Papa'?" she queried, her tone pleasant but faintly mocking.
Rumpelstiltskin favored her with a smirk before turning his attention back to the baby. "That's right," he said, continuing to rock the precious bundle.
"I see," Regina said. "I didn't realize the rumors about you being the child's actual father were true."
This time he glared at her. "You know very well they're not," he said, his tone mild so as not to alarm the baby. "But you of all people should know that blood doesn't matter."
Damn! He had zapped her again.
Amy spoke now. "He's her father in all the ways that count," she said. "He watched her grow inside me. He was the first one to feel her kick. He even saved our lives." That jolted Regina a bit, until she realized that the girl was referring to her premature labor scare the previous November. "He literally brought her into this world. And he's the only father she'll ever know. Even if we weren't going to raise her together, he'd still be more her father than the man I made her with."
"But we are going to raise her together," Rumpelstiltskin added. "And I plan to formally adopt her, of course, after the wedding. Cover all the bases, you know." His tender smile turned wolfish. "As a matter of fact, you can handle that for us."
This caught Regina off guard. "I…I…what?"
His grin grew wider. In that moment he was every inch the Dark One, the irredeemably evil being she had once believed him to be. To Amy, he looked more like the sinister pawnbroker she had once thought him than he had since the day they met.
"Well, you are the mayor of our little town," he shrugged, allowing the slightest trace of his former lilt to creep into his voice. "As such, you're licensed to perform marriage ceremonies. Who better than you to officiate as we take our vows?"
He couldn't be serious. Except, she saw with a sinking heart, he was. Though his mouth was smiling, his eyes were grim. He was going to force her to do this, for no other reason than that the thought was anathema to her. Without laying a hand on her, without casting a single spell, he was going to punish her for all she had done to tear them apart. And she knew it would only be the start of his revenge.
"Madame Mayor," he said, his tone every bit as theatrical as it had been in their true world, "won't you do Amy and me the honor of marrying us?" She knew she was trapped even before his near hiss of "Please."
She knew she had no choice. "Of course," she bit out, glaring daggers at him.
"Wonderful," he smirked. Then he seemed to remember there was someone else to consider in all this. He turned to his bride-to-be. "If that's all right with you, my darling?"
For a brief moment Regina hoped the girl would let her off the hook. But her hopes were quickly dashed as Amaia shrugged. "Fine with me," she said. "What choice do we have, really? It's her or the minister, and I haven't been to church in years. I doubt he'd do it."
Rumpelstiltskin doubted that. With a large enough bribe or a dire enough threat, he suspected that Reverend Perrault would have been happy to perform the ceremony. But this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. If Amaia had seemed truly unhappy with the idea, he would have abandoned it; but he sensed that she, too, saw the delicious irony. After everything the woman had done to them, even gentle, kind-hearted Amaia wanted to see the Mayor squirm.
"Well, then," Regina said briskly, wanting to get it over and done with. "I don't have the required paperwork with me, of course, but I can return this afternoon and—"
"No," Amy interrupted.
Had she changed her mind after all? Regina gloated inwardly while Rumple's heart sank. Did she mean she had changed her mind about marrying him?
"I want a real wedding," Amy went on. "Not a hospital room rush job." Now Regina's heart sank while Rumpelstiltskin's rose.
"I see," she said neutrally. "Well, then, let me know when you've decided on a date. I'll make sure I'm available." She glanced at her watch without even noting the time. "And now I really have to be going." She was halfway out the door before she remembered to utter a chilly "Congratulations".
When she was gone Rumple looked nervously at Amaia, worried he'd overstepped himself. Though she'd gone along with him while Regina was in the room, now he would find out how she truly felt about being married by their common enemy. He wouldn't blame her if she ripped him a new one with her tongue.
But Amaia only grinned and hummed a few bars of the "Imperial March" from Star Wars. "Every time I see her enter or leave a room I get that in my head," she announced. He grinned back with humor as well as relief. She wasn't upset after all.
She couldn't hold back her giggles any longer. "God, did you see her face?" she exclaimed. "When you asked her to marry us, I thought she was going to shit a brick!"
He laughed. "A vulgar but accurate statement, my love," he teased. He returned the baby to her before settling in the chair at her bedside. "But let's talk about this. I should have asked you first. Are you truly all right with the idea of her performing the ceremony?"
She considered this as she rocked the baby.
"We can have someone else do it if you prefer," he said. "What about Dr. Hopper? I doubt he's licensed to perform marriages, but perhaps he could be temporarily ordained. Or we could at least speak to Reverend Perrault, get an idea of whether he'd be willing or not."
"No," she said finally. "It may be awful of me, but I like the idea of Regina marrying us. After she tried to break us up, I can't help but think she deserves to have her nose rubbed in it a little."
"Well said," he commented, stifling a laugh.
"I would like Dr. Hopper to be there, though," she said thoughtfully. "And Ruby and Granny and Ashley, of course. And Emma, and Mary Margaret…"
"We'll invite the whole town, if that's you want," he said impulsively. "You can have the biggest wedding Storybrooke's ever seen, if you like." Hell, she could have the biggest wedding Maine had ever seen, if she wanted that. He wanted her to have whatever her heart desired. Gods, he loved this woman.
She shook her head. "No, I don't want a huge splashy wedding," she said decisively. "I've never wanted that. Even when I was a little girl I never wanted the frilly white dress and twelve bridesmaids and all that hoo-ha. I just want something small, simple but beautiful."
"And you'll have that," he promised.
They spent most of the rest of day planning. In the end, they had agreed on a ceremony at the mayor's office in two weeks' time (Doc had said she would be able to be up and around by then, although she would still have to take it easy). The only guests would be Ruby and Granny Woods, Ashley and Sean, Emma, Mary Margaret, Archie Hopper, Marco, and Henry Mills. And Hannah, of course.
It was a quiet day. There were few visitors. Mary Margaret had come in soon after Regina had left; she had been delighted to hear of the upcoming nuptials. Emma, busy getting the town up and running again after last night's storm, had poked her head in. While she hadn't been as excited as MM over the news of their engagement, she had offered her congratulations.
Granny, Ruby and Ashley had come together, the diner being closed for the day due to storm damage. They had fussed over the baby, exclaiming that she was an absolute doll, the very image of Amy, and had all taken a turn holding her. Hannah had gone placidly from one set of arms to the next; there had been no more screaming fits. Amy and Tom had privately agreed that, even at one day old, their daughter was already an excellent judge of character.
None of the three were surprised when told of the upcoming wedding. Granny wasn't particularly overjoyed, of course, though she was nowhere near as horrified as she would have been a few months or even a few days earlier. She admitted to herself grudgingly that Amy seemed very happy. Whether that happiness would last remained to be seen. Ruby and Ashley were more enthusiastic, although Ruby was disappointed that they weren't going to "do the whole David Tutera thing".
Everyone else stayed away for the time being. Either they were trying to give the new family some privacy or they were busy dealing with the aftermath of the storm. Tomorrow would be the day everyone came to meet Storybrooke's newest citizen. That was fine with Amy; she wanted to get a good night's sleep before the parade of visitors.
Tom had left briefly while Amy visited with her friends, to get an overnight bag. He wouldn't hear Amy's suggestion that he sleep at his own house. Truthfully, she hadn't pushed the issue too hard. They had been separated for a long time. She wanted him near her from here on out.
He apparently felt the same way; when the nurse on duty offered him a rollaway cot he shook his head. "No, thank you," he said, politely enough but in a tone that brooked no argument.
So it was that they spent the first night of their engagement in a single hospital bed, Hannah right beside them in a small plastic crib after Doc declared there was no need for her to return to the incubator. Amy could reach easily over the bed to touch her daughter, and she did, often.
It wasn't nearly as comfortable as their bed at home, Rumpelstiltskin thought, but the enforced closeness bothered him not one bit. He could happily stay like this forever, he thought as he lay with Amaia's head on his chest, his fingers playing with her dusky hair. His love in his arms and their daughter beside them…he could think of worse places to be.
Half asleep, Amaia murmured something.
"What was that, darling?" he said softly.
"So many sides," she repeated drowsily. "There are so many sides to you. I think I've seen them all today. First the lover. Then, with Regina, the scary pawnbroker. And with Hannah, the devoted father. Which one is the real you?"
He thought about that for a moment before answering her with the truth:
"None of them…and all of them."
She said just one more word before sleep finally overtook her.
"Good."
I am so, so sorry it's taken me this long to update…it's been the summer from hell for me. When I had time to write, the words came very slowly and with great difficulty. Luckily things seem to be looking up for now. At least my muse finally stayed in one place long enough to help me finish this chapter. I won't promise a quick update, but as you've probably guessed the next chapter is going to be happy and so fluffy as to be nearly vomit-inducing. I seem to have an easier time with those.
One reason I had such a hard time with this chapter is that I felt like Rumple was losing his edge. He was getting way too OOC even for a madly-in-love new father. Good thing Regina showed up and brought back the snarky Dark One we all know and love. Another reason I had trouble is the shifting of names. I'm sorry. I know the constant back-and-forth is confusing—hell, it confuses me. But it's really the only way I can show the different points of view right now.
A couple of things I forgot to mention last chapter: I borrowed the song "If Only" from Louis Sachar's book Holes (one of my favorites to this day). And I got the inspiration for Amy's post-delivery hemorrhaging scene from another book, The Secret Life of CeeCee Wilkes by Diane Chamberlain. Of course I got the "Imperial March" in this chapter from Star Wars, and have so credited it. (I also slipped in a tiny Merlin reference—the Sam Neill miniseries. A pair of Rumple's leather pants to anyone who spotted it!)
As we all know, I don't own anything but my OCs, Amy/Amaia and baby Hannah.
And once again I apologize for the delay. I really appreciate everyone who's read this story, alerted it, favorited it, and especially reviewed it! I've tried to keep my promise to leave a few reviews myself on other stories, but it seems like every time I decide to try the system is "shitting the bed" as my kid brother so elegantly puts it. But let me say here that Twyla-Mercedes, Bad Faery, and Sapsorrow86 are the best and most prolific Rumple AU writers out there! And Awesome Fat Kitty has done it again: though I'll be sad to see "Hands On Me" end, I'm loving her latest, "Under the Sea".
TTFN! Next up: fluffy wedding goodness!