May prompt: Movie Night. Family Night at the Golds' becomes something memorable as Gideon offers a special pre-wedding gift. Rated K.

"Eyes closed now. This way. Careful, Mom, you're about to walk into the dining table. Turn left now. Maybe it would be easier if I just poofed us into the living room."

"No, no," Belle broke in. "You know how I feel about the unnecessary use of magic." She kept walking, her hand clamped firmly over her eyes, her feet shuffling so she wouldn't stumble over something.

Beside her, Rumple also shuffled with his eyes screwed closed and one hand outstretched for obstacles. "I agree with your mother. Remember, Gid, even the slightest output of magic has a cost. Besides, this is more fun."

"All right." One hand on each of his parents' shoulders, Gideon steered them toward the left. "We've got about ten feet to go yet. . . . A little to your left, Mom. . . . Okay, here, feel that? That's the couch behind you. Sit down now."

"It's times like these, my cane would handy," Rumple remarked as he reached out to grab the armrest. He lowered himself gingerly before grasping Belle's elbow and assisting her down to the cushions. "There, are you comfortable, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine." Belle sniffed. "But I smell popcorn. Cheddar cheese popcorn."

"Your favorite." Gideon set a warm bowl onto her lap. "And there are sodas on the coffee table."

"Movie Night!" Belle exclaimed. "Did I lose track? Is it Friday already?"

"No, this is a special occasion. You can open your eyes now." He'd decorated the darkened room with pine cones, fronds, electric candles and gold streamers. A film screen had been erected against the television wall. In the center of the room he'd set up an accent table containing a strange contraption.

"Oh, Gid, it's lovely," Belle admired. "And it smells so good." She stuffed her hand into the popcorn and grabbed a fistful of crunchy clouds. "Mmmm." She nodded at the coffee table. "You remembered my root beer."

"And Dad's Dr. Pepper." Gideon was proud of himself.

Rumple stood to walk around the accent table to examine the contraption upon it. "So that's what you wanted that old microscope for. And this looks like the movie projector I had in the backroom. But it was broken and I couldn't get replacement parts for it."

"Ebay," Gid shrugged. "It's fixed now. I connected the projector with the microscope and added a miniature sound system so I could show you something special."

"You have a real knack with mechanics." Rumple leaned in to peer at the colorful square of cloth that stretched between the microscope's glass slides. "What is this? It looks like a snippet from a tapestry."

"It is. Have a seat now, Dad. I have a special movie to show you." Gideon straightened his back in pride. "Dad, Mom, you remember a couple of weeks ago when I spent the night over at Jefferson's?"

"Yeah." Belle squinted suspiciously. "You told us he was teaching you some card tricks."

"Well, he did, I didn't lie; but there was a little more to it than that. He, uh—don't get mad, now, Dad; you're going to love what we did. He made a portal and we took a quick trip to Mount Olympus."

Belle gasped and even the normally unflappable Rumple sputtered. "You—Olympus-the gods—he took you—how?"

"I know us ordinary folk aren't allowed there, but we had invitation. See, I found an old, very old, prayer book, and I prayed to Hera."

"The goddess of marriage," Rumple explained to Belle.

"Yeah. I told her about your wedding plans, and all the crap you'd been through, and how sucky it was that your marriage didn't get a fair shake the first time around, and how all of us, the whole town really, need for the rotten stuff to stop. We really just need some rest. And it felt like someone was actually listening so I kept talking, and the whole story spilled out, everything: the Ogres' War, your mom dying, Mom, your dad acting like a jerk—and I told her the Savior thing and how Fiona robbed you of that—and I wasn't even halfway into that story when I heard a voice come out of the clouds. It was so clear and sharp, I knew it was real. It said to me, 'Yes.'

"I didn't know what that meant. I hadn't asked for anything yet. So I continued with the story, telling her about Hordor and Zoso and Blue and the last portal bean, and she interrupted me again, and she said, 'Yes.' I guess it was rude of me, but I was confused, so I said, 'What do you mean, "Yes"? "Yes" what?' And she said, 'Yes, you may come to me.' So I did. Jefferson and I."

"You went to Olympus?" Belle breathed.

"Not exactly. It was more like a waystation, I guess. We couldn't see much; lots of fog. But she was-" he whistled. "She was beautiful. Sitting there on a golden throne. Tall, her hair all piled up on her head, held up with a tiara, white swishy robes and jeweled bracelets on her arms. She looked old and young at the same time. Her voice was like—she sounded just like Lauren Bacall and she looked like Audrey Hepburn. Her eyes were like stars. I felt so small in her presence, I nearly dropped to my knees but I couldn't budge, I was that petrified. Same with Jefferson. He just stood there gaping like a fish out of water. Anyway, I got mad at myself, that here I had the chance to talk to her and I couldn't get a word out. But she said, 'Gideon Gold, I know your story. I am the protector of marriage and family. I have no tolerance for those who would put asunder what Fate has joined together. The Black Fairy, the Blue Fairy, Zelena, Cora, and Hook have all interfered with the family that was meant to be. The Fates likewise have no patience with those who tamper with their plans for their selected ones.'

"I just stood there shaking, worried that I'd started something that was going to end awful. She was so stern and stiff, I thought she might throw the book at all of us. But then she surprised me, because she said, 'I am sorry, Gideon, for the wrong that has been done to you, your brother and your parents. I am more the sorry that I cannot reverse any of it. But, angry as the Moirai are with Fiona, they have granted your small request, abnormal though it be. They think that doing so would be a suitable way of thanking your mother for persuading your father to return the Shears of Destiny—unused.'" Gideon knew how close he'd come to having his own fate altered; it had been just one of many apologies the former Dark One had made, and one that Gideon had accepted readily, since Rumple had changed his mind about using the Shears.

Gideon now flicked a switch on his gadget. "This is what she gave me. Courtesy of the Fates, a piece of the original tapestry that was created for us." A beam of light streamed from the projector onto the screen, and Gideon sat down beside his mother, reaching into her bowl for some popcorn.

The light shone bright white at first, then bounced, and a hazy black-and-white image appeared, off-center. Gid couldn't make out the contents of the first image, but it soon clarified and filled with color, and then he could see a king-sized bed in a room that he recognized as the master bedroom upstairs. Propped up by pillows (and with a book beside her) lay Belle.Gathered around the bed were Ruby, another woman, a small man and a sweating Rumplestiltskin, his hair matted, his sleeves rolled up, an apron protecting his silk shirt. He was panting in an oddly infectious rhythm; Gid found himself panting along too. "Breathe, Belle, breathe," he urged as he dabbed at her damp forehead with his handkerchief.

"You're doing fine," the small man crooned. "Everything's normal."

"That's Doc Miner," Belle whispered to Gideon. "He's the town OB/GYN."

"One of the dwarfs," Rumple added.

"That woman with him," Gid squinted to make the figure out. "That's your friend Nova, isn't it?"

"She helps out with deliveries."

"Ready now, Belle: push!" Doc's back blocked their view—not that Gid wanted to see the actual delivery anyway. Suddenly Doc straightened, there was a wail, he handed a squirming bundle to Nova, who carried it off, and then he bent down again. "Now the afterbirth. Good job, Belle. You have a healthy baby boy."

"His name is Gideon." Belle dropped back into the pillows, her voice cracking.

Rumple nodded. "Gideon Gold." He stroked Belle's hair back from her face. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Sore and tired. But excited to begin this new chapter in our lives."

"Good job, Belle." Nova carried over the blanketed newborn and lay him in his mom's arms. "Gideon Gold, meet your mama."

The picture wavered, then dissolved into another: a shadow, rocking slowly in a chair and turned toward a window through which a soft night breeze wafted. Another figure entered the darkened room and set a hand on the shadow's back. The quiet was briefly broken by a snuffling as a tiny, sleeping form lifted its head from the shadow's shoulder. The standing figure patted the little one's back and the little head dropped down again, forehead pressed to parent's shoulder.

The scene went hazy, and when the haze cleared, a baby came into view. Poised on his hands and knees, the infant scowled as he began to rock back and forth on the plush carpet. Kneeling above him, his mother and his father traded encouragements: "Go, son, go!" "You can do it, Gid!" "Lift your knee, lift it!" "Come to Papa, Gideon!"

Grunting, the baby rocked furiously but couldn't seem to catch onto the process. Finally, frustrated, he let himself drop onto his butt and he wailed with frustration. Hands scooped him up and cuddled him against warm, sweet-smelling softness. Something deep in him stirred: this softness represented his first memory of life. He forgot his disappointment and snuggled into his mama's arms. She chuckled. "It's okay, sweet boy. We'll try again tomorrow."

From far above, a deeper voice pondered the situation. "I think I know what's wrong." Knees thumped to the carpet. "Watch this, son. Watch me." Gid's eyes widened as his big, strong papa rocked back and forth on his hands and knees, then lifted his right hand from the carpet, then lifted his left knee. Gid gurgled as Papa scooted across the room, stopped at the crib and scooted back, panting. Mama and baby clapped their hands as Papa raised up to accept their applause with a bow. When Papa wheeled about on his knees for a return trip, Gid pushed himself out of Mama's lap and followed. "He's doing it, Rumple! Look!"

Papa kept moving but glanced back over his shoulder. "Come on, Gid. We've got places to go and people to see, my boy."

Studiously, Gid raised and planted one knee after the other until he'd caught up with Papa. "So now we know his learning strategy: monkey see, monkey do," Belle surmised.

Rumple gave a worried smile. "In that case, I think we're in a lot of trouble, Belle."

The scene faded into another: Gid, thumping a spoon on the tray of his high chair, as Belle and Rumple skittered around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and utensils. Belle pulled the lid off a soup can, set the lid down on the kitchen table, then swung around to pour the condensed soup into a pan. She was stirring and Rumple was tossing a salad when a wail broke through their conversation. They both spun around and reached for the baby; Belle got there first, detaching him from the high chair and whisking him into her arms. "Gid, Gid, what's wrong, sweetie? Oh my god, Rumple, he's bleeding!"

Rumple grabbed his son's index finger and inspected it. "He must've picked up the lid."

"Fix it, Rumple!" Belle wiggled her fingers to show what she meant.

Rumple held the finger high in the air to slow the bleeding. "Magic? Not the hospital?"

"No time for hospitals. Yes, magic!"

A soft glow of purple light surrounded the wounded finger. Gid instantly stopped crying; with his free hand, he tried to catch the light. In just a moment the light vanished, leaving the finger completely healed, but also leaving Rumple tight-lipped. "That was the first time I ever let him see my magic."

"It was necessary." Belle kissed the finger, then stroked her husband's back. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. We were just hoping it would be later."

"I suppose," Rumple said thoughtfully, "he needs to know that his papa's different from the other papas. Which makes him different from the other kids."

"Different, but not weird. And there are a few others like him; he's not alone. We'll teach him, Rumple. We'll help him find his place in the world."

Rumple sighed. "At least, if he's a sorcerer too, we've got sixteen or so years before we have to deal with that."

"It'll be okay." Belle kissed the baby's wet cheek. "Won't it, sweet boy? You'll go easy on your papa, won't you?"

The baby patted his mother's cheek in reply.

"GIDEON! Gideon Gold, get your little butt down here!"

The frazzled parents stared up into the oak tree, where their child teetered on a limb, reaching out for a robin's nest. His hand shaking, Rumple sent a fist of magic to clutch the boy's shirt and lift him, wiggling, to Belle's arms. Gid made a pouty face and blew a raspberry at his papa, who slumped slowly to the ground. Closing his eyes, Rumple rested his forehead against the tree and moaned.

Belle couldn't help but get in a little dig. "I thought you said we had sixteen years."

Rumple ran a hand through his hair and came away with strands of gray. "I'm going bald, Belle. He's only three years old and he's got me losing my hair. He'll have me in a straight jacket by the time he starts school."

She giggled. "You're being melodramatic, sweetheart. We'll find our way. Won't we, Giddy?"

The kitchen door slammed and feet stomped up the stairs. "You sit right there and think about what you did. No, I said sit. You know the rules, Gideon. Five minutes in the naughty corner." The door to the nursery was yanked shut.

Belle snapped off her vacuum cleaner and came out into the hallway to join her red-faced husband. "I take it the lesson didn't go well."

"Oh, he learned to ride without any difficulty. Then he wanted to go faster, so he-" Rumple waggled his fingers.

"Oh. Did he get hurt?"

"He's fine, but we're now the proud owners of the world's first rocket-driven tricycle."

Belle raised an eyebrow. "Keyword: 'proud'?"

"Yeah," Rumple admitted. "I hate to say it, but that kid's powers are going to rival mine. So yeah, proud."

"I'm proud of him too."

A shadow, rocking slowly in a chair and turned toward a window through which a soft night breeze wafted. Another figure entered the darkened room and set a hand on the shadow's back. The quiet was briefly broken by the stirring of a small sleeping form perched on the rocker's lap. The standing figure patted the little one's back and the little head dropped down again, forehead pressed to parent's shoulder.

"He's going to have a pretty good shiner," observed the standing parent.

"He's too little to be getting into fights already." There were tears in the seated parent's voice.

"At least he didn't use his magic against the other kid. He's got a lot of self-control for a six-year-old. You've given him that. If he'd inherited my temper. . . ."

"You've been a good example to him, Rumple. A calm, steady and dependable example."

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"What are we going to do about this? Should we talk to the teacher?"

"Bae used to get into fights. So did I, until I learned to run fast." A sigh. "I don't know, Belle. Maybe we should see if he can work it out for himself before we intervene. Or maybe we should ask the teacher to keep on eye on things. I don't know. On the one hand, we want him to learn to stand up for himself; adults won't always be there to protect him."

"On the other, he is just a little boy. He needs to feel safe. How can he concentrate in school if he has to look over his shoulder all the time?"

"I never figured it out, how to deal with bullies. When I was powerless, I hid from them or ran away. When I had power, I became a bully myself. Where's the balance? What's the smart way for a small child to protect himself and his pride?"

"I had my bullies too. Girls can be vicious, even against a duchess. I don't have the answer either. But we don't have to figure this out alone."

"Archie?"

"Why not Archie? We aren't failures as parents if we ask for advice."

"Yeah. . . .I suppose he'd have some advice for me too—how to resist the temptation to dig up my cane and pay that kid's father a visit."

"You know, there's a karate school downstairs from Archie's office. We could stop off there first. . . ."

"Papa, I'm eight years old now."

"There, snuggle down and I'll adjust your blankets. So what's this about being eight?"

"Well, Neal's eight and he doesn't get tucked in any more. And I've got an orange belt in karate."

"Oh. I see."

"But Papa, eight's not too old for bedtime stories, is it?"

"Steady, steady, keep your focus; picture in your mind where you want it to go. Think about how happy you'll feel when that shirt drops into the laundry hamper."

"It's going, it's going there, Papa! Look, Mom! It's flying! In the hamper, shirt!"

"It went in! Good job, Giddy!"

"Now, son, close the lid of the hamper. See it in your mind, see it closing, gently now—good. You did it, son."

"So, Papa—when are you going to teach me fireballs?"

"Mama? Remember your promised me five dollars for every 'A' on my report card?"

"Certainly. And your parents always keep their promises."

"Well, there's a set of drums for sale at Hamlin's, so. . . could we make a deal?"

"Drums?!"

"Mom, you know I'm responsible, right?"

"Yes, Gid. You've done well with your responsibilities. Why?"

"I mean, I help out at the shop and the library and I do my chores here, and I keep my grades up, and my karate. I've got a lot of responsibilities, for a kid my age, but I haven't screwed up too often, have I?"

"You've done well, Giddy. We're proud of you."

"Well, here's the thing: sixteen is the legal age to get a job."

"Oh. Your allowance—"

"It's good, Mom. It's not the money; it's—don't be hurt, okay? I'd rather not work at the shop and the library any more; I want to get a real job. Where I can be my own man, you know? Not the boss' kid. Mom? Are you crying?"

"It's okay, Gid. I'm just crying because I'm proud of you."

"Well, that doesn't make sense. The crying part, I mean, not the proud part."

"Give me a minute, then we'll break the news to your father."

"You promised if I passed my test I could start driving alone."

"Yes. Yes, we did."

"You're not going to back out on a deal, are you, Dad?"

"No, son. I'd never do that."

"I think we're stuck. Give him the keys, Rumple."

"Thanks, Dad! I'll be back in an hour, I promise. I'm just going over Granny's for a burger."

As their son clattered down the stairs, the front door banging behind him, Belle speculated, "Rumple, his magic can fix broken tail lights, knocked-down mail boxes, dented fenders—how are we going to know if he gets into an accident?"

"We have to trust him, sweetheart."

"I do, but. . . ."

"Besides, we have two secret weapons: traffic cameras—"

"And?"

"My grandson is the sheriff."

"Mom, can we talk? Privately?"

"Your dad's at a Chamber meeting. Come on in, Gid. Here, chop these carrots while we talk. What's up?"

"I have some good news and some bad news."

"Oh?"

"And I'm going to need some help telling Dad."

"Oh. . . ."

"The good news is I got accepted into Stanford."

"Oh, Gid, that's wonderful! I'm so proud of you! It's everything you dreamed of!"

"And after that, if I keep my grades up, MIT!"

"Gid! I'm so happy for you, I'm practically delirious!"

"So, Mom, here's the bad news: I got into Stanford. How do I tell Dad I'm moving 2700 miles away?"

Belle elbowed her husband, who was whistling shrilly between his teeth. Other parents seated in the bleachers around them turned to glare, snicker and snort at the proud father, who'd risen to his feet. "Honey, you're embarrassing him. Simple clapping would suffice."

"I don't care," Rumple huffed. "My son just graduated summa cum laude from Stanford-and without the use of magic. I've earned the right to cheer."

"Yes, you have." Belle stood up beside him, planted her fingers in her mouth and whistled. "Yay, Gideon!"

Rumple winked at her. "He sees us. Look, he's waving. We did a good job, Belle."

"We did a very good job, Rumple."

The images blanked out, leaving an empty white light beaming onto the film screen. Gideon set aside his soda, snapped off the machine and settled back down onto the couch, his arm around his mom's shaking shoulders. Belle turned her face into his chest and sobbed. As Gideon stroked her hair, Rumple reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Gid." Rumple had turned pale. "What you could have had, if I hadn't been so short-sighted, so fixated on magic solutions. To you too, Belle, what I stole from you. If I would have just talked to you, asked them"-he waved toward the street; Gideon realized he was referring to the community-"for help."

"It was my fault too. I was blinded by self-righteousness." Belle's voice grew small. "And wanting them to include me as a hero. You were robbed too, Rumple, because of my pride."

"Mom, Dad, I'm happy now; that's what matters. I have a pretty good future to look forward to." When Belle had regained her poise and accepted a handkerchief from Rumple, Gideon suggested, "It's not entirely too late."

"You aren't saying you want me to—" Rumple summoned a bit of magic to his fingers.

"No. I still feel the same about that: I don't want to be de-aged. I am who I am because of what I went through. And I'm proud of what I am now. I love the life we have now." He reached into his jeans pocket and produced a wrinkled sheet of paper, which he gave to Belle. "But it's not too late for everything. Mom and Dad, I've been accepted into Northern Maine Community College for the fall semester."

"Oh, Gideon!" Belle plastered his face with kisses, until she was pushed forward and crushed against his chest when her husband threw himself at Gideon in a bear hug. "Mmmph! Mm'out!"

"Sorry, sweetheart. We didn't mean to squish you."

Coming up: As Gideon does his best to give his parents a wedding they'll always remember, Regina keeps the peace, kinda sorta.