3

Black Coffee in Bed

If there was one perk to being the Dark One, it was that immortals never got sick. From anything. When he'd been under the Dark One's curse, Rumplestiltskin had never had to worry about such mundane things as hangovers. His cursed body simply absorbed toxins and that was that. But now that the dagger curse had been shattered, a thing for which Rumple was very grateful for, his body had returned to almost human proportions. Almost because there were certain things he was still immune to, like fire and extreme cold, and his body aged hardly at all.

But that partial immunity, which extended itself to diseases, like colds and flus and the like, did not extend towards a night of drinking and the morning after, a fact which the unfortunate sorcerer learned the hard way the next morning.

He woke up somewhere around four AM feeling as if a dragon had stomped his head into the ground and chomped on it repeatedly. In addition to the headache that stabbed him behind the eyeballs, his mouth was drier than the Mojave Desert, his tongue felt coated with sandpaper and mold, and he ached like ten hells. But the worst was his stomach, which threatened to come up out of his throat.

He managed to grope for his cane and stagger the four steps to the bathroom, where he spent the next ten minutes throwing up his insides . . . or that's what he was sure was happening. He was sure he was dying . . . no, make that he wished he'd died. At last he was reasonably sure he was done vomiting, but found he was too weak to even walk back to bed.

So he slumped down against the wall, drew his knees up to his chin, and laid his head on them, his hair flopping right over his face. He hadn't felt so sick since he'd returned from the Ogre Wars . . . and three hundred years had dulled the pain of that memory. His head was killing him, he was sure it was going to fall right off, he closed his eyes and tried to meditate, to drive away the pain with his iron will—but he found his focus was nil and whatever will he'd had left had been pickled by his stupid overconsumption of alcohol.

He couldn't ever recall feeling this way before. He'd never been much of a drinker, even when he was at the front with the rest of his company. He preferred to think and not drown his sorrows. In fact, he'd sneered at those who did so. Now he sneered at himself . . . and prayed for a quick death.

Hours later, at six thirty, David found him curled up on the floor, looking like a homeless hobo working on a six-day drunk, whimpering pitifully as the light stabbed his eyes when Charming flipped the switch prior to coming into the bathroom to shave and wash his face.

"What the—aww, hells, Rumple! Why didn't you call anyone, buddy?" he murmured sympathetically, recalling all too well his own morning afters, the most recent one being when he was still cursed and Kathryn had gone missing and he feared Snow was to blame for it. He'd gotten totally hammered and spent the next morning puking his guts up, huddled on the floor of his bathroom, and hadn't managed to get up until hours later, where he spent half the day on the couch, drinking water and trying to keep something in his stomach.

"Go . . . away . . . let me . . . die . . . in . . . peace . . ."

David flinched, and knelt beside the stricken sorcerer. "Can't do that, buddy. You helped me out on that damn plane, now it's my turn to help you."

"Don't . . . shout . . . please . . ."

David lowered his voice as much as humanly possible and whispered, "C'mon, Rumple. Let's get you off the floor."

"No . . . the floor's good . . ." Rumple groaned.

But David just put an arm about him and rolled him gently to a sitting position.

Rumple's head flopped forward like a ragdoll's, and he half-hissed, "If . . . you want to . . . help me . . . call . . . Emma . . ."

"Call Emma? What for?" Charming repeated, puzzled. "I don't think you want her to see you like this."

"Just . . . do it!" Rumple moaned.

"Why?"

"Because . . . she . . . has . . . a gun. . . I want . . . her . . . to . . . shoot . . . me . . ." Rumple managed to get out.

"Yeah, I know the feeling," David said. "I wanted to put a gun to my head too. Several times."

"Why . . . didn't . . . you?"

"I couldn't find one . . . and couldn't get up to look either," the former prince replied. He sighed as he saw that Rumple's silk shirt was wrinkled and bore a few unmentionable stains on it. "Be right back, buddy. I'm going to get you some water and a cold towel, okay?"

He was gone about five minutes. But it was long enough to run into Belle, Snow, and Emma. All three women had woken up to use the bathroom and had taken turns after discovering poor Rumple was in the other one. Now they all congregated in the hallway.

"Hey, girls. Uh . . . I was just bringing Rumple some water," Charming said. "He's sick as a dog."

"Sicker," Emma replied with the voice of experience. "Believe me, I ought to know."

Snow gaped at her. "You . . . were drunk?"

"Yup. Couple times. Especially after Bae and I broke up that time. Drank tequila shots like ambrosia. And nothing beats a tequila induced hangover." Emma shuddered.

"That's only 'cause you've never done Jagerbombs, Em," Bae said, coming out of the second bathroom. "Trust me, you'd rather be tortured than have that hangover."

"I got a hangover once. After girl's night with Ruby and Ashley," Snow recalled. "I wanted to ram myself into a wall."

"I never knew that!" Charming gasped.

"Well, you weren't there," his wife replied.

"I . . . I've never been that drunk," Belle admitted. "Poor Rumple! How long has he been in there . . . like that?"

"Probably a couple of hours, is my guess," David said.

"How terrible!" Belle cried. "Is there anything we can do?"

"I'm going to bring him some water and a cold towel," Charming said. "Sometimes that helps a little."

"Yeah, at least you're not throwing up your insides," Emma murmured.

"Or you're throwing up something besides them," Bae reflected. "I can bring those, David."

"No, better let me, Baelfire. The last thing he'd want is for you to see him like this," Charming shook his head.

"But I'm his son—"

"And that's why you're going to stay out here and let me deal with him. A man's got his pride and he'd probably die right there if he knew you'd seen him like this," David insisted. "I know you mean well, but . . . let me handle it. You and Emma can try and figure out a remedy."

"We can too," Belle said suddenly. "Snow, let's Google some cures on our phones." She ran back into the bedroom she shared with Rumple and grabbed her cell.

Snow went to get hers too, while Bae and Emma went into the den, where a small wet bar was, and began to look through it for a few things. "A bartender I used to know told me the best hangover cure was tomato juice with pepper and lime and sugar," Emma said.

"I used to drink black coffee and water," Bae said.

"And take two aspirins?" his wife asked wryly, looking for some tomato juice.

"Nah. That would make me puke. A friend of mine swore by bacon and eggs."

Emma made a face. "No way. The mere smell of that the morning after would make me puke the rest of my guts out. Like I did when I was pregnant."

While Belle and Snow Googled on their cells, David returned to Rumple, and began trying to get him to drink the glass of water mixed with some sugar. "C'mon, Rumple. You're dehydrated, buddy. This'll help."

Rumple stubbornly turned his head away. "No. I can't . . ."

"I know you feel like hell, but this'll help," David urged, putting the glass to the sorcerer's lips after he'd brushed his hair out of his face. "Just like you told me . . . sip it, Gold."

Reluctantly, Rumple sipped the water.

David coaxed him to drink about half the glass and then draped the wet towel about the back of his neck. "There. How's that feel?"

Rumple made a face. "Do . . . you always feel this . . . damned awful?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Then . . . why the hell do you keep doing it?"

"'Cause you forget about the last time," David replied candidly.

"Never again . . ." Rumple whispered.

David half-smiled at the familiar litany. He'd said that too.

"Rumple, buddy, how about getting into . . . uh . . . something beside your . . . uh . . . suit . . .like a pair of sweats and a T-shirt?"

Rumple glared up at him balefully. "How? I can . . . barely sit up, Nolan!"

"I can help . . . if you want?" David offered awkwardly.

Rumple went mute, pride warring with his innate need for cleanliness.

"Where's . . . Belle?"

"She's . . . uh . . . Googling cures for hangovers on her cell."

"She knows?" Rumple looked like he wanted to crawl in a hole.

"Yeah . . . we kind of all do," David admitted.

The sorcerer hung his head. "Tell Emma to shoot me. Now. Put me . . . out of my misery . . . like an old dog . . ."

"Hey, don't talk like that. We've all been there, buddy."

"Yeah, right."

"Trust me. I'm serious."

"All of you have been this . . . disgracefully sick before?" Rumple asked.

"Been there, done that. Lots of times," Charming said, sounding uncharitably cheerful.

"No . . . way . . ." Rumple whimpered. "Ah . . . God . . ." He dragged himself to his feet, started to unbutton his shirt, then promptly felt his stomach heave.

David moved, holding him upright as much as possible, while he threw up.

When he could talk again, Rumple snarled, "I told . . . you . . . I can't keep . . . anything . . . down . . ."

"Here. Rinse your mouth," David whispered. "Now drink some more, Gold."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"I said . . . no!"

David started snickering.

"What the . . . hell is . . . so funny?" spat Rumple. His head still felt like it was coming off.

"Us. I feel like I'm having an argument with a three-year-old."

"Shut up!"

"Not till you take a sip, Gold."

"Why? Do you like seeing me like this?"

"Nope. It's cause then you've got something in there to throw up. Now take a sip."

"Okay. But then I'm dying. Right the hell now."

David smirked. It was almost like hearing an echo . . . of himself once upon a time.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Emma insisted upon mixing up the tomato juice cure, though Bae said adamantly that it didn't work. "How do you know that, Baelfire?"

"You ever try it?" he queried.

"No, but that doesn't mean it doesn't work."

"He needs coffee and water," Bae insisted.

"Or milk with honey," Snow said, holding her phone.

"I found a site that says something called tiger balm is good for headaches," Belle said.

"What the hell's tiger balm?" Emma muttered.

"It's an Asian herbal medicine," Bae replied. "I've heard of it."

"Where do you get it?"

"At the Asian market, probably," her husband mused. "I can go out and look . . . once it's open. It probably opens at eight or nine AM."

"What else did you find?" Emma asked.

"Uh, mostly the same as you've said," Snow replied. "And some really weird things. Someone recommended running and swimming in the ocean. And eating shrimp with tobacco sauce."

"Fat chance of that," Bae snorted.

"Peppermint tea," Belle announced.

Charming emerged from the bathroom.

"How is he?" asked Belle anxiously.

"Still sick. I'm going to get some sweats and a T-shirt for him. Did he bring something like that?"

"Uh . . . yes, I packed him some. He sleeps in them." Belle said, then blushed.

"Nothing wrong with that," Bae said. "I do."

"Same here," Charming said, then went into the bedroom to get them.

With some assistance, Rumple managed to put on his sweats and a black T-shirt with the Fire Mountain logo on it—a gift from Bae.

Charming got him his cane and helped him back to bed.

Then his well-meaning family tried out the cures they'd discovered . . . most of which made him puke.

Finally he ordered them all away and said he just wanted to die in peace.

It was then that Henry and Alina woke up.

"Got anything for breakfast?" the boy asked brightly.

"Uh . . we can go downstairs and see," Emma said.

"How about coffee?" Alina asked. Then she looked around. "Where's Papa?"

"He's . . . umm . . . not feeling well," Belle told her.

"We still haven't tried the coffee," Bae insisted.

"I can make coffee!" Alina offered.

"Okay. Make it strong. You two do that while I go out to the store and get something to make Papa feel better," Bae told them. "That Asian market should be open now."

"You sure you know how to get there?" Emma said.

"Sure. I've been to it before, last time I was in the city," her husband said. "Be back before you know it." He kissed her lightly.

Alina and Henry went to make the coffee while the rest of them got dressed.

They found the old style percolator in a cabinet of the kitchenette, as well as a can of Newman's Dark Roast with a scoop, which they opened with a can opener they found in a drawer.

"I'll pour in the water and you can scoop in the coffee," Alina said, filling up the pot at the sink.

"Okay. You've done this before, right?" Henry asked.

"Um . . . well, usually Alice already had some made, but . . . how hard can it be?" she replied, setting the pot down.

"How many scoops do I put in this basket thing?" Henry asked.

Alina rolled her eyes. "Duh, it's a twelve cup, so . . . one scoop for each cup. Bae said to make it strong."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Henry nodded, and he began scooping in the coffee.

Once all the coffee was in, he put on the lid and plugged it in.

The coffee began to perk and after a few minutes Henry peered under the counter and found something else. "Hey, what are these?" he held up a white crinkled thing.

Alina frowned. "Looks like a big muffin paper."

"What do you use them for?"

"I dunno. Maybe if you're making giant cupcakes?" she speculated.

About five minutes later, the coffee stopped perking.

"I think it's done," Henry said.

"Okay. Let's put some in a cup for Papa. Maybe it'll make him feel better," Alina suggested. She poured some coffee into a cup. "Uh . . . Henry? This looks like . . . mud."

"Mud?" he came and looked at the sludge in the mug. "What happened?"

Alina looked totally confused. "Got me."

"How's the coffee coming, kids?" asked Snow. She was dressed in a casual set of white pants, a pink shirt, and a pretty blue scarf.

"Uh . . . Snow? We sort of . . . have a problem," Alina began.

"What kind of problem?" she came and peered at the coffee. "Oh. Umm . . . how much did you put in there?"

"Bae said to make it extra strong so we . . . uh . . . put in twelve scoops," Henry told her blithely.

"Twelve scoops!" Snow started laughing.

"Yeah. One for each cup." Henry said.

"Oh, boy!" Snow was still cracking up.

"But it looks like mud. Papa'll never drink this," Alina predicted.

"Not with how he's feeling," Snow agreed. "Let's just . . . empty this out and I'll show you how to brew a new pot, okay?"

"Sure, Gran," Henry said, smiling.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Rumple woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. It almost made him forget how awful he felt. He opened his eyes and squinted through the soft light filtering through the curtains on the windows of his room. When he was reasonably sure his head wasn't automatically going to roll off his shoulders, he cautiously sat up on the pillows.

When he didn't immediately feel like he was going to toss up his cookies again, he just lolled there, rubbing his temples with his hands.

The aroma of coffee wafted through the door and he inhaled it slowly.

It smelled . . . wonderful.

Just then the door opened and Belle and Emma walked in. Belle had a mug of coffee in her hand.

"Hey, Rumple. I brought you some coffee. Do you think you can . . . drink it?" Belle asked, her blue eyes bright with worry.

"I'll try, dearie. Just put it there."

Belle set it on the nightstand, after clearing away the rest of the glasses with various things in them, except for the water.

"How do you feel, Rumple?" Emma asked.

"I've been better," the sorcerer answered honestly.

Emma nodded. "Bae swears the coffee will help. He's gone to get something that might help your headache. Some Asian thing."

"I know something else that'll help," Rumple said wryly.

"What's that?" asked his daughter-in-law.

"Your gun to my head."

"Rumplestiltskin!" Belle gasped.

Emma winced. "I know what that feels like."

"Emma! Don't encourage him!" Belle cried.

Rumple arched an eyebrow, then winced. "It was a quip, dearie. Sort of." He went to pick up the cup of coffee. His hand shook though, so Belle cupped hers around his and helped him.

He sipped it and sighed in relief when it didn't seem to make his stomach rebel. "That's good." He took another sip, but then after three sips put it down. Then he sipped an equal amount of water. He looked at his wife. "You eat yet, dearie?"

"No, but we were going to see what they had for breakfast downstairs," Belle said.

"You do that. I just need to rest."

"Well, Regina's still asleep, so I can stay here with her and then Bae and I'll get something to eat with her when he gets back," Emma said.

"If you're sure, Emma?" Belle asked.

"Positive. You go and eat with my parents, Henry, and Alina," Emma assured her.

"I'll bring you back some crackers or toast, Rumple," Belle said, placing a kiss on his cheek before she left.

Rumple made a face. "Like I can eat that."

Emma shrugged. "You might . . . if you wait a bit."

"Mind if I . . . ask you something?" Gold queried, a little diffidently.

"Shoot . . . umm . . . I mean . . ."

"How long does it last? This hangover?"

"Depends. Some of mine lasted an entire morning or afternoon. Sometimes, with the really bad ones, they lasted all day," Emma sighed. "Like the one with the tequila shots."

"Oh."

"But sleep usually helps," Emma said. Then she went out, leaving Rumple to sip some more coffee and lay back on the pillows.

He closed his eyes, thankful no one in his family was making smart comments about how idiotic he'd been, drinking one too many on a damn airplane like some lush, and then ending up feeling like he'd been thrown into Dante's inferno. Somewhere there ought to have been a thirteenth circle of hell or whatever for hung over people, he mused. Then he shivered just imagining an eternity with a hangover like this one. Don't think about it, you jackass. Otherwise you'll puke again and that's the last thing you need.

He tried to think of innocuous things, like flowing water, a gentle breeze, Belle's voice, silk sheets . . . whoa, he was so not going there! Well, not now anyway. He pressed the side of his face into the pillow and half-dozed, a dreamy smile upon his face.

That was how Emma found him twenty minutes later, she'd come in to ask if he'd needed anything else, like a bucket or a towel. She stared at the sleeping sorcerer, her lips quivering. He was smirking lopsidedly in his sleep and she pulled out her cell and took a picture. Then she took another one for good measure, laughing softly. Aww, Gold! Only you could look cute as a fluffy bunny the morning after! She tucked the phone away to show Bae later.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

The suite grew very quiet after the rest of the family had left to go to breakfast. Bored, Emma flipped through channels on the TV, then got up to drink some coffee. While she was in the kitchenette she recalled something else that she used to do when she had a hangover, and found a blue thermal bag and filled it with ice cubes from the little freezer. Thank God this hotel was like luxury class and had such things in it. Though they probably charged twenty dollars just to use the ice cubes, she thought wryly.

Then again, Gold was paying and he didn't give a damn about spending money, one of the perks of the insanely rich.

She carried the ice pack into the bedroom, finding her father-in-law still asleep. Emma carefully placed the ice pack on his forehead.

It flopped over in a most undignified fashion and Emma giggled a little and snapped another picture with her cell before hurrying from the room. It was too funny . . . sort of. The unflappable Rumplestiltskin, hung over like any common mortal.

She left the door slightly ajar in case he woke and needed something. Then she went to sit on the couch and watch TV, but there was nothing on and she fell asleep listening to Good Morning America, chuckling slightly because poor Rumple wouldn't think this morning was good at all and probably throw something at the television.

Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Regina woke and slipped out of the big bed and raced into the hall looking for the potty. Finding it, the toddler quickly used the toilet, then came out and looked around. "Mommy? Daddy?"

There was no one here, except Emma asleep on the couch and the TV was on, but there was only boring grown-up shows on, not cartoons like she normally watched. She went and grabbed Sofia off the bed, then came back out and saw Rumple's door half-ajar.

She shoved it open and saw her uncle asleep, with some weird blue thing on his head. "He-ey, Unca Rumple!" she called. "Wake up! It's morning time!"

Rumple thought a banshee had invaded his room. "What the f-?" he bit off the rest of what he almost said when he saw Regina standing there, holding her doll, in her cute ruffled mint green nightgown, her bare toes peeping out from it.

"Ahh . . . God!" he moaned, half sitting up. The ice pack fell on his face, and he picked it up and put it back where it belonged, as it numbed the headache somewhat.

"Whatsamatter, Unca Rumple?" Regina asked curiously.

Rumple winced and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh . . . not so loud, dearie. Uncle doesn't feel good."

"I sorry," the toddler said, her brow puckering as she regarded her relative. The last thing she recalled her uncle doing was singing with her at the airport (she'd fallen asleep soon after reaching the hotel). She walked over to him and crawled on the bed, then leaned over and kissed the suffering sorcerer on the cheek. "There! All better now?"

In spite of himself, Rumple twitched his mouth into a half-smile. "Much, little imp."

Regina grinned at him. "Mommy says kisses make everything better."

"True. Now please . . . don't shout," he remonstrated, for her little voice grated on his too sensitive eardrums.

"Okay. We playin' the quiet game, Unce Rumple?" she whispered.

"Yes. Where's everyone?"

"Dunno. Emma's sleepin', on the couch," she answered.

"Umm . . ." he knew that wasn't good. Regina left to her own devices inevitably spelled trouble with a capital "T". And he sure as hell wasn't up to minding her. Where the hell was David? Or Snow? "Umm . . . okay, Regina. You're gonna play a game with me," he whispered.

"Cool!" she yelled happily, forgetting to whisper.

Rumple felt his headache spike and he bit his lip hard to keep from snarling several words he knew the three-year-old shouldn't say yet. He shut his eyes, willing the terrible pounding of dwarf pickaxes to go away.

When the throbbing subsided from agonizing to a dull ache once more, he whispered, "Shhh . . . no yelling. . . listen . . ."

She cocked her head at him, then put her ear beside his mouth so he could whisper into it.

"We're . . .playing . . . hospital . . . and I'm the patient . . . and . . ."

"But . . . I wanna be sick too . . ." she whined.

"Okay . . . we're both sick and . . . you get to lie here next to me . . ."

"And Mommy'll bring me tea? But I ain't takin' no yucky medicine," she said, scowling. "An' you can't make me!"

"No . . . no . . . you're just going to stay by me . . ." he assured her.

"Okay!" she rolled over next to him, bouncing on the bed.

Rumple prayed he wouldn't throw up, because he felt like he was on a ship. In a storm. About to capsize.

Regina settled next to him and the bed quit rolling.

Rumple thanked God.

"Okay . . ." he whispered. "Now . . . shh . . ."

Regina pretended to sleep . . . for about five minutes. Then she sat up and said, "You done bein' sick now?"

Rumple just groaned pathetically, wondering if this were like being in purgatory for all the sins he'd committed. Father, forgive me, for I have sinned . . . now please, please, please get her to quit talking and just lie here quietly . . .before my head explodes.

A little hand gently patted his cheek. "Unca Rumple?"

He ignored it.

"Unca Rumple?"

He'd pretend he was on a deserted island. Dying of some deadly tropical disease.

"Unca Rumple!" Regina half-screamed right in his ear.

Rumple thought he was seeing stars. He yelled involuntarily. "Dammit, get the hell away from me!" Then he clutched his head and waited to black out. Or at least that's what he wanted to happen. As the room revolved crazily, Rumple prayed the slight nausea he was feeling would leave, because he didn't dare move his head . . . it was sure to crack open and spill what was left of his brains out on the floor.

Somewhere in the distance he heard someone crying. He wasn't sure, but he thought it was Regina. Or maybe it was himself. Though he prayed it wasn't. He'd be a real coward if he was sobbing over a damn alcoholic induced headache.

"Hey, little imp, what's all the fuss over?" Bae said, walking into the suite and the first thing he heard, over the blare of the TV, was Regina howling. Then he realized where the howling was coming from and groaned. "Aww crap!" Tucking a package under his arm, he raced into the bedroom.

He saw Regina kneeling on top of the bed, tears falling like rain down her face, sobbing, "Sorry! I sorry! Don't be mad!"

And his father had his hands clamped to his head, his face screwed in up in agony, whimpering like he was being drawn and quartered.

Bae flinched. He knew exactly why Rumple was like that and he grabbed Regina off the bed and patted her back. "Regina, sweetie, stop crying, okay?"

"Unca Rumple's mad at me! I just want him to get up an' play with me!"

"Listen, imp, Uncle Rumple's sick, he can't play with you."

"Can you?" she sniffled.

"Nope, not right now. Why don't you go wake up Emma? She'll play with you," Bae said, then set the toddler down and gave her a gentle tap on the behind to get her moving out the door.

Two seconds later he heard Regina shouting, "Emma! Rise and shine!"

Bae chuckled wickedly then he sobered when he looked at his father. "Papa?" he whispered. "Papa, it's Bae. I've got you something to help that headache."

Rumple moaned. "Just shoot me. Please?"

"This'll work better," his son said, removing the container of tiger balm from the brown bag. "Just lie still, okay? I'm going to massage it into your temples and on two spots on your forehead and if I can, the back of your neck. It'll help, I promise. I used this in Japan after I drank too much sake one night."

Bae took some of the balm and rubbed it between his hands a little to warm it. Then he knelt beside the bed and gently touched the tips of his fingers to either side of his father's head, massaging delicately in a circular motion. "Relax . . . relax . . . this'll feel really good in about ten seconds . . . I promise . . . breathe, Papa . . . that's it . . ."

Bae continued whispering soothingly while making his fingers dance over Rumple's temples. He worked the balm in by degrees and then moved his hands over the sorcerer's face, touching certain pressure points above the sinuses and on the forehead, using techniques taught to him by his Japanese martial arts master, who had also known acupuncture. Bae didn't know how to do that, but he knew about pressure points and massage.

"Shoulda done this last night . . ." he murmured. "I'm sorry I didn't . . ." He continued working the balm in and then rubbing circles on Rumple's temples.

Gradually, Rumple felt the crushing pressure in his skull recede. He could almost think again, and it was such a relief he gasped. "Bae . . . oh God . . . Bae . . ."

"You okay, Papa? I'm not . . . hurting you, right?" he didn't think so, but still . . .

"No . . . pain's . . . not bad . . ." Rumple managed, for with the throbbing lessened by whatever his son was doing, his queasy stomach was settling.

Relieved, Bae continued rubbing, and soon the astringent scent of the tiger balm filled the room. "How's that? Better, right? Okay, now I'm gonna sit you up, just a bit . . . you can lean on my shoulder . . . so I can do the back of your neck."

Bae gently helped Rumple sit up, and let the older man lean on his shoulder, almost like Rumple was hugging him, while he tucked his father's hair off to the side and scooped up more balm and massaged the back of his neck. "Damn . . . you're so tense . . . no wonder that headache's lingering . . ."

Rumple just put his head down on his son's shoulder and let him work whatever magic he was doing, too sick to fight the pain any more, or worry about his tattered pride now.

Bae touched a few more points along Rumple's neck and shoulders, easing the tension dramatically. After he'd worked in the balm, which had several ingredients in it to relax and soothe inflammed muscles and clear blocked sinuses and work with the body's natural meridians to heal, he helped Rumple lie back against the pillows.

"Okay. How's that feel? Better?"

Rumple blinked, able suddenly to focus now without pain. "Bae . . . whatever you did . . . it's like magic . . . my headache's . . . almost gone . . ."

Bae grinned. "Thank God, right? And that's my magic . . . not bad, huh?"

Rumple clasped Bae's hand. "Thank you . . .I feel like a human being again . . ."

"I'm glad," Bae said sincerely. "I don't know why I didn't think of that sooner."

"I don't know why I was so stupid and drank too much," his father muttered.

"Hey, we've all done it. More than once, in my case," Bae admitted. "But you live and learn, right?"

Rumple nodded. "I am never doing that again."

"Want some coffee?" his son asked.

"Sure. And tell Regina to come here . . . I think I snapped at her . . ."

"Will do. But I think she's fine now. I can hear her singing something about Rice Krispies to Emma," Bae laughed. "Oh, by the way, this guy wants to record you singing Danny Boy, Papa."

"What? Bae, I don't sing in public!"

"Uh . . . you did when we got off the plane. You might not remember it, but . . . you were singing," Bae chuckled. "I recorded it on my phone."

"You what?"

"Just kidding," his son smirked. "But hey, maybe you've got a future as a singing sorcerer."

"Oh, you're a riot."

"Be right back."

Soon his son returned with a fresh cup of black coffee and Regina in tow.

"Unca Rumple, I sorry I screamed in your ear," she said contritely.

"I know, dearie. And I'm sorry I bellowed at you."

"Are you still sick?"

"I'm getting better."

"Are you gonna get up soon?"

"In a little bit. And maybe I'll have some toast."

"Bae says one day we're gonna go to this big toy store. Like the biggest ever!"

"That we are, dearie. And when we do, I'll buy you something. Deal?"

"Deal!" she said, then she shook his hand. Then she climbed up on the bed and curled up next to him. "Love you, Unca Rumple."

"Love you too, dearie," he replied, and put an arm around her. Then he drank the coffee his son had brought, feeling better by the minute, and thanking God for his brilliant boy.

A/N: well, how was that? Thanks so much for all your awesome reviews and everything! Please continue, they inspire me to write faster.