Chapter 33
A/N. A special shout-out to everyone who's commented and favorited "Undone," and especially to those who placed it in communities. Thank you for bringing breath to this story!
The next several chapters were inspired by songs from U2's How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, which is the perfect accompaniment for an action-oriented story about redemption. So as you read chapter 33, pretend you hear Bono and his own Lost-but-Found-Again Boys singing "Miracle Drug," "One Step Closer" and "A Man and a Woman." Oh, and the last few paragraphs have U2's "Beautiful Day" (All That You Can't Leave Behind) at heart.
On the surface, Gold is unruffled, but beneath the blanket of his hospital bed, his leg—the unwounded one—jitters as he casts furtive glances at Belle. All sorts of excuses leap to his tongue: It was almost 200 years ago! If I had known then that I'd someday meet you, Belle, I never would have touched Cora. If I had known what she would do to you, Regina—
Oh, but the truth is, he had had a pretty good idea what Cora would do to Regina, and he not only allowed it, he fostered it, because he needed a curse caster. And though he'd never in his wildest dreams imagined he'd find someone like Belle, he had allowed himself to be snared by Cora—hell, he'd done some of the snaring himself, just to escape loneliness for a little while. So he clenches his jaw: he'll make no excuses.
If he still had magic, though, he'd be outta here.
Belle catches him looking at her, and her face relaxes into a smile. He understands then that she understands and she sees no need to excuse or forgive; she understands the emptiness of his life in those days, so soon after he'd become the Dark One, too soon not to feel human; so soon after the loss of Bae. Silently he promises her that one day, when no threat hangs over them, he will tell her the rest of his story, without reservation, without apology, without fear that she will turn away from him.
"That was you," Regina seems to be talking to herself; she stares at the mirror, which is just a mirror now, and she won't look at him. "'Poor little wee one'—that was you. You came to my nursery when I was little. The nanny thought I was crazy, fantasizing about some magic creature that came to my nursery and sang me songs when no one else was around."
Gold answers,"I checked in on you sometimes, until your wedding. After that I waited for you to summon me. Do you see now how it was between her and me? It was a huge mistake for both of us, and as soon as I met Belle and saw what love really is, I realized what Cora and I had was destructive for both of us. But at the time I thought her pain mirrored mine. My power and her ruthlessness—I thought we would be invincible together. Or at least, less alone."
Now she looks at him, giving him no room for a lie. "Did you love her?"
She will take offense; she may even explode, but he admits, "It wasn't love, Regina. I don't know what it was. A shared sickness, maybe. I didn't force or finagle your mother into anything; between us, she was the strong one, not me. But you saw it all: there was one healthy, loving relationship in that sick household."
Her forehead puckers. "Me. You loved me."
He closes his eyes. "I didn't corrupt Cora. You're the one I corrupted, for my son's sake, even though I cared about you. So I suppose you're entitled to your revenge, and if being more powerful than I am gives you a sense of victory, you have it, Regina. And for that, I'm sorry."
With an annoyed wave of her hand, Regina makes the mirror disappear and the screen roll back in place, giving her a measure of privacy. If she were honest about it, she'd admit she's as pissed at herself as she is at him. Tricked again—and Regina was that last person in the worlds that Cora should've been able to fool. Desperate hearts cry out to be deceived.
But much later, when night has fallen and the hospital is quiet except for the squeaking of Tiny's sneakers as he patrols the hallway, guarding two people he doesn't trust but is willing to fight to the last breath for, just because David asked him to, Regina reflects on the memories the mirror revealed. She slides the screen away and sneaks peeks at the sleeping Gold, looking for hints of Rumplestiltskin, not the magic teacher or the co-curse -conspirator or the bitter rival, but the man who humbled himself to change the diapers of another man's baby. The man who saw that the "poor little wee one" in the cradle had a heart that mirrored his own.
Sheriff's Office 5:15 pm
Her jacket slung over her shoulder, her now heavily-scribbled-in notebook in one hand and her keys in the other and a stale bear claw between her teeth, Emma nods goodbye to Ruby, who's delivered supper to the prisoner and will babysit him until the meeting is over. Emma casts a wistful glance toward Hook's cell, and the pirate takes—no, steals—encouragement from that and makes a pass at her, though it's incomplete because Emma's dashing out to her Bug. It's not Hook that's whetted her appetite; it's the five-course meal from Granny's.
She's got just enough time to grab a sandwich from the hospital cafeteria—another cold, stale sandwich. Somebody owes Emma a proper supper. When this mess is over, she'll figure out who.
As she slides behind the steering wheel, she takes out her phone with the intention of calling Neal. He ought to be in on this discussion: he possesses information about Neverland and Pan that no one else here does. But then she reconsiders: he's in mourning; he has a right to privacy. She dials Slightly instead and invites the other Lost Boys to the meeting.
Danny's Fish and Chips 5:15 pm
The Lost Boys' dinner has just been delivered when Emma calls. "Eat fast, boys. We got a meeting at 6," Slightly instructs his companions, to the groan of his foot-sore companions. But when they hear the subject of the discussion, their complaints are cut short.
Slightly wonders if he should—and before he can finish the thought, he receives a text: INVITE BAE. He smiles as he dials. He's worked for the boss long enough to realize this may be just the excuse Petey needs to start talking to his father again. Too bad the subject of the conversation will be the potential destruction of Storybrooke.
Granny's B & B Room 8, 5:15 pm
Bae's phone chirps. He's on his fourth beer and he doesn't care. Instead of getting drunk he'd have taken Tam's car—maybe that's not quite legal, but who'd stop him?—and beat it out of this damn town, except her body is still here. Nobody's told him anything so he doesn't know when the ME will release the body to him. He supposes he should make funeral arrangements, but what funeral parlor is open on a Sunday afternoon? Besides, he hasn't even decided yet if he'll transport her body back to New York or bury her here. Since she has—had—no family, he has no one to consult.
Maybe he should take her back to her hometown. Maybe she would have liked that. They never talked about burial plans—hell, she was only 31 (he claims to be 35, though technically, if you include the years in Neverland—which maybe you shouldn't because no one ages there—he's 243). If he's going to bury her in her hometown, first he's going to have to remember where that is. He's sure she must have mentioned it at some point, but since he was always preoccupied with avoiding questions about his own childhood, he only half-listened when she talked about hers.
This isn't fair.
He thinks he's going to throw his empty can into the waste basket, but he throws it at the wall instead.
He's lost his fiancée and his father all in one moment. It's not fair, especially those two—he needs at least one of them to turn to right now. Not fair to find love twice and lose it both times. Not fair to lose his father twice.
Bae pulls the top on #5. This concerns him: there's only one can left and the grocery store's closed and the diner doesn't sell drinks on Sundays. It's all Rumplestiltskin's fault (Rumplestiltskin, not Gold: Bae will never get used to the curse name): this town, this murder, Milah's murder. Bae's sophisticated enough that he doesn't draw a direct connection between Tam's murder or Milah's and Rumple: he knows the real culprit is magic. The Dark One takes over and Rumple's too weak to stand up against him, and the magic allows the Dark One to do anything. It's the magic's fault, and the insecurity and distrust that drive Rumple to depend on the magic.
But, Bae supposes, it really doesn't matter why. It just matters what. The what was murder, two of them. No, more than that: there were the four people Rumple killed when Bae still lived with him, and no doubt, countless more since then.
A man who would kill his son's mother and fiancée is a man to be avoided at all costs. . . a man that son should make damn sure stays away from his son. Bae's not so sure Emma will see it that way, but since Bae himself hasn't had a squeaky clean past, he figures there's not much chance he could win a custody battle, so he's going to have to have a long talk with Emma about Henry's future—and who should be in it.
Storybrooke General Room 304, 5:15 pm
Emma and her parents will be here any minute, and a text he received from her informed him she's invited the Lost Boys too. A wise decision, Gold agrees. He requires his dignity, since he no longer has power, so he picks up the suit and the cane and with Belle's shoulder to lean on he hobbles into the lav to change.
He shaves (avoiding meeting his own eyes in the mirror; he's not ready to face a magicless Rumplestiltskin) and brushes his hair, wishes for a shower but has to settle for a quick wash in the sink. With his boxers and his silk shirt on, he feels ten times better, though he recognizes that, with his magic gone, he will never feel like himself again.
With his son gone, he will never feel right again.
He wonders, as he ties his tie, if Bae's right: could he have stopped Tamara without killing her?
He sits down on the toilet to pull his trousers up to his knees, then he stands to bring them up to his waist—and finds he can't get them on. Damn his vanity; his insistence on snug-fitting trousers has come back to bite him in the butt, literally. Between the bandages and the swelling, he can't squeeze his right leg into the cloth.
Just to make sure, he orders magic to come to his fingertips. Nothing happens.
He sits down on the toilet again with a thump and a mangled sound, half frustration and half grief, escapes him. It's not really the trousers, of course: it's Bae, it's the curse, it's the pain he's caused everyone else but especially Belle, it's two centuries of exhaustive planning and struggle and ruthlessness, it's Henry and Emma and, to a lesser extent, Regina, and it's his powerlessness to fix any of it. And now he can't even tell them that all along, he'd excused the damage he'd done by planning to correct a lot of it (he didn't lie to himself sufficiently to believe he could fix all of it) just as soon as he had Bae and magic back. But he's nothing now, not a father, not a mage, and he can't even fix his damn pants.
There's a soft rap at the door. "All you all right, Rumple?"
Belle's caught him crying. If he asks for his privacy, she'll grant it. It's what he's always done, shutting her out, keeping his secrets. He can ask for his privacy and she'll back away, and nothing will change between them.
But if he asks for her help, she'll give it. He can ask for her help and something will change between them, just slightly. For the better.
He opens the door and lets her in. Once he's explained the problem, she offers immediate assistance: she'll dash to his house, pick up another pair of trousers—no, he says with a blush; all his trousers are the same size. But in the workroom of his shop he has a bag of clothes he bought at a flea market; she might find something there. She kisses his cheek and scurries off, and he slides on his suit jacket and sits down again on the toilet to wait.
Highly amused, Regina eavesdrops on the commotion. If Rumple thinks his conversations with Belle are private, he's forgotten already how easy it is for a mage to amplify her hearing. The situation with the pants strikes Her Majesty as hilarious and she allows herself to laugh heartily. It's a welcome distraction from the seriousness of a few minutes ago, the revelation of the truth about Cora and Rumple's relationship. Regina's not sure which bothers her more: the lie or the truth. But she will think it through tomorrow. Maybe.
Belle returns in ten minutes. She raps on the bathroom door and announces herself, but when she enters, her expression reports her failure. "No pants, I take it," Gold surmises.
She reaches into her coat pocket and withdraws a carefully folded, garishly colored square of cloth. "Just these. I'm sorry, Rumple."
He takes her offering and shakes it out. "Bermuda shorts."
"With green and yellow palm trees," she adds glumly. "But at least the legs are wide."
He holds the shorts against his waist: he'd need a belt to keep them up (does one even wear a belt with Bermuda shorts?). "That they are." He slides them on: maybe they won't look so bad when they're in use?
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she says again. But she glances at the shorts drooping off his hips and her eyes crinkle and her lips quirk up.
Suddenly the shorts don't seem bad at all, not when they make her laugh like that, and he laughs too. "I'm not," he says, when he finally stops laughing. He reaches his hands out to her for a hug, and the shorts fall to the floor. After a hasty hug, he hikes them up again. Bunching the cloth in a fist, he picks up his cane and squares his shoulders. "All right, let's go discuss the future of this community."
"Somehow, it seems appropriate," she says, opening the door. The two of them walk out, heads high.
Now it's Regina's turn to laugh. Seeing those shorts in person—gracing the Dark One's knobby knees and scrawny legs—is so much better than just overhearing Belle's description of them. Regina laughs as the proud couple walk past her and Belle assists Rumple in easing back into his bed. She laughs as Rumple reaches for his sheets, intending to pull them up to his waist, but then he changes his mind and leaves the sheets alone. She laughs so hard her eyes water. When her throat is sore from all the laughing, she catches her breath. "Where are the suit trousers?"
His eyes narrow. "Why?"
"A little thank-you. I haven't had a good laugh in weeks. Never mind, I'll fetch them myself." She waves a hand and the pants fly in from the lav. She makes them stop in mid-air so she can examine them, then she snaps her fingers and the cloth of the right leg stretches out another six inches. A second snap of the fingers and the slacks appear on Rumple, neatly pressed and belted.
The Bermuda shorts appear on Regina's lap. "I'll just keep these as a souvenir." She has the decency to stuff them under her pillow, though, when the Lost Boys arrive, followed by Emma, shoving the last of a hero sandwich into her mouth. After brief greetings, Emma, never one for small talk, catches the patients up on the news (no sign of Greg, but now she's thinking Neal's a potential target too, in a jealous-lover kind of way, so Dove's inviting Neal into the Fortress of Solid Steel for the night).
A few minutes later Snow and David arrive, extra chairs are bought in, and the war council begins.
David falls easily into the leadership role, directing the discussion. Snow provides the eloquent explanations to supplement his plainspoken statements; she draws information from the Boys and Gold, weaves the information into a colorful whole cloth, and blankets everyone with its reassurance. Emma provides the opposite: her sharp perception cuts through the words, summarizing and simplifying so decisions can be made efficiently.
Regina listens to all the talk. She has no stake in this discussion, since she has her own plan and, except for the compass, the means to carry it out. After the Lost Boys and Gold lay out all the information they have—from personal experience, from books, for indirect interactions and from age-old tales carried by portal-jumping travelers—the council is in complete agreement that treaty is not a viable option: Peter Pan the Fourteenth must be fought. What they can't agree upon is how. David and Emma and most of the Lost Boys believe, with a unified effort and planning, Pan can be defeated.
"This is our home," Emma declares, "people are always stronger when they fight for their home." The dubious expression on her father's face reveals his disagreement on the former point: he's made it clear that the Enchanted Forest is still his home. But since he too wants to make a stand, he won't argue where "home" is—yet, anyway.
But Gold—as his true self (though, without magic, he thinks of himself as Gold), older than all the people in this room combined, and best educated in matters of magic—urges, to David's and Emma's shock, evacuation.
"Just walk away, like cowards?" David objects. A dark look passes between the two men, the one who's just, in effect, been called a coward and the one who did the implied name calling.
"You mean, just hand the town over to Pan?" Emma adds.
"What town?" Gold challenges. "This town was fashioned out of whole cloth by a curse. It's a figment of Regina's. . . and my. . . imagination. A Tinker Toy town."
"Maybe that's how it started, but that doesn't make it any less real. We live here now. We live, we work, we build, we tear down, we go to school, we marry and give birth and die, just the same as the people in any town. That makes it real—makes it ours," Emma insists.
"She's right," Nibs says. "It's the people, not the landscape, that makes a community."
"How many of you came here of your own free will?" Gold asks, then glances at Nibs. "Except you fellas. You're just passing through."
"I did," Emma answers. "To Storybrooke, I mean; not to this world."
"Did you? Henry brought you here—and Fate, working through me, brought him here. Why did you stay? Because I rigged an election to give you a stake in this town," Rumple points out. "Everyone else was brought here by the curse. Storybrooke is as fake as the lives we lived here, until Emma broke the curse." He reaches for his cane and drags himself to his feet. He stands tall; only Belle notices the white of his knuckles clutching the cane, a reaction to the pain shooting through his ankle and his thigh. "I think you underestimate the forces Peter Pan can marshal, or overestimate your own. Magic must be fought with magic. Assess your resources: one fairy, whose conduct is tightly controlled by fairy law; one powerful mage, but entirely untrained; a child, also powerful, but also untrained—and I know you, Queen Snow and Prince David: you will not allow a child to put himself at risk. That's it, against the dozens of demons and evil pixies Pan controls, not to mention Pan himself and his supercharged Losties. Your swords and your arrows are skilled, Prince, and your courage unparalleled, but you saw yourself when you fought Cora, magic must be fought with magic. Save your lives, save your children, and leave this place."
"That will open up this entire world to Pan," David protests. "The magic came from our world; it's our fault Pan is coming, our responsibility to stop him."
"You haven't the power. You'll be slaughtered, your children will be taken as slaves, and Pan will still have this world."
Regina's amusement dissipates as she listens. She has more power and magic know-how than Blue, Emma and Henry put together.
She doesn't want to be alone.
She has no scruples about leaving this world to Pan, no sentimentality about leaving this world, period.
She doesn't want to be alone.
She has the beans.
But not the compass.
She has the fail safe.
But she doesn't want to be alone.
She has no one to worry about except herself and Henry.
And how hard will it be on Henry if all his grandparents, his father, his birth-mother, his counselor, and everyone else he's ever known except Regina die in a slaughter?
He'll be (almost) alone.
Snow brings the argument to a screeching halt. "All ethical considerations aside, where do you suggest we evacuate to? We can't go back to the Enchanted Forest without the beans."
All heads turn to Regina, who sneers back. "Those beans are worthless without the compass," Emma reminds her. "And I have that."
Regina mulls it over.
"There's an additional piece of news Regina shared with us earlier," Gold says. "A fail safe, in her possession."
"Which is?"
"Sort of a reset button. It will return this area to its natural state. Everything the curse planted here will be assimilated by nature in a matter of hours."
"No trace of us," Belle muses. "No one will ever know we were here."
"Yes. And anyone who doesn't belong in this world, who wasn't born here, will be assimilated as well." Gold's face and hands are immobile as he explains the situation. Only Belle notices that inside his Ferragamos, the big toe of his right foot is twitching.
"'Assimilated'," Snow echoes. "Killed."
"'Obliterated' might be a better word. They will simply wink out of existence."
"My gods," Snow says.
"Everyone," David figures it out. "Including us, if we're still here."
"Yes, if we're still here. We can escape it if cross the town line, blend into this world—"
"Lose our memories of our real selves," Belle surmises.
"Or use the beans and the compass to return to the Enchanted Forest, triggering the fail safe as we leave."
"Destroying Storybrooke," says Emma.
"And Pan and his army." Gold pauses to allow time for this news to settle in. "I think it's obvious: we must leave." He shifts his body towards the Lost Boys. "And you gentlemen too."
Nibs asks, "But we'll be safe if go back to New York before the fail safe is activated?"
"Yes. You weren't affected by our curse; you're not limited, as we are."
Nibs shrugs. "Well then, for us there's no choice. We have families in New York."
And now Gold slips, openly revealing a crack in his emotional armor: a muscle in his jaw begins to twitch. He's thinking of Bae, who also has a life in New York—and a huge grudge now against his father.
Regina blurts, "Your count is off, by one." She explains, "Make me a deal and you'll have the beans and the fail safe. Let me in, guarantee me a place in the community and Henry's life, and I'll help you."
"To torture us later?" David snorts. "No thanks. I'm not forgetting that in the Enchanted Forest, you'll still be the Evil Queen."
"That's my deal." Regina glares at him. "Take it or leave it. What do I care?"
"I think you do, Regina," Snow says. "For Henry, at least."
"We may be jumping to conclusions," David says. "We haven't even seen Pan and his army yet. We don't even know if he's coming. Let's not get hasty."
"You saw the boxes," Emma reminds him. "Whoever he is, he's got people, he's got money, he's got high tech. I call that power, whether he's got magic or not. And most of all, he's got plans that include taking down every magician—"
"Mage," Gold corrects in a mutter.
"every mage in this world. Maybe even other worlds."
David gives them time to think, then suggests, "I don't think the few of us can make a decision like this. We need a town meeting, and if possible, give people a choice."
His point made, Gold lowers himself to the edge of his bed. It worries him that this brief verbal battle has taken so much of his energy. If Greg were to attack tonight, or worse, Pan, would Gold have anything left to fight with? He realizes he's pushed these people as far as they will go; that they are delaying the decision and risking the possibility that Pan might steal the choices away, he can do nothing about. Strike one point for monarchy: democracy moves too slowly.
As the war council breaks up for the night, Belle sits down on the bed beside him, holding his hand. He says in a low voice, "I have to ask for your help, Belle. Again."
"Of course." Her hand squeezes his.
"Bae won't answer my calls or my texts. He needs to know about all this—needs to have time to decide. I need to know what he decides."
"I'll find him," she nods.
Watching them whisper and cuddle, Regina finds her stomach churning. She's fully recovered from her injuries, so she figures she needn't stay locked up in this cramped little room until lights out, when she will require protection from vengeful Greg while she sleeps. With a flick of her wrist she transports herself to the cafeteria.
"Regardless of what the others decide. . . I don't think it's much of a choice for us, but what would you choose?"
She gives a tiny shrug of surrender. As much as he would love to offer her two viable alternatives, realistically, for her there is only one. She reaches for her phone and brings up her photo display—not photos she herself has taken, alas, but pictures she's downloaded. As the rest of war council bids her and Gold goodnight (and Emma generously includes Regina in the farewells), Belle leans against his shoulder, sharing the phone between them, slowly moving through the display: the Great Wall of China, Versailles, Buckingham Palace, Shakespeare's Globe, the Sphinx, the Taj Mahal, the Coliseum, Christ the Redeemer, the Swiss Alps, the Sistine Chapel, the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, the Yucatan, Stonehenge, Victoria Falls, the Aurora Borealis, the Mona Lisa, Michelangelo's David, the Gutenberg Bible, New York Public Library. And the last in her collection: the Blue Marble photo.
She swallows the lump in her throat. She doesn't have to say anything: these photos answer his question. His arm goes around her. "I'm so sorry, Belle." If it were in his power, he would give her this world; he would fill her senses with all the wonder and beauty she can only imagine from these miniscule images. But she really has no choice. To cross the town line would be a blessing for Red or Frankenstein or hundreds of other Storybrooke residents, for their fairytale selves were their cursed selves; but if Belle crosses the town line, she becomes Lacey.
He works his jaw furiously at the injustice of it. She who would most appreciate this world can never see it except in photographs.
"Not now, but maybe someday. Modern magic is making great advances, is it not?" she jokes. She gives him a quick peck on the cheek. "But more than all this, I want to be with you, and I want us to be with Bae and Henry. . . and my father. That's what matters." She strokes his hand as it rests on her shoulder. "If it weren't for me and Bae, what would you choose? Would you go back and be Rumplestiltskin, or stay in this world as Gold?"
He considers the question and at last answers, "Something else, I suppose. I'd like to think I've evolved past Rumplestiltskin and can move past Gold. Where I would live—as Yeats said, 'That is no country for old men.' The Enchanted Forest belongs to the princekins with their unending strength and unyielding plans." He brushes a strand of hair back from her face. "If you were by my side, I'd rather climb the Pyramid of Kukulcan as a lame old man than lord over the North Mountain lands as the immortal Dark One. But I wouldn't give up a single memory of our time in the Dark Castle together, or of my time with Bae in the years before magic, so crossing the town line is not an option for me either."
She speculates, "Emma will go. Snow and David will persuade her, and Henry will go."
Gold's mouth quirks up. "I suspect he has no choice either. Fate's got plans for the boy."
"And so the only wild card is Bae." Belle rises. "I'll talk to him tonight. Sleep well, my love."
"Sleep well, sweetheart."