17

She had quite forgotten the feel of the sun on her face. All the time that she had spent inside – she did not know how long it was, every day seemed the same, yet it seemed endless – what hurt her most was the cold. She was always cold, inside and out. Her cell was chilly, her blanket thin, she shivered all the time and had to sit on her bed crouching, embracing her knees, trying to get warm. And nothing helped: when she sometimes stood on the bed to try and get a glance of the world outside through the narrow window, the day there was always grey. Well, she couldn't see much, anyway, for most of the view consisted of the blank brick wall, but the narrow strip of the sky over it was always, always the same color – dull and dark. The air was cold, too, and humid. It felt like eternal winter. The world seemed just as dark and solitary and… suspended in time as she felt inside. It did not go anywhere, for it did not know where to go; it did not even know where it was to start with. Just like her.

And then, today, things moved, suddenly. The silence broke – she heard people running and calling for something in angry and frightened way. There was some unusual activity behind her locked door, in the world outside. And then a truly amazing thing happened – the door opened, and there was a strange young man, dressed as a doctor, who told her to leave, at once, and sent her to find some other man and give him a message.

And here she was, standing in the middle of the street of some nice small town, dressed in her hospital gown and a coat, which the young man gave her (she suspected it belonged to one of the nurses), and felt the sun on her face. Her lips moved soundlessly as she repeated the message and the name of the man she had to find.

She had no idea where to go.

She supposed she had to ask. There were not many people on the street, but she noticed a nice-looking young woman, with short dark hair covered with smart white woolly hat, and asked her. At the man's name the woman looked at her strangely, with a kind of alarm, but then she shrugged her shoulders and gave her the directions.

She moved down the street in the direction of the port, as indicated by the woman, but then she was lost – the sun and the smell of the fresh wind confused her. She had to ask again, and walked into a café called 'Granny's Diner'. Grumpy-looking elderly lady at the service bar – presumably, Granny herself, – gave a snort when she heard her question and retorted: 'Why would such a nice girl as you want to find that old rascal?' But she gave her the directions anyway, and snorted again at her thanks.

This time, she listened more carefully, and walked with determination, trying not to get distracted with the cheerfulness of the world around. The shop – it appeared the man she sought was a shop-owner – stood on the corner of the street and looked unwelcoming. She wondered if it was closed, and felt a sudden panic. What would she do if the door were locked? Where would she go?

She pushed the door, nevertheless, and to her great relief it opened. The bell over the door tingled sweetly. She stepped in and stopped short, while her eyes adjusted to the dusky interior of the shop. It was filled with all sorts of curious things, which all looked very old. The walls were covered with ornate wallpaper, which was nearly obscured by numerous paintings. The shelves were full of various things from oil-lamps to old clocks and books and what-not. Glass cases were filled with more things, and some things were even hanging from the ceiling – a couple of bicycles, for example. For all its' weirdness, the place felt warm and cozy.

In the far end of the shop, a man was busy with something – he stood with his back to her. She couldn't see him clearly, but he seemed slight – slim and not tall.

She asked uncertainly: 'Excuse me, are you Mr. Gold?'

He started answering her briskly, with a note of irritation in his surprisingly deep voice: 'Yes, but I am afraid the shop is closed…'

He turned to her, and something strange happened to his face. It went blank and very white, as if he was in shock – or as if she frightened him, somehow. His dark eyes stared at her, fixedly, not moving from her face as he started walking towards her, with an outstretched hand, and nearly stumbled. She noticed a cane in his other hand and realized, with a pang of compassion, that he was lame.

She felt stupid delivering her message to such a startled person, but she didn't know what to say otherwise, so she said: 'I was told to find you and to tell you that Regina locked me up'.

She wondered if he heard her – he didn't seem to be listening. He came up close now, and touched her shoulder.

He looked as if he was in great pain as he whispered: 'You are real. You are alive'.

His fingers gripped her shoulder so hard it almost hurt.

She felt moved by the extreme emotion in his voice, but she really couldn't make head or tail out of the whole situation. This man obviously knew her, and didn't expect to see her, and her appearance came as a great shock. She had to have some answers from him.

'I am sorry… Does this mean anything to you?'

He kept looking at her fixedly, as if still surprised that she was talking at all. But apparently he was listening to her, for he asked: 'Regina did this to you?'

He was referring to her message, and she nodded, relieved. Then she said, hesitantly: 'I was told you'd protect me'. She didn't know who Regina was and why she had to be protected from her but, judging from the man' frail look and distraught condition, she doubted he could protect anyone from anything.

At her question, his face broke – he seemed on the verge of tears. His lips quivered, and his voice sounded like a sob as he spoke: 'Of course. Of course I will protect you'.

With that, he had drawn her near – embraced her as if she were a long-lost child. The embrace was so strong as to be almost painful, like his grip earlier, and she heard and felt another sob-like sigh as he pressed his face to her hair.

Thoroughly embarrassed, she extricated herself from his hands and looked at him. It was so very strange that he knew her, and felt for her so strongly, yet she had no idea who he was. She looked into his eyes, willing herself to remember, and failing.

'Excuse me, do I know you?' It felt very rude to ask him that in the face of his obvious distress. But he didn't seem to be offended – he looked at her for a second, obviously trying to get a grip of himself, and failing dismally – his shock was too great. He gave a sort of helpless shrug, and tried to smile, and his whole face crumpled in an attempt to constrain some emotion incomprehensible to her as he answered: 'No. But you will'.

And, despite her own stress and the deepest uncertainty of her position, she suddenly felt relieved – calmed down, almost. He looked slight and shell-shocked, this Mr. Gold, but he excluded some… inner strength. She felt safe with him, even given his weird behavior.

Slightly disoriented, it seemed, he started fussing around the shop, picking up this thing and that, explaining hurriedly that he was 'just going out, as he had some very, very important thing to do, and what do we do now, what do we do with you?' She listened and watched for a while, and then she asked: 'Can't I go with you?'

He looked at her, startled: 'Would you?'

She blushed. 'I've got nowhere else to go'.

His lips quivered, again, but this time he managed to control himself, and took her hand.

His touch was warm and not unpleasant, his palm dry and hot, the grip of his long thin fingers strong and determined.

They walked out of the shop, and started into the woodland that stretched behind it.

As they went up the hill the sun continued to shine, and she, unused to so much activity, began to feel uncomfortable in her warm coat. Despite his limp, Mr. Gold walked very briskly, with surprising agility. The road was difficult: the forest was thick, the path stony and the roots gnarled. It was while they were negotiating some tricky part of the way, getting around the fallen tree, that he let go of her hand for a moment (he could not make this difficult move with his cane and her hand in his), and she fell slightly behind.

It was then that she felt it – the sudden and sharp shock, as some invisible wave hit her, stunning her for a moment, and immediately brining her life into focus.

In a split second it all came back to her. She saw herself as a little girl, running up narrow stone staircase, holding up the hem of her long dress, pressing a book under her armpit, hurrying to get into her room in the tower. She saw her father's dogs, jumping around the huge fireplace in the great room of the castle, sniffing the air excitedly before the hunt. She saw her father's face, and his stocky figure dressed in a royal mantle. She saw faces of knights and serfs, bowing in front of her as she walked towards the throne.

She saw Him, strolling around the hall with a sneering face. She saw his eyes, inhuman but tender, as he looked at her when she said 'forever' and the world trembled. She saw his hands, green and clawed, spinning the wheel, and remembered how they shook at her touch. She saw the golden glint of his naked back in the winter sunlight. She saw the arrow piercing his chest, and felt her heart constrict with pain. She saw his face, overcome with longing, as he looked at her. She saw his face contorted with pain and fury as he pushed her away. She remembered how she used to dream of sitting at his feet and feeling his hand stroking her hair. She felt his kiss, so brief and yet so shuttering. She heard his howling, and his cold dismissal, and his laugh – his quiet laugh as he sat spinning and thinking. She loved it so, this laugh.

She loved him so.

She watched his back as he walked just ahead of her in the forest, and felt that something in her, some missing part of her slowly but surely settled into place. The world around her seemed different, she was different, He was different, and her visions might have seemed completely insane. Yet, for the first time since God knows when, she was certain she was not insane. There was light where there used to be darkness, there was certainty where there used to be confusion, and He was where there used to be solitude. She knew who she was, for she found him. How could she doubt that she knew him? He was the only thing she knew.

'Wait!'

'No, no, we are very close…' He answered her without turning with that deep, sad voice he had now, the voice she didn't know yet, or not too well. He was in a hurry to complete his mysterious errand. But she could not wait – she had to make sure that what she felt was real.

She called his name uncertainly, still not fully believing it really was him and saw him freeze. He stood there among the trees with his head half-turned to her, and waited for her to continue. She saw his profile, so different yet so like the one she remembered, and felt his tension, and sudden sadness that overcame his entire body. He was apprehensive, it seemed.

She remembered how they parted. She remembered how he told her he did not love her – how he told her that his magic meant more to him than she did. Yet she also remembered his face just minutes ago, in his shop. That was not a face of a man who did not love her.

She remembered his fury as he shouted that she cannot love him – his scream felt like a curse. Yet she also felt her heart opening up to him, reaching out to him, right now, and her whole body coming to life just because he was near.

He could scream and shout all he wanted – it did not matter. She knew what she knew.

She loved him, and she told him so.

His face looked so strange when he turned to her. Searching this unfamiliar face she suddenly realized how handsome he was now, with his dark eyes and thin nose and sensitive mouth and lanky straight hair with such a lot of grey in it. He looked… old and she wondered just how much younger then he she was. Again, as in the shop, she felt she was more like a lost child to him then a lover. He looked sad, and tired, and there was pain in his eyes – he looked defeated, as if he had lost a very, very long fight and was preparing to accept the inevitable. She wondered, with sinking heart, if he would ever let her come to him.

And then he opened his arms to her and, as she put her head on his shoulder, whispered into her hair: 'Yes. And I love you too'.

There was such sadness in his words, which were all-important as in fact they have cancelled all his protestations of old. He voiced his feeling, and he said 'yes' to her declaration – he consented to believe her. It should have made her ecstatic, if only he weren't so sad – not just in his tone or looks, he was sad somewhere inside. She wondered if it were so because he was changed, if perhaps the difference between the man she knew and the man she saw now run deeper than his looks. She felt for him so – she had such a strong urge to wrap herself around him, protectively; to help him, somehow, to bring back the teasing, exotic and undefeatable creature he was when she knew him. But there would be time for that, she felt. For the moment, it was enough just to be able to touch him and to know, with clear certainty of a loving heart and a body that feels at home in an embrace, that it was him, her master and her lover.

It was him, however he looked.

Unable to judge or comprehend what he was doing, she watched him drop his potion into the magic well, and felt a subtle change in him as his powers came back. At once he became more alert, more decisive, more animated than before. She looked at his hardened face, she answered his angered questions about her fate, and she tried to compare what she saw with what she remembered from the distant past. He did not look oppressed with darkness, as she felt him to be then. He was… at peace with himself, confident – as if he mastered something in himself. His power must have mattered much for him if he wanted it back, and somehow it did not feel like a terrible curse now. He did not seem to be afraid of her touch, not anymore. And though she did not feel the absolute power to reach him that used to be hers – that still eluded her, but that was not because he shut her out.

She saw him much more clearly now. Did he change, or was she older and wiser?

What she did not want to see was a horrible coldness that entered his eyes, normally so warm and soft now, as he spoke of revenge. She did not want him cold and distanced, for any reason. She wanted him to be with her, and not distracted with anything else. Yes, it may have been very selfish of her, but didn't she deserve it? Being near him, she felt like she came back from the dead. She wanted to hold on to that feeling – she wanted to hold on to him.

He must have missed her, too. She wondered, briefly, why he was so surprised that she was alive, back there in the shop. Did he believe otherwise?

No, he did not shut her out – his haunted eyes, his trembling hand as he touched her cheek told her that he would never, never send her away now. And, as he promised her that he would not do anything rush, as she felt his fingers on her skin, as he looked into her eyes and called her 'sweetheart', almost breaking her heart with sweetness of his husky whisper, she felt something new awakening between them. She remembered how she thought, all that time ago, how he would be impossible to touch – remembered thinking how alien he was to her in his heraldic reptilian magnificence. He was not alien any more. Some barrier was gone. When she leaned in to him, asking for a kiss, she saw a flicker of apprehension in his eyes – they both couldn't help remembering how their first kiss ended. But right now she did not feel the slightest wish to turn him into anything else by magic kisses. She wanted to know him, as he was. She always wanted that.

She asked him, back then, if she could know him. He answered her, right now, that she will know him. When people say these words, they don't always mean learning somebody's mind and habits. A man and a woman know each other in another, much deeper and simpler way.

As they kissed, finally, she felt it – the warmth and the gentle pull of his lips on hers, insistent, physical, and real. It was such a joy to touch him – to feel his fingers in her hair, to hear his breathing quickening, to feel how his body gets tense and his skin gets hotter where they touch. It was such a joy to feel the crushing force of his embrace, to feel that having her near means so much to him. She knew he'd never let her go, and she was finally safe – she was at home in his arms. She was where she was meant to be, and it did not matter if she was drawn there by magic or by force of nature.

She never imagined that being physically near him would mean so much to her. When she kissed him, back in his castle, the force of magic was so great that the kiss didn't really feel like a kiss – it was a ritual, not a union. Yet now she was feeling his tongue on the inside of her lips, his stubble scratching her skin, ever so slightly, and she heard his catching breath. And that was magic.