Chapter 11

A/N. It's time to crank the feels up a notch. This chapter's for you, Grace, because you guessed this plot point ages ago!

Josiah is standing on his flower-lined sidewalk that leads up to his home. He's staring, then glaring at his wife and his employer, who've been snuggling and snogging on his porch. He lowers his head into his hands, rubbing at his forehead furiously as though trying to rub out a headache, and he curses. His Belinda releases Gold and starts down the steps, calling to him, "Jo? Are you hurting?" At the foot of the porch stairs, she pauses. "It hurt me too—a blinding pain behind my eyes—but it'll go away. It'll last only a few minutes."

"It's your memory awakening, from a curse that Regina cast," Gold explains. "The curse gave you false memories and now the real ones are returning. Overwhelming and confusing, but it'll settle down. We should go inside and sit down, rest—"

In two bounds Josiah is on the porch and his left hand, as big as Gold's head, is wrapped around his boss' throat. He starts to squeeze and lift as Belinda spins, runs up the steps and grabs his arm, trying to pry his hand away. "What are you doing? What are you doing, Jo?" she cries at the same time Josiah thrusts his face into Gold's and demands to know, "What the hell do you mean by kissing my wife, Gold?"

Gold sputters, gasps for air, unable to breathe, let alone answer. Belinda does the answering for him, but Josiah ignores her. "Look at me, Jo! I'm not your wife! I'm not Belinda. You said it yourself a minute ago: I'm Lady Belle. Remember? Try to remember, Jo. Avonlea. The Second Ogres War. My father, Lord Maurice, sent you with a message strapped to your leg. Our army had fallen. Our lands were under ogre domination. You flew across the Lower Highlands, a hundred miles, across battlefields and burning fields, to carry my papa's plea to Rumplestiltskin."

Josiah's grip loosens but he doesn't release Gold's throat. He's still staring into his boss' eyes, and with every word of Belinda's tale, his expression changes.

"When you reached the Dark Mountains, you flew into a storm, fierce wind and rain," Gold picks up the story. His voice is hoarse. "But you kept going, because Lady Belle needed you to. Because you belonged to her and she loved you. When you reached the Dark Castle, you could find no way in. You were exhausted, half-drowned. You saw a single light burning in a room in the top of the East Tower. With the last of your strength you flew to the window of that room and threw yourself against it."

"To break it." Josiah releases Gold now. His arms dangle uselessly at his sides as his sight draws inside himself. "I couldn't."

"The castle opened the window for you, let you in."

Josiah cocks his head and blinks at Gold. "You picked me up. In your hands. I fit in your hands. How?"

"You were a bird." Gold lets the information sink in. If certain of Josiah's memories are still submerged, this information will be news: shocking, perhaps unbelievable, news.

Josiah raises his chin indignantly. "A dove. Not just a bird: a dove."

Gold smiles. "Indeed."

"You read the message. My job was done." Josiah sighs and his entire body slumps, supported by a porch column. "Lady Belle would be safe. I could rest. But before you went to her, you wrapped me in a cloth and set me in an open drawer."

"And when he came back from Avonlea, he brought me, and the war was over." Belle touches his elbow lightly, encouragingly.

"And for a long time, we were safe and happy." Josiah smiles at her, then blushes. "And then she came, in answer to my call, and we built a nest in Rumplestiltskin's grove."

Belle continues to touch his elbow, but she links her arm in Gold's. "And you and she came to visit the castle every morning and sing for us. We would come to the window of the Great Hall and open it, and you and she would perch on the sill and sing."

"Your music gave me an excuse to stand close to Belle," Gold raises her hand to his lips to kiss.

"And to show his gentler side. I remember walking in on him one morning, feeding a dove from the palm of his hand. I knew then," she dimples at her True Love, "you couldn't be a monster."

His eyebrows shoot up. "I don't remember that."

"I didn't let you see me. I slipped my shoes off so you wouldn't hear me and hid behind the Golden Fleece so you wouldn't see me."

"Ah. That must've been the morning my breakfast was served cold."

She gives his arm a playful slap. "But you didn't complain. You never did. Lumpy oatmeal, burnt toast, watery stew, but you never complained."

"You were learning, sweetheart, and so was I." He strokes her cheek with a finger. "So much I needed to learn, and still do."

"Mr. G—Master Rumplestiltskin?" Josiah begins.

"I'd prefer to be called by my true name now," Gold advises him. "It's been a long time. Do you remember yours?"

"Courage. You called me Courage then. And my mate was Faith." He glances hastily at Belle. "I'm sorry." He's fumbling to explain why he's sorry, but he doesn't quite understand; their situation now is utter chaos. The best he can do is apologize again.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Belle assures him. "You were good to me. We weren't with the ones we were meant to love, but we were kind to each other." She frowns at Gold. "Why? What happened to us, Rumple?"

"It's a long story that begins and, gods help me, ends with Baelfire. I'll explain it all, and you're both going to want to alternately slap me and slap Regina at various points, but I hope—I trust—you'll forgive me, or at least understand, when you know the why of it." Suddenly his ankle throbs, and he leans on Belle as he bends to collect his cane, but Josiah beats him to it.

"Here, Mr.—Master Rumplestiltskin." Dove opens the screen door. "Let's get you two off your feet. We'll go into the kitchen and I'll make some tea."

But before they can cross the threshold, Belle's eyes widen and she doubles over, clutching her belly with a gasp. Josiah slides his arm around her shoulders to steady her. "What's wrong, Bindy? Do you need a doctor?"

Belle removes her hand from her belly as she straightens. "Oh my gods."

The three of them stare at her belly. With dread rising in his throat, Gold looks for blood; it's a miscarriage, he's certain of it. But he sees no blood on her stretchy-paneled jeans or her frilly white top. The clothes hang from her frame, clean and loose—the clothes hang from her frame. . . .

"Oh my gods, oh my gods," she's moaning, and her fake husband holds her, and he catches on: "Oh, gods, milady! We'll get you to the hospital." He scoops her easily into his arms and gallops to the driveway.

"The Caddy!" Gold barks, limping along behind. "Put her in the back."

Dove nods: the Caddy's blocking the garage; they couldn't get the Yukon out. Besides, the Caddy's ride will be smoother. As Gold yanks the back door open and Dove settles Belle into the backseat, she stops moaning. Dove makes his voice soothing. "We'll get you to the hospital fast. Don't worry; it's going to be all right." He goes around to the other side of the car, climbs into the back and draws her against him. "Are you in pain, milady?"

She shakes her head, closing her eyes as she slumps against Dove. Her hands tighten around her flat belly.

Gold is the last one to get it. It smacks him upside the head as he slides behind the steering wheel.

"Mr. G.? Can you drive? Mr. G.?"

Gold raises his head and thrusts the key into the ignition.

The psyche is as powerful as any instrument of magic, he thinks as he stands in the lime-green waiting room. And the emotions cast spells, unavoidable, inescapable; among the most powerful of these is denial. He'd stood on that porch, holding Belle, a full ten minutes, but during that time he never noticed what had happened to her body.

On the Naugahyde couch, Dove is breathing heavily, his elbows on his knees. On the coffee table before him is a Styrofoam cup of now cold coffee. Gold had bought it from the vending machine—a memory of Ms. Swan standing before that machine popped into his head as he dropped the quarters in the slot. He'll be hearing from her tonight; she promised it. He raises his face toward the ceiling: she's up there right now, in the children's ward. Henry's fully recovered, of course: he only needed to be awakened. The sleeping curse wouldn't have damaged his body, but it will have lingering effects that either Regina or Gold will need to help him cope with. But though the boy is all right, Whale won't have allowed him to be taken home yet. It's a doctor thing. No matter which set of memories he's operating from, Frankenwhale knows beans about magic.

The hospital's in a state of chaos, and not just because it has two emergency cases that science can't explain. Once the curse broke, the staff had to deal with their own symptoms, the most lasting of which are the emotional ones as they try to understand why they have memories of two distinct identities and two separate lives now occupying their heads. If they haven't already, they'll soon be rushing out into the streets to search for lost loved ones. When Dove carried Belle in, Gold had to bellow for assistance and bang his cane on the reception desk. A Candy Striper finally appeared and, though she apologized for not knowing what she was doing—she couldn't find a nurse or orderly anywhere—she shouted into an intercom, then grabbed a folded wheelchair, popped it open and held it steady as Dove eased Belle into it. With the men trailing, she wheeled Belle into an examining room, then ran back out again to find a doctor.

Gold and Dove had helped Belle onto the examining table, then waited silently, one on each side, each holding one of her hands.

"It's going to be all right," Gold assured her. He knew it, and he knew why he knew, and it made him feel ashamed.

"Are you in pain?" Dove returned to his earlier question.

"No." Belle shifted on the table. She couldn't set her feet down anywhere, and the edge of the table cut off the circulation in her thighs. "No pain. I don't feel anything." Her hands ran up and down her flat belly and she looked from Dove to Gold, her eyes pleading. "I don't feel anything." She reached out to Gold as a sob bubbled up from her chest. When his arms encircled her and drew her in, she gave in to her grief.

Flushed, the Candy Striper appeared then in the doorway, triumphant with Doc the dwarf beside her. Gold started to protest, but in Storybrooke Doc Seveigny was the one and only OB/GYN, and Storybrooke women swore by him; he'd been treating Belle all along. He gave Gold a confused look, then an annoyed one, but said nothing about the fact that the Dark One was holding another man's wife. "All right, gentlemen, it's time for you to step out. Ms. Martinez?"

The Candy Striper snapped to attention. "Yes, sir?"

"Show them to the waiting room, please. And Ms. Martinez? Good job."

The door closed in the men's faces.

And so they're waiting as phones ring and people in white run around. Gold watches them run. Briefly, he thinks he should help them: he could explain what's happened, assure them that they will find their families and friends; informing them would be the responsible, humane thing to do. If the mayor were anyone else but the sorceress who cast the curse, he would start by debriefing her, then they'd gather the city council and decide how best to disseminate the news. But the mayor being who she is and Gold being who he is, that's not going to happen.

As the Dark One, he's never experienced a sense of civil duty.

So Gold paces from one end of the waiting room to the other, and Dove slumps on the Naugahyde couch and they wait.

Ms. Martinez appears in the hallway. Gold notices for the first time she's just a kid, and she has a case of acne that he can cure for her with a wave of his hand, when he brings magic to Storybrooke. He owes her that, and Rumplestiltskin pays his debts. "Uhm, Mr. uhm, you can come in, Doc says." Both men look at her expectantly. "She asked for both of you, and Doc said yes." As the men follow her down the hall, she grins. "Doc said it was highly unusual for a woman to want her boss in the examining room, but Ms. Dove insisted—uh, Lady Belle."

As Dove opens the door to the examining room, Ms. Martinez sets a hand on Gold's arm. "We never met, but—I just wanted to say thanks to you and Lady Belle. See, my papa was a farmer in Avonlea. The ogres were just four miles from our farm when—" she wiggles her fingers. "Poof. No more ogres."

Gold fumbles with the handle of his cane so he won't have to meet her gaze. "It's Lady Belle who deserves your thanks. I just fulfilled my end of a deal."

"Yeah, we heard." She squeezes his elbow. "Thanks." She glances meaningfully toward the examining room. "I hope things work out okay for you two."

She's probably the only Storybrooker who does. "Ms. Martinez. . . you'll find your mama working at the cannery and your papa is the wine steward at La Tandoor."

She gives a teenage squeal and kisses his cheek. "Thanks, Mr. Gold!"

From a little roller stool parked beside Belle, Doc squints at Gold as he enters. Gold takes a position standing with his back at the closed door, facing Belle, who's sitting now on a straight-backed chair, with Dove standing behind her. But Belle holds her hands out to Gold, so, defying Doc's scowl, he goes to her side. She's pale and trembling, and as soon as he touches her she sinks into his arms and cries silently into his jacket.

Doc's expression softens as he stands up. "It's Archie she needs now, not me."

Gold surmises, "She's in good health, then?"

Doc nods. "Good health. But, ah," he licks his lips and shakes his head.

Dove blurts, "The baby? What about the baby?"

And as Belle begins to sob, Doc shakes his head again. "There is no baby."

"I don't understand."

"Mr. Dove, there never was a baby."

Gold presses Belle's head against his chest and strokes her hair.

"I don't get it. What happened?" Dove rubs his bald head nervously. "We were going to have a baby in less than four months. Was it a miscarriage?"

Doc lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "There never was a baby. Belle wasn't pregnant."

Gold answers from deep in his chest. "There was a curse."

"We—the baby. . . was a lie?" Dove sinks down on Doc's roller chair.

"I'll give you some privacy. Take all the time you need." His hand on the doorknob, Doc advises, "Take her home, Mr. Gold. I'll ask Archie to visit her as soon as he can. What she needs now is time, rest. . . love." He leaves an unspoken question hanging in the air.

Gold nods. "I can provide all of that."

"You too," Doc adds. "You and Mr. Dove should talk to Archie too. In cases of miscarriage, the father's welfare is often overlooked." He opens the door. "And though technically it's not a miscarriage, it sure the hell feels like one." He leaves them alone.

Belle raises her face from Gold's chest just long enough to hold a hand out to Dove. After some hesitation, he clambers to his feet, the little stool skidding away. He comes to her side and holds her outstretched hand. She pulls her hand in, pulling him in too, and as he holds her hand and she cries against Gold's chest, the handyman drops his free hand onto Gold's shoulder.

Gold hears a second voice sobbing. He's not sure whose it is.