Chapter 14

"Have you looked out your window today, Gold?–Hi, Jo, Belinda." Charming's voice precedes him as the front door swings open and the shopkeeper's bell jingles. "It's a madhouse out there."

"Good afternoon to you too, Prince David." Gold's lips curl in that smile that really isn't a smile. He nods to the female members of the family. "Queen Snow. Princess–"

"Don't you dare, Gold," Emma interrupts. "Let's keep it 'Ms. Swan' or 'Sheriff,' huh? Unless you want me to start calling you 'Rumpie.' And before you get all 'pays me what you owes me,' I haven't forgotten I owe you a favor."

"Two."

"Fine. Two," Emma sighs. "But in case you haven't noticed, the town's a mess right now, so those favors are gonna have to wait."

Coming up beside him, Belle gives Gold's jacket tail a little tug. He gets the point: for her, he'll play nice. It's to his advantage anyway; the sooner Emma gets Storybrooke in order, the sooner she'll pay those two favors. "Perhaps Mr. Dove and I can help. Oh, pardon me. I believe some re-introductions are in order. Your Majesties, Lady Belle of Avonlea and Josiah Dove of the Dark Mountains."

"Belinda, you're Lady Belle?" Snow captures Belle's hands. "Then is Moe French also Lord Maurice?" Emma elbows Snow, but Snow keeps talking. "I met him once, when he came to ask my father for help against the ogres."

Emma elbows Snow again and whispers something in her ear. Snow catches her breath and her gaze falls to Belle's flat belly. "Forgive me, Belle. I didn't realize. . . .I'm so sorry for your loss. Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," Belle mumbles, running her hand across her belly. "I don't really want to talk about it."

David's puzzled, not following the too-subtle conversation, so before he starts asking questions that will make Belle even more uncomfortable, Gold pushes the legal pad at him. "Here. This should help with your madhouse."

"And this is?"

"An identification guide."

"How's this work?" David's trying to figure out Dove's notation system.

"Mr. Dove will work with you this afternoon," Gold offers. "I don't expect much business in the shop today."

"Mr. Gold, thank you for this list. What do we owe you?" Sweet, shy Mary Margaret has been replaced, Gold thinks, by the royal bandit he once knew and admired. He has a vivid recollection of her asking him pretty much the same question when he presented Robin Hood's bow to her. Does she remember that day, he wonders, and did she ever realize the part he'd played then in reuniting her with Charming? And her daughter, the blonde Amazon, stands behind her, as if ready to attack if he threatens harm to Snow. She could do damage, even to him, Emma could, but she doesn't know it yet. He made her the curse breaker, but the Fates have assigned her a much bigger role that is yet to be discovered.

It's a good thing Belle is standing beside him, through her body language informing the royals which side she's on. They like Belle and some of that might transfer to him by association. Well, perhaps "like" is too much to hope for; "tolerance," then.

He casts a sideways glance at Belle, watching her reaction when he says, "No charge." She rewards him with a big smile–she's probably planning to reward him later with praise, but the fact is, this information he's providing Snow is a just a single payment on a debt he owes the innocents Regina dragged into this world. He hadn't been directly involved as she selected her victims, but he'd known what she was doing and had remained passive. The truth was, in those days, believing Belle dead and only Bae remained to live for, he just couldn't give a damn.

Things are different now. Belle's shoulder brushes against his, reminding him that for some bewildering reason, the Fates have chosen him for her to rescue.

David catches the shoulder brush and his eyes widen.

"No charge," Gold reiterates.

"Thank you." The tension eases now from Snow's shoulders. She's never trusted him but she's always believed him; she's one of the few he did give a damn about, and somehow she knows that. She turns to Dove. "We're working out of the courthouse. If you're ready?"

"Yes, ma'am." Dove holds the door for her and begins explaining the symbols on his legal pad.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning, Gold," Emma says, her fingers trailing idly across the case that is still sitting atop his counter. She seems fascinated by the case; soon enough he'll tell her why it's special. "To start paying down those favors."

"I shall be waiting."

She transfers her interest in the case to him. "If we had time right now, I'd be ordering you to give a full explanation about this curse business, since it doesn't look like we'll get one from Regina."

"If we had time," he acknowledges. "But that too will have to wait. Has there been any sign of our dear mayor?"

"There was a report of a black Mercedes leaving town at sunrise today. Headed east. Only two people in Storybrooke can afford a Mercedes, and obviously, you prefer big cars, so we figure she's out of our hair."

"For the time being. Nevertheless, the town should be alerted. I don't think she'll give up Henry without another fight."

"Well, maybe I can hire an attorney this time."

"Should they be needed, I may be able to offer my services this time."

Emma starts to follow her mother out, but pauses. "You didn't ask how Henry is. You knew he'd be okay, didn't you?"

"Your love for him is true."

She nods. "I'll be back tomorrow morning." The shopkeeper's bell jingles as she leaves.

Her father, however, lingers with a sly smile on his face. "So, uhm," he tilts his head toward Belle. "Flicker of light in an ocean of darkness?"

Gold's smile turns silly. "A full-on lighthouse, actually."

As David leaves, Gold takes Belle's hand. "Shall we go home?"

She doesn't get the chance to answer. Jefferson comes busting in even as Gold is flipping over the "closed" sign. "Rumplestiltskin!" He gives Belle a hasty nod. "Hey, Belle." He grabs a handful of Gold's jacket. "Rumplestiltskin! You've gotta help me."

"Not now, dearie. This Boy Scout's done his mandatory good deed for the day." Gold pries the fingers from his lapel. "And you, of all people, should know better than to manhandle Armani."

"Please." Jefferson runs his hands through his wild shock of hair. "It's Grace."

Belle sets a soft hand on Gold's arm. "Rumple, we can take the time to listen."

"Sweetheart, you need to rest."

"It's about a child," she says firmly.

"All right, Jefferson." He directs the hatter toward the workroom. "Come back, I'll pour you a cup of coffee, and tells us what–"

He's interrupted by a ringing phone. Gold blinks: he didn't even know that old black rotary phone on his counter worked: it's never rung before. Belle calmly takes charge, ushering the men to the back room. "I'll get that. You go back there and talk." She picks up the receiver.

"Thank you, Belle." Gold sighs in relief.

"I'm glad to be needed," she says, then speaks into the mouthpiece. "Gold's Pawn."

Jefferson fidgets as Gold invites him to be seated on the workbench, but then, he always was a fidgeter. A pitfall of youth: too much energy, too narrow a vision to take the long view. "She found me. I was going to her but she found me first and she remembered everything and she still loves me but—"

"Jefferson." Gold clamps a hand firmly onto the hatter's shoulder, anchoring him to the bench. "Calm down. Hmm, maybe you shouldn't have that coffee after all." He plugs in the kettle, sprinkles tea leaves into his teapot, and places a sugar bowl and a spoon in front of his guest.

Jefferson stares at the sugar bowl as if he has no idea what it's for. "But she loves them too. She doesn't want to hurt their feelings. They love her, they still think of her as their daughter—"

"It's only been one day," Gold points out, sitting down across from the hatter. "The freeing up of original memories—real memories—didn't erase the false ones. People are going to need time to adjust."

"Two sets of memories in one head." The lad shakes his head in disbelief. "It's pure hell. She must be going out of her mind. How do I help her?"

"It's not that bad. Headaches and confusion for the first ten minutes or so, but then the mind begins to order itself; the headache goes away. For most of the people here, their false identities were different enough from the real ones that they're able to sort out which memories go where fairly quickly." The water is bubbling, so Gold unplugs the kettle and pours the water into the pot and covers it. "And for most people here, the joy of rediscovering family and friends will help them overcome the confusion rather quickly. I'm sure that will be true for Grace."

"What about the other thing? Two sets of parents, two houses—Rumple, you got to help me. You're still a lawyer, right? No, wait, that was your fake self. I suppose nothing you'd do now would stand up in court."

Bringing the pot to the worktable, Gold smiles stiffly. "I suppose it would depend upon which court: Maine's or Queen Snow's. My memories of this world may be fake, but my knowledge of the laws of this world is accurate. Fake license or not, I'm still better qualified in matters of family law than anyone else here."

"Yeah, I guess. Will you take the case? You know I can pay whatever you charge."

"Calm down, youngster. You'll give yourself a heart attack." Gold sets the timer on his watch. "Grace has been living with the Wilsons for thirty years. Of course they've bonded. And they're good people. You don't want to drive them out of her life, do you?"

"But I'm—"

Gold raises a warning hand. "I know you are. She knows you are. They know you are. But she's a child, not a—a hat you made. It's her needs you should be thinking about." He sighs. "I'm going out of town tomorrow, for an indefinite period of—"

"You can't! You have to help me with this."

Gold quirks an eyebrow. "'Have to'? I don't owe you anything, Jefferson."

"It's a little girl, a ten-year-old child."

"What about my child?" The alarm on Gold's wristwatch buzzes. He shuts it off and pours the tea into the three cups.

"What do you mean? You have a child?"

Gold stands, picking up his cane and one of the cups. "Pardon me a moment. Belle might like a cup." He ignores Jefferson's protests and taps out to the front, where Belle is leaning one elbow on the counter and taking notes. Her shoulder is hunched to press the phone receiver to her ear.

"Uh huh. . . . Yeah. . . .Don't worry. I'm sure he can help. . . . Oh, don't worry about that. It's restoring families that he cares about, not money."

"Belle!" Gold yelps. He sets the cup down and tries to reach for the phone, but she turns her back to him.

"Of course. . . He'll call you later today, I promise. And don't worry. It'll all get straightened out. . . .Yes, I promise. Goodbye, Ms. Crawford." She smiles brightly and innocently at him as she hangs up. "Tea? Oh, thanks so much. I'm parched." But before she can bring the cup to her lips, the phone rings again.

"Belle, are you aware that my normal fee is more per hour than the average Storybrooker makes in three days?"

"Oh, I'm telling everyone you'll waive your fee this one time." She sips the mint tea and sighs. "So good."

"What, the tea or me?" he grouses, and she gives him a playful swat before picking up the receiver.

"Gold's Pawn. This is Belle. How may I—oh, yes, Mr. Bartleby, but he's with a client right now. Why don't you tell me the situation and I'll have him call as soon as he can. All right?" She winks at Gold.

Gold turns back to the workroom. "Good gods. You'll have me bankrupt before the end of the month." But he smiles over his shoulder at her.

She's hoarse as they close up shop, two hours later than his normal closing time. "Your first appointment is for nine. I've scheduled them an hour apart—"

"Them?! How many are there?"

"I hope an hour's enough time for an initial assessment. I figure we should work out of your den at home. The furniture's so much more comfortable and you've got your law books and your computer there, and I can bring in tea and sandwiches so you won't have to interrupt your work to eat lunch."

"You're taking my lunch hour away too? That's uncivilized!" He unlocks the front door. "If we're going to work from home tomorrow, I have to get something."

She waits in the entrance as he retrieves the case from the counter, and they leave again.

"What's that?"

"Something Ms. Swan will be picking up in the morning. Remind me to call her tonight."

She giggles as she kisses his cheek. "Isn't it great to be needed? You've had thirty years of standing behind a counter waiting for someone to walk in to that shop. Well, now they're coming. And you get to work out of the comfort of your own home. I can put on some music in the background, open the drapes—the windows in your den look out over the garden. If your ankle stiffens, you can go out and take a walk. Won't that be nice?"

"I suppose I could write it off on my taxes, if I'm using the den as a home office, then." He tucks her arm into his as he directs her to the back alley, where the Caddy is parked.

"In the morning I'll get a stew going in the crockpot, and then I can come in and take notes for you, if you like. We can leave the door to the den open so the smells from the kitchen waft through."

"Ohhh, Belle. . . With those little pearl onions?" She's won, even if the answer on the onions is no.

"And cloverleaf rolls. And a pie. I think I have a carton of blueberries. For supper tonight, I'll do a spinach quiche, and then we'll get your den in order. You know, I'm a good researcher. I can save you time, look things up for you in your books." In the streetlight, she appears pale, but she's glowing. To be in a position in which her special skills will be called upon to help people, it's the best medicine she could take right now. However irksome the thought is of having his precious time chewed up by all these whiny people who lack the backbone and the intelligence to work out their own agreements, he won't take away the medicine that's brought her energy back.

Well, Josiah can run the shop and manage the rental properties. Maybe the work will do him some good too. If Gold and Belle devote themselves full-time to the law practice, probably in a couple of weeks they'll have finished with all the families requiring his services. And meantime, during those couple of weeks, he can sneak away when she's asleep to experiment. He's no rose-colored-glasses-wearing fool: he realizes that when magic is introduced to a land for the first time, it may behave differently. Testing will be required before he's confident enough in his understanding of those differences to depend upon magic again. . . to trust it again.

It's then, and not until then, he decides, that he will tell Belle what he's done. He wants to be powerful, fully himself again, before he faces this woman's wrath.

Chattering, she's leaning on him; with his limp, he's leaning on her. It works out well. Her plan will work out well. They will work out very well.

A/N. In case anyone was wondering about my choice of the spelling of Josiah's nickname–"Jo" instead of the more common "Joe"–it's a tribute to screenwriter Jo Swerling and his son, TV producer Jo Jr.

Thank you to everyone for the comments and the favorites! Coming up: Belle prods Gold into becoming a good citizen; a father and a daughter tag-team a dragon, the remainder of the curse places Dove in a perilous predicament and pushes Belle into making a difficult decision, and magic is coming. But first, I've always felt the series glossed over the problem of the families that the curse created, families like Paige and her Storybrooke parents; just because the Storybrooke identities were unreal doesn't mean the love was too. So I'm going to spend a little time exploring that, and perhaps by reflecting on his feelings for a baby that never really existed, Gold will see the full ramifications of the curse.