Chapter 15

He awakens in the middle of the night, needing the bathroom, but he quickly forgets the call of nature when he notices there's a pillow where Belle should be. He slides into his slippers, grabs his cane and thumps from room to room in search of her. Dread rises when he's searched both floors of their house and hasn't located her. He begins to flip on lights to look for clues. Her keys are with his, in the bowl on the credenza in the foyer. Her blue coat and her windbreaker are in the hall closet next to his coats. The notepad on the fridge carries only a grocery list, no note. He tries to make his voice sound demanding but it comes out a bit shaky as he calls her name.

The back door is unlocked. "Belle!" he barks, stumbling out on the porch.

"Here, Rumple." The light from the kitchen streams through the open door, creating bright pools of light. He can see her feet in their bunny slippers, but the rest of her is in shadow. He's so relieved he doesn't notice the scratchiness in her voice. He flips on the porch light and she blinks, drenched in light.

"Are you okay?" He comes out into the chilly night.

"I just came out to—aw, who am I kidding?" She's huddled in her bathrobe and swaying in the swing. She slides over to make room for him; he sits beside her and to his relief, she snuggles against him. There's a mini-package of Kleenex peeping out of her pocket and her nose is stuffy. "I dreamed about the baby."

He slides an arm about her shoulders. He has no idea what to say. Not even magic could take away this pain. He brushes her hair back from her face and kisses her forehead. "Shall we call Archie tomorrow?"

"I'll be all right. It's just going to take a while," she assures him. "We're going to be awfully busy tomorrow; that will help. What we'll be doing, it's important. It's good."

"Yes."

"And I imagine Archie's just as busy as we'll be, helping these families reconnect."

"Your feelings are just as important as anyone else's. He'll make time." There's no one in Storybrooke who wouldn't make time for Belinda Dove.

"How about you? Would you like to talk to him too?"

He's ready to refuse. It's never been in his nature to confide or confess, not even when he was a frightened child whose father had thrown him away. He wouldn't even know how to begin; it's difficult enough to open up with the woman he trusts implicitly. How could he, the most powerful being in two lands, go hat-in-hand to the man he used to buy stolen goods from? He pictures himself in his Armani suit and Ferragamos sobbing on the former cricket's shoulder: "The curse fooled me too, Doctor. I had duckies and everything ready for a baby that didn't even exist." The image makes him snort. Duckies and teddy bears and all that–except the snort ends in a gulp.

Belle notices and grips his arm. He glances down at her, embarrassed; he's the man here, damn it, the sorcerer, the 300-year-old sage. He's supposed to be offering her wise words of comfort.

"One of the things I've always admired about you is your deep capacity for caring," she says softly. "Time and distance couldn't weaken your love for Bae, and I think you would have shown Adelena and me the same dedication. You miss her too, don't you?"

He rests his cheek against the top of her head. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have a few words with Archie."

The doorbell interrupts his waffle baking. He hurries to front door, ready to cuss out Jefferson for disturbing him at an ungodsly hour and probably waking Belle, but he finds the three adult Charmings on his stoop instead. For a man who's built his careers on words, the best he can manage as he invites in a curious David, a grim Emma and a sympathetic-eyed Snow is "humpf."

"I came like I promised," Emma says.

"And I came to see how Belle is doing," Snow says.

Which leaves Charming. Gold scowls at him and he shrugs. "I came because I just don't trust you."

Gold can't hold in a chuckle. "You like waffles?"

Belle has dressed–ready for her first day as a paralegal, she's in a blazer and slacks, with her hair in a bun; he finds the professional look quite enticing on her–and she's in the kitchen, making coffee. She welcomes their guests, kisses Gold's cheek, and brings extra dishes from the cupboard. "Join us for breakfast? There's more than enough."

"That's so kind of you." Snow comes over to the stove. "May I help?" And she's instantly put in charge of squeezing oranges.

"Mm, waffles. . . ." Emma peers over Gold's shoulder as he pours batter into the waffle iron. "From scratch, too, not the toaster kind. Never pictured you for a cook, Gold."

"I make exceptions for the right people." He smiles over at Belle.

"Man, you people eat good. Our fridge was bare: all we had was cereal."

"If you wish to speed things along so you can assuage your hunger, you can start the bacon. You'll find a skillet in the bottom cupboard."

David pitches in. "I'll set the table." Silverware in hand, he pauses to survey the scene. "Not every day you see this. A queen squeezing oranges, a noblewoman making coffee, a princess frying–"

"Sheriff," Emma brandishes a meat fork. Gold visualizes her with a sword instead.

"A sheriff frying bacon and a wizard with a waffle iron."

"This is America," Belle shrugs. "Where titles mean next to nothing."

"Indeed," Gold flips the first waffle onto a platter. "Where a man is judged by the golden perfection of his waffles."

"Well, then, I'm screwed," Emma confesses. "I burn water."

"Perhaps, Ms. Swan, you were born for bigger things. You do, after all, possess the genes of an ogre-killing archer and a sword-slashing dragon slayer."

"Cripes. Thanks for reminding me, Gold. No way I can live up to that. Good thing the only ogres and dragons we got here are in Henry's book."

"Well," Gold pours the batter for the next waffle. "Perhaps the opportunity to test yourself will arise sooner than you think."

"Sounds like you're about ready to tell me about that first favor," Emma remarks as she turns the bacon.

"After breakfast. You're going to need fortification."

"Crap on a cracker. That doesn't sound good. Well, at least tell us what this curse thing was for. From the sheer size of it, it must've been a helluva lot of work, so what was it supposed to accomplish?" Emma motions to her father. "Hand me that platter, will you, David? Bacon's almost done." Preoccupied with her cooking, Emma is slow to notice Gold's silence, but when the bacon is drained and plated, she directs her attention to him again. "Well?"

"Half the story now, the other half when you've fulfilled your first obligation." Gold tosses a second waffle onto a platter.

"Why can't you make things simple?" David groans.

"Ask Henry: the smart way to run an operation is on a need-to-know basis."

David's contemplating a response, but Belle stays him with a gentle hand. "Don't bother, David. Be grateful he's willing to tell you this much."

Gold examines the third waffle and, deciding it's golden enough, flips it onto the platter and launches number four. "Be seated, children, and I shall tell you the story of a fresh-faced princess, her stable boy boyfriend, and the queen of all stage mothers. Once upon a time, there was a miller's daughter named Cora. . . ."

David, Gold and Emma leave Belle and Snow in the kitchen, cleaning up–but also talking about the baby that might have been. From his den, Gold can hear their soft but intense voices; he is grateful that Belle has a confidante, but his guilt gnaws at him. No one except Regina knows his role in the curse, and he wishes it could stay that way, but he gave his word this morning to Emma to tell her the other half of the story–his–when she's retrieved the True Love potion.

He opens the case lying on his roller top desk. Emma is impressed; David draws in a deep breath. "Wow." The former prince reverently removes the sword from the case and holds it lightly, as though afraid it will crumble to dust. "Emma, this was mine. I fought a war with this sword."

"Cool." Emma runs a finger across the flat of the blade.

"And fought a dragon," Gold reminds him. "As will you, Ms. Swan, today."

"What the f–" "What're you talking about, Gold?" Father and daughter talk over each other.

He waits for them to calm down. "I believe, David, you'll find the sword is in excellent condition, having been recently sharpened and well taken care of; and I believe, Emma, you'll find it more than adequate to defeat Maleficent. Perhaps you'd like to tell this story, David?"

David is inspecting his treasure, one of the few objects, other than his horse and his truck, that he cares about. "Well, it all started–"

"Once upon a time," Emma corrects him. "You have to start with 'once upon a time.'"

"Fine," David sighs, laying the sword back in the case. "Once upon a time there was a prince-well, really, a shepherd in prince's clothing–who fell in love with your mother, who was, like Gold said in his story, being harassed by Regina. The prince wanted to find her-Snow, I mean, not Regina–because she–Regina, I mean–put her under a sleeping curse and everybody knows you can wake them up if their true love kisses them. And there was this weird little guy with a helluva lot of magic, and–"

"David," Emma raises a staying hand. "Just cut to the chase, huh? You're confusing me."

"Right, well, Rumplestiltskin here made me a deal: he'd help me find your mom if I'd put this Christmas ornament thing inside the belly of a dragon. See, inside the ornament was a potion. He said it was True Love, the most powerful potion in the world, and it has to be protected at all costs, so he-Gold, what the hell did you mean by having me put in a dragon? You expect Emma to go back to the Enchanted Forest to fetch your potion? You know we don't have a portal."

"Not necessary. The dragon is here."

"What?!"

"You gotta be nuts, Gold!"

"Lying, more like. I've lived in this town thirty years. If there was a dragon living here, don't you think I'd know it? The droppings alone would be impossible to hide."

"The dragon has been drugged. No eating; therefore, no droppings. And no noise or moving around," Gold explains. "Regina just couldn't resist bringing her to Storybrooke."

"Her? The dragon is a her?"

"Her name is Maleficent."

"And where did Regina hide a dragon?"

"In the basement of the library, of course."

"Oh. Of course. And now I'm gonna take that sword and go down there and split the dragon open so I can scoop True Love from its belly." Emma crosses her arms and taps her foot.

"Well, you don't have to go alone. I'll operate the elevator for you."

"No," David interrupts. "I'm going."

"Pardon me, Your Highness, but it has to be Emma. She's the savior; it's her destiny," Gold insists.

"You up for this?" David raises an eyebrow at his daughter.

"I didn't have anything else to do today." Emma picks up the sword. "This thing's a lot heavier than it looks."

"Gets even heavier when you're running away from a dragon with it," David cautions. "You aren't going alone, Emma. I'm going with you." He takes the sword from her and swings it above his head, testing his arm. "Yeah. Feels right. We'll get you a lighter sword."

"All I need are my buddies Smith and Wesson," Emma pats the handgun she keeps in the back of her jeans.

"Got news for you, daughter: dragon hide is like a foot-thick wall of rubber," David instructs. "Unless you manage to shoot Mal in the eye, you're going to need a sword."

"Crap on a cracker," Emma mutters. "So where do we get a women's size sword?"

The two Charmings look to Gold, who merely jingles his keys in invitation. "We'll take my car. It so happens I have your mother's sword as well." He calls into the kitchen, "Belle, we're going out to run an errand. We'll be back in time for my first appointment."

"Okay, Rumple. Bring back a carton of eggs," Belle calls back.

"I swear," Emma remarks, following the men out the door. "When I wished on my birthday candle to have something exciting happen to me, tag-teaming a dragon wasn't what I was thinking of." She stares at her father, who's younger than she is, and the pawnbroker, who's so old he can't even remember his age. "Not even close."

In a few minutes she and her dad are stepping off an ancient, manually operated elevator into a cavern (not a basement; she'll be sure to correct Gold on that point when they go back up to the main floor). Each of them has a freshly sharpened sword in hand.

In a stage whisper, Gold calls down to them, "Do you see her? Do you see Maleficent?"

David looks up at the worried pawnbroker. "You wanna come down and help us look?"

"Oh no, dearie. That's not my role in this story." He hates to torture his Armani with the thick layer of dust coating the linoleum, but there's no other way he can follow the proceedings in the basement but to lie on his stomach and lean over the edge of the elevator shaft. As he observes the action below, his fingers tingle with the memory of magic. How easy this task would be and how simple if he could do it all himself with a few spells, but for the moment, he's still plain old Gold, human; not unless–until the heroes have fulfilled their assignment will Rumplestiltskin the sorcerer return. So, his fingers tingling and his nose twitching from dust, he listens and watches and speculates: what would Rumplestiltskin do if he were down there?

"Then shut up and let us hunt." David signals to Emma: he will go one direction, she the other. "No more birthday wishes for me," she mutters. And then she backs into something big and scaly and cold and breathing. "Ohhh, crap. Uh, Dad? I think I found her."

Paralyzed with fear, Emma can only stare over her shoulder as the wall behind her shifts, then rises up and becomes a gigantic winged thing that roars and tosses its head and shoots flames from its snout. "Dad? What do I do?" She stuffs the sword into the scabbard tied to her belt and reaches for her Smith & Wesson.

David is gesturing wildly in the direction opposite his own. "Emma, run!" He shouts.

Emma runs, shouting back, "Are you telling me dragons can't run?"

"They can't. Too heavy. They can fly though."

As if taking the cue, the dragon rises awkwardly into the air and pursues Emma. David plants his feet squarely, raises his sword above his head and swings it with both hands, then sends it, straight as one of Snow's arrows, at the beast's throat, but the beast rises at the last minute and the sword bounces uselessly off the armored belly. As Emma swings around and fires off a round from her Smith & Wesson, David rushes forward to retrieve his sword and try again. "Emma! I told you that won't work. Throw your sword. Try to strike its eye or its throat or the area right over the heart. The skin is thinner there."

"What?" Emma's having trouble hearing over the dragon's roar. She gapes as the beast lands on its spindly legs right in front of her, blocking her escape route. She keeps firing, the bullets keep bouncing, and when they're gone she throws the gun, aiming for the dragon's eye but it enters the creature's mouth and is swallowed.

"Emma! Throw your sword!"

Emma glances backwards. If she takes two more steps back, she'll drop off a cliff. There's nothing else for it: she squeezes her eyes shut and flings the sword.

There's a tremendous roar, a burst of flame that singes Emma's eyebrows, then a moan and a shower of ash raining down on the sheriff and her shepherd/dragon slayer father. "Emma, you did it!"

Gold calls down, "Congratulations, Ms. Swan! Now look for the ornamental egg."

As David runs toward her, she opens her eyes. Her sword clangs as it hits the rocks, kicking up a cloud of ash. There's another clang as a big Christmas ornament drops from the sky, hits a boulder, bounces and lands at Emma's feet.

"Are you all right?" David grabs her elbows, turns her toward the light beaming from the elevator shaft and inspects her for injuries. "Any burns?"

"I'm okay, except. . . ." Emma presses her hand to her mouth. "I wish I hadn't eaten that second waffle."