Chapter 25
A hasty call to the sheriff's office confirms the news: Dove was last seen yesterday in Liza's Bait Shop. "He told Liza he was going down to the Androscoggin for four days of trout fishing. He bought three cans of earthworms, two cans of leeches, a case of beer, a Sports Illustrated, and a box of Slim Jims. He left a 'gone fishing' sign on the pawnshop door and a 'be back Monday' message on the answering machine. No sign of disturbance at his house or your shop. I found his cell on the backseat of his car; no messages on it, and the only people he called in the past week were you and the tackle shop." Emma pauses for breath. "You guys heard from him at all?"
"A phone message from Wednesday," Belle reports. "He said to make room in our freezer because he'd bring us back a mess of rainbow trout. Then he said, 'See you next week, folks.' And that was all." Her voice catches on the last syllable.
"Did he tell you what route he was taking? A motel he'd be staying at? Any sights he planned to see? People he planned to meet?"
All Belle's responses being negative, Emma encourages her to call immediately if they hear from Dove or think of a clue to his whereabouts. Neither woman mentions Emma's earlier revelation about Neal Cassidy. Emma then groans. "Now I got a new disaster to deal with. Some sort of environmental thing, or weather or. . .I don't know. This huge purple cloud appeared over town a week ago–it's gone now but it left an oily film over everything and man, did it stink. Just a head's up: you're gonna need to hose down your house and shop. All right, call if you hear from Dove."
Belle raises an eyebrow at Gold, who wrinkles his nose. "A little magic will clean that right up, sweetheart," he assures her. "And it will find Josiah too. I have a locator potion in the shop; all we'll need is an article of his clothing."
Belle scowls and gnaws her bottom lip. Before starting the ignition again, Gold reaches across the seats to stroke her cheek with his knuckles. She's struggling; he can see she's tempted to ask him not to use magic to find Dove. She's approaching this from a moral perspective: she thinks every use of dark magic takes a little light from his soul. This doesn't have to be the price, he's argued: there are other ways to pay. They've gone round and round on this issue and have reached a sort of compromise: he will use magic only when he can think of no other solution and in return, she will not criticize. . . too much.
"For Jo," she says thoughtfully. "Because he's in trouble."
"And time could make a difference," Gold adds. At the shop he leaves the engine running; he knows exactly where on the shelf the box containing the locator potion can be found. He rushes in, able to run now that his ankle's healed; he ignores the shocked stares he receives from people on the street. He seizes the box, tucks it under his arm, and runs for the door again–and is nearly smacked in the face by a bird. "What the f-?" He hasn't time for this. If some mama bird has built a nest in the eaves of his shop and is protecting her eggs, he'll just have to relocate her later.
This is one damned persistent bird: she circles closely above his head as he locks the door and she follows as he jumps into the Caddy. She swoops into the air as he peels out. "What was up with that bird?" Belle wonders.
He shrugs. "Maybe one of my many satisfied customers," he winks at her. He suspects the introduction of magic may be upsetting the balance of nature, but he's not about to tell her that.
They make it across town in minutes, and Belle unlocks the door to the ranch house. As they enter, Belle studiously ignores the bare places on the walls where her "wedding" photos used to hang and the empty knickknack shelves where her Hallmark Bells of the Fifty States collection used to be displayed. She also ignores the closed-off nursery as she runs upstairs to the master bedroom. She's back in a moment with an armful of Dove's shirts, they run outside and she dumps the shirts on the car's hood. As Gold yanks the back seat door open, Belle yelps.
"Sweetheart?" Gold nearly drops the box he's retrieving.
"Look!" She points at the steering wheel, where a white-winged bird is perched, bobbing its head.
"Persistent beastie, isn't she?" Gold opens the driver's side door and tries to shoo the bird out. The bird won't be moved. "I'll just send her back to the shop," he explains, but the bird flies away of its own accord before he can summon his magic. Surreptitiously, he checks out the sky and the ground for signs of other disturbances in the wildlife, but this crazed bird seems the only one.
He fetches the box from the backseat and sets it on the hood of the car; from the box he removes a bottle filled with a blue liquid. "Spread one of the shirts out."
She smoothes the fabric as she lays out a stained Patriots jersey. "He's been eating spaghetti without a napkin again," she muses. "Oh, Rumple, do you think he's all right?"
"He's a resourceful man. He can take care of himself." Gold pours half the liquid onto the jersey. The shirt glows, ripples, then lifts from the hood. It floats on an air current back to the house and comes to rest on the porch rail.
"What does that mean–that he's in the house?" Belle runs to the porch and throws the front door open. She runs inside calling for Jo as she searches each room.
Gold doesn't follow her. He's studying the jersey–or rather, the white-winged bird that's hopped onto it and is pecking at the spaghetti stain. "You again?" An awful feeling wells in his belly, then an awful thought crystallizes in his mind. "Where did you come from, birdie?" He approaches slowly so as not to startle the bird. "Did Snow White send you, or did you come from the Underworld?"
The bird continues to peck at the shirt.
Gold steps onto the porch and holds out an open palm in invitation. "Is that it? Did Thanatos send you?"
The bird flaps its wings angrily, then streaks into the house. Blanching, Gold follows. The bird leads him into the living room, then suddenly wheels about and streaks upstairs. Gold is reluctant to follow. A phantom pain returns to his ankle as he considers what to do. In the back of the house, Belle is still calling for Jo.
So fast he hasn't a chance to react, the bird returns, lands on his shoulder, hopping around; he doesn't shoo it away this time. The bird hops onto his head and he feels something drop onto his hair. He reaches a hand to his head; the bird flies onto the arm of Josiah's Lazy Boy recliner and stares. "'Nevermore,' is that your message? But you're not a raven," Gold mutters. He picks up the small, rectangular piece of polished wood that the bird has dropped into his hair. "You're a"–he rubs his thumb across the three white dots painted onto one end of the domino–"dove."
The bird flaps its wings and hops onto the ottoman.
"Belle," he shouts. "In the living room. He's here."
Belle comes running, a big grin and warm greeting on her lips, but her face falls when she surveys the room. "Where? I don't–"
Gold points at the ottoman.
"That crazy bird again," Belle shoos at it. "Out, out of the house, you!"
"Belle," Gold says softly, "that's Josiah."
Belle is moving around her old kitchen. Everything's just where she left it; she's making tea, chamomile, because tea's just what everyone needs right now and because she needs something to do. At the table sit her beloved and the sheriff; perched on the napkin holder is her ex-husband.
"How do you know?" Emma is exasperated. She may have broken the curse, but she doesn't fully believe.
"Ask him," Gold suggests. As he watches her interrogate the bird, he's looking at her with new eyes. He visualizes her walking beside Bae (he has to force himself to see Bae as a full-grown man now, not a teenager) down the streets of New York, at home there, at home with each other. She wouldn't have her arm linked in his, as Belle likes to do with Gold; Emma's not the cuddly type. No, she'd have her hands shoved in her pockets and Bae's arm would be draped casually around her shoulders, and every so often she'd give him an affectionate shove. There would be banter between them, not the gentle questions and sweet encouragements that Belle offers Gold; Bae and Emma would tease each other, provoke each other, dare each other. But when she looked across her shoulder into his eyes, it would be with pride, trust and affection, and in that way, she is no different from Belle, and Bae is no different from his father.
She's denied everything he imagines, with her accusations against Bae and her refusal to see him again, but Gold hears the hurt behind her barbed words, and if Belle can forgive the monster Rumplestiltskin, surely Emma can forgive the once brave and true Baelfire. Perhaps she need only be reminded that when she looks in admiration at her son, she's looking at a miniature version of Bae. Gold's never felt more fatherly than now, as he considers ways in which he can bring this family together.
Emma mutters a few choice swear words, but forces a smile for the bird. "Ahem. Bird. Are you–what Gold says you are?"
The bird bobs its head and she swears again. "Bird. Your name is Josiah Dove?"
The bird flaps its wings.
"You. . . Crap. This is ridiculous."
"The truth often is, Ms. Swan."
"Bird. Who do you work for?"
The bird hops onto Gold's head and pecks at his hair. "Stop that," Gold brushes him away. "Yes, I know what you think of my long hair, but you'd do well to remember who signs your paycheck."
"All right, then," Emma persists. "Who am I?"
"Maybe you should stick to yes or no questions," Belle suggests, bringing over three cups of tea.
The dove, however, is not deterred: it hops across the table to Emma, then pecks at her badge. She sighs. "What the hell, Gold?"
"That 'environmental thing' that appeared in town six days ago?" Gold calmly stirs his tea. "That was magic." He snaps his fingers and a plate of cookies appears in his hand. "Cookie, Ms. Swan?"
"What the f- are you playing at, Gold?"
He offers a cookie to Belle, then one to Dove, then makes the plate vanish. "Six days ago, when the agreed-upon sixty days had passed, I brought magic to this world. It's. . . different in this environment. I don't fully understand its behaviors yet. Regina's curse prevented people from coming into or leaving Storybrooke. You broke that curse, but it seems my introduction of magic may have brought that element of the curse back, with a twist."
"You mean if we try to leave, instead of crashing our cars, we'll turn into wildlife?"
"I don't know the ramifications yet, but I suspect it's more case specific." He reheats his tea by sticking a glowing finger into it. "I think perhaps we will revert to the forms we had before Regina cast the curse."
Emma points at the bird. "You mean, back in Fairytale Land, he was an actual dove?"
Gold runs his hand down his face. There's a puff of smoke, then when it clears, Emma is gaping at a sparkly skinned person with a bad perm and an even worse case of dental disease. "Just as I was an imp."
Emma opens and closes her mouth, but all that comes out is an "eep."
Gold summons the smoke again, and when it clears he's his old familiar dapper self. "This is called a glamour, Ms. Swan. A magical facade. I haven't actually changed my form, only the shell. So before you ask, I can't wave my hand and restore Josiah's humanity, though I wish to the gods I could."
Emma regains her voice. "What can you do?"
"Study. Experiment." He looks upon the bird with deep regret, and the dove cocks its head. "I brought magic here to find Bae. . . and to restore my power so that I can protect myself and my family. But I, of all people, should know you lose more than you win when you gamble with magic."
"We'll fix this," Belle vows. "I know we can, and then we'll go to New York and find your son."
"'We,'" he echoes. "You're ready, then, my love, to go back to the books?" What he's really asking is if she can trust him again. He reaches for her hand. "I need you to help me set things right." He's not ready to say that bringing magic here was a mistake; he still believes magic will heal his family; but as he listens to the dove sing its mourning song, he lets guilt crawl under his skin and bury itself.
"We're a team, Rumple." She squeezes his hand. "We'll figure this out. I'm honored to work with you."
"Why didn't I ask for your help a long time ago?" He kisses her hand.
Watching them, Emma's eyes fill with amazement. She puts on her emotional armor and stands, "All right, then, I got to get road blocks up and an emergency bulletin to City Hall." A trace of longing underlies her words. "And, uh, I got an address to hunt down for you, for when you break this boundary curse."