Chapter 27

Footfalls on the first steps of the basement stairs draw Gold's attention away from his self-made chem kit. He declares, "I'd know those lovely ankles anywhere. Come on down, sweetheart, nothing foul-smelling or incendiary here today."

"Hello, Jo," Belle greets the bird in its cage, which hangs on a hook near the basement window. Gold sometimes talks to the bird as he works; he sees no indication that Josiah understands or even listens, but it eases Gold's guilty conscience somewhat. As she chatters to Dove, Belle's voice is edged with sympathy, for Dove hasn't settled into his captivity; he still batters his cage sometimes. Her presence helps calm him.

It's a warm spring evening, so Belle is wearing shorts and a sleeveless blouse. "Lawyer by day, sorcerer by night," she says as she approaches, cautiously avoiding the burners, beakers and tubes. "You could be DC Comics' next superhero." She's been getting to know Henry, since the boy is her beloved's grandson, and he's expanded her reading repertoire.

A month has passed since Dove's transformation, and while, to a centuries-old sorcerer, a month is the blink of an eye, to Belle, who was twenty-three when Regina cast the Storybrooke curse, it's a long time to wait. When not engaged in the research of magic, she has used the weeks to bond with the people she now considers kin, through her connection with Gold.

"Thank you, darling, but I'm afraid I'm no Batman." He sighs as his attention returns to the test tube in his hand. "Some days, I can't even compete with the Dark One I once was."

"No progress, then, today." She sets her hands on his shoulders and begins to massage–she knows exactly where he carries his tension.

"Should be simple: I isolated the section that created the barrier in the original written curse; I could just reverse it, but I don't have the ingredients, and I'm not having any luck developing synthetics. Charming and I raided Regina's house and vault this morning, but her supply was extremely limited. She may have taken most of it with her. Or perhaps she brought very little from the Enchanted Forest, since there was no reason to believe she'd ever get to use it here."

"There is one other master magic practitioner in town, and she has been practicing."

"The Blue Fairy is not about to cooperate with the Dark One," he snorts.

"Perhaps not." Through Emma, Belle and Gold have learned that Mother Superior and her nuns have been drilling, fairy-militia style, in the expectation that either Regina will return with a vengeance or Rumplestiltskin will go berserk ("He's always been half-crazy, you know," Astrid confided to Emma. "And he's always blamed us for his problems." To which Emma responded with a quirked eyebrow.)

"But perhaps Mother Fairy would work with a bookworm." Belle's mouth purses in a mischievous little pucker. "I've been told the convent owns quite a large library. Surely Blue would have brought a supply of spell books from the old country, just out of habit."

"If so, I'm sure those books are hidden away, even from her nuns."

"One of the advantages to having been a maiden noblewoman is that people kind of trust me. They have a tendency to underestimate my dark side." She drums her fingernails on her arms. "I think I'll pay a neighborly visit to the convent on Monday; I'll take a picnic, because who would suspect a picnic bringer of nefarious motives? A platter of my Southern fried chicken, potato salad–and deviled eggs."

He wrinkles his nose. "I hate to see your Southern fried chicken wasted on that lot."

She winks at him. "I'll leave you a plate."

The local media have been gifted, these past weeks, with much to report. As he and Belle watch the evening news before bed, Gold clicks his tongue over the latest, a "man on the street" story in which passersby are asked their thoughts concerning the boundary curse. "It does no one any favors to encourage people's imaginations to run wild."

Belle purses her lips. "Rumple, do you suppose our radio or TV broadcasts reach the outside world?"

He blanches. "Gods. We'd better hope not." He's embarrassed that, in all the time he's lived in Storybrooke, he's given no thought to the media–other than to remind the Doves not to trust it, since Regina controlled it.

"And what we say on the Internet–not that many of us use it, but it seems likely that some of the ones who do will have talked about our situation." As Gold grabs his cane to stand, Belle reaches for her phone. "I'm adamantly opposed to censorship, but in this case, I think Emma's going to have to ask City Council for some controls." She pauses in her dialing to call after him as he walks away. "Where are you going, darling?"

"Basement. I've got a communications barrier to erect–right after I invent such a thing."

"That insufferable, self-righteous, stick-up-her-a–oh, hi, Emma." Belle charges into the kitchen, where the sheriff and the wizard are sipping tea. There's a brown envelope lying beside Emma's cup.

"Hi, Belle," Emma snickers. "Who put the burr under your saddle?"

"Oh," Belle tosses herself into a chair. "I went to the Blue Fairy for help with the boundary curse."

"I take it she said no."

"Not even to help Jo." Belle slaps the table, causing spoons and cups to rattle. "Jo, who's never done one single damn thing to her or her fairies. She said, 'Those who indulge in the dark arts should expect collateral damage. It's about time the Dark One took notice of the innocents his mischief has hurt.'"

Gold glares into his cup.

"Think it would help if the savior paid her a visit?" Emma offers. "Or Snow?"

Belle shrugs. "I don't know what would get through to that woman. Must be a heavy burden to always be right."

"I wouldn't know. That's one burden the Dark One has never had to carry," Gold smiles wryly.

Emma changes the subject. "Gold was just telling me about the communications dome he's developed."

"I'll erect it this afternoon. Not sure it'll be completely effective; this modern world has challenges that exceed any that any mage has ever encountered." He sighs; the circles beneath his eyes play witness to the long hours he's spent in his lab. It's left no time for work on the cure for the boundary curse, and his inability to look Dove in the eye reveals his guilty feelings about that.

"On a happier note," Emma drags the envelope forward and presents it to Gold. She sits back, grinning in anticipation of his reaction. "Now before I open this, I'm reminding you of my limits: I don't want Henry to find out anything about this."

He reads the first page, a printout. "13330 W. Gabriel #407." Then his tongue trips him up. "Manhatt–Emma." He reaches for the sheriff's hand. "Is this–"

"Yeah," Emma beams. "He goes by 'Neal Cassidy' now."

Gold's mouth drops open as he stares at the page, as if it's some sort of new spell.

Belle yahoos. "Thank you, Emma! Oh, thank you!" She runs to the sheriff's side to embrace her.

"Aye," Gold echoes. "Your debt to me is paid in full. Thank you, Emma."

"Well, turn that page. There's more," Emma instructs.

Gold clasps a hand to his mouth as he examines the other item, a color photograph of a man with a beard and salt-and-pepper hair. Under the photo is written "Neal Cassidy. B. 10-2-77. Asbury, New Jersey. Height 5 ft. 10. Weight 150. Occupation: electrician."

"Oh, my . . . ." Belle reaches out a finger to touch the image, as if she's stroking Neal's cheek.

"He's a man now," Gold manages. "He's tall." He seems alternately mesmerized by the photo and dismayed. "Thirty-five! All those years I missed. What must he think of me? Growing up alone, all those years alone, an orphan." His eyes light for a moment with a thought. "Emma, did he ever mention me?"

The sheriff looks down at the table.

Gold pushes. "Not my name, of course, that would've been ridiculous—'My dad is Rumplestiltskin, yes, the fairytale villain'—but didn't he ever mention anything about his father?"

Emma tries to unburden her answer. "I'm sure he must have missed you, like I missed my parents, even though I never met them. But we never talked about our pasts, just the future."

His hand twitches with magic and he begins to talk rapidly. "I can fix it. I have to fix it. Magic can take away the pain. It can't change the past but it can alter memories. And I can turn back the biological clock; I—"

"No, you can't," Emma interjects. "Listen to me, Gold: you'll just make a worse mess if you try to 'fix things.' Just ask Snow. You have to accept the situation for what it is. Take it as a whole new start, because you can't pick up from where you left off and you can't fix it, even with all your magic. It is what it is."

"I think she's right," Belle adds. "If you want a relationship with him at all, it has to be as one adult to another. You can never be his papa again, but you can be his father, if you can see him as the man he is, instead of your little boy."

Emma changes the subject into one less emotionally dangerous, more hopeful. "Something I've been wondering. So Fairytale Land people can't leave here, but can they come here? I mean, we know outsiders can't get in, but I was born in the Enchanted Forest and I got into Storybrooke."

"That was before the new boundary curse. If you're thinking of bringing Bae here, we don't know what the new curse may do to him, if anything." Yet the tiredness in Gold's eyes fades, replaced with a faint hope. "We can't risk it."

"And with the communications block, we can't speak to him," Belle adds.

"Not as ourselves, anyway, but. . . . " Gold closes his eyes. "If Gold's Pawnshop were to phone Neal Cassidy. . .as long as I didn't say anything about the Enchanted Forest or magic. . . as long as I didn't slip and call him 'son'. . . ."

"Just to hear his voice after three hundred years," Belle speculates. "What a gift that would be. An inspiration."

Emma's voice quavers as she dials her phone. "Hi. I'd like a number in Soho, New York. A listing for Neal Cassidy, please."

Gold clears his throat before putting the phone on speaker and dialing the number Emma's written on the printout. He carefully sets the phone between him and Belle. "Hello? This is Gold's Antiquities in Maine, calling for Neal Cassidy."

"Yeah. That's me."

Emma's eyes widen, and then Gold knows—all at once he knows for sure that's Bae on the other end, and the woman sitting here at the kitchen table once knew Bae and loved him and bore his son and might still care.

Gold grips Belle's hand. "Mr. Cassidy, I'm calling to verify an order that was placed online, for a handmade woolen shawl, circa 1832."

"Nope. That wasn't me."

"You didn't? Perhaps someone in your household-?"

"No 'household' here, pal. Sorry, don't know how it happened, but it's a mistake."

Belle mouths to Emma: "He's not married."

"Well, thank you, we'll correct the error. Sorry to disturb. Good day, Mr. Cassidy."

Gold drops the phone, stands abruptly and hurries from the room. Behind him, he hears Belle say, "Until now, all he's had to go on was faith."

"What made you change your mind?" Belle asks as she ties his necktie for him.

"Emma. If she can put aside her anger, I guess I can too." Gold avoids making eye contact with her. It's hard enough opening up to her like this; though she has a way about her that elicits openness from most people, he's kept his secrets so long, he finds frankness extraordinarily difficult. She's had to remind him many times that emotional vulnerability is not unmanly or weak. He's learning the trust required to let her in, just as she's learning the patience not to push.

"Should I come with you?"

A relieved yes forms on his lips, but he knows her presence would diminish the import of what he's about to do, actually make him appear less strong in the enemy's eyes. "Thank you, but no. Got to do this mano a mano."

"What will you offer her?"

He gave this a lot of thought last night, with the memory of his son's deep, Jersey accent and his might-have-been daughter-in-law's raw pain still fresh. So much hurt Emma and Bae put each other through: Gold knows only a sliver of that story, but still, he suspects pride from the Charming side of the family and secrecy from the Stiltskin side as the main culprits.

Perhaps those same culprits have blown the Dark One-Reul Ghorm feud out of proportion. He has to find out.

"An apology," he answers.

Belle's mouth drops open. He takes the opportunity to kiss it.

And so he drives alone to the convent and he waits, choosing not to be insulted by being kept waiting on the porch, for, frankly, he's given the nuns no reason to welcome him as a guest. When one of the sisters, after eyeing him up and down, opens the door to him and escorts him to Mother Superior's office, he merely thanks her. For Josiah, for Bae, for Emma, who needs closure with Bae, one way or another, and for Henry, who needs to meet his father, which can only happen if Emma and Bae talk out their anger. It's time for Rumplestiltskin to set an example.

The sister does not close the office door behind her: she won't trust him alone with Mother Superior. She steps out, but he doesn't hear her walk away.

Mother Superior, in her cardigan and cross, looks up at him. She's so small behind her very big mahogany desk. Small and old and powerful, like he is.

Her eyes widen for a second. At first he's puzzled, then he recalls she hadn't crossed paths with him since he brought magic to Storybrooke; he must look odd to her, with Rumplestiltskin's wild hair and sparkly skin, yet Gold's Armani and his cane, still limping a little–he will heal his leg only after Bae has forgiven him. Probably, someone had informed her of his transformation, but the incongruence of his two looks must be startling just the same. She collects herself. "Hello, Rumplestiltskin." She doesn't offer a seat.

"Good morning, Reul Ghorm."

"Belle told me what you want. I suppose you've come to make a threat disguised as a deal." The fairy-nun's voice ices her words. "To not raise my rent if I loan you my books, is that it?"

"I've read the book that your order lives by," he begins.

"I find that hard to believe."

He ignores the slight. "One passage especially stood out for me. 'Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you.' I'm asking, Reul Ghorm, for your forgiveness, for the war I waged against your kind and the rage I unleashed against you. I'm seeking your help in undoing the harm I've caused my friend and my son. I'm knocking," he looks around the office, "at the door of this place your book calls a place of reconciliation."

"This is a new low for you, Rumplestiltskin, to use the Bible to try to manipulate me." She's trembling with anger.

He has to think for a moment: he's never bothered to try to see her point of view before, so he has no knowledge of how to get through to her. "Reul Ghorm, if you know one thing about me, you must know that my son and Belle mean more to me than all the world."

"The fact that you chose your dagger over Baelfire proves you're lying."

"I've devoted my existence since then to searching for him so I can tell him I'm sorry," he snaps.

"Nothing you've done in all these years shows an attempt to be a better man, or even a shadow of remorse. You're the Dark One, no matter how fashionably you dress or how many lines of Scripture you memorize." She walks around her desk to square off with him. "You're the personification of evil and that makes you incapable of repentance. You're the master of deceit. You aren't seeking forgiveness from anybody!"

"This is impossible," he mutters and turns away. But from the corner of his eye, he catches a movement at her window, and he pauses to look more fully: a sparrow has alighted on the sill and is resting there. He watches it a moment, remembering: Not a sparrow falls. . . .

He has to try again.

He turns back to Blue and offers the only tangible proof of his sincerity he has: he reaches into his chest and with a shudder, for the pain is intense, removes his heart. He holds it in his open palm for her to see. Suspicious but irresistibly curious, Blue approaches just close enough to see.

Except for a black blotch in the center, the heart is bright red.

She raises startled eyes to his. She knows as well as he does, the heart of the Dark One should be black as pitch.

"For Josiah's sake, and Belle's and Bae's, help me, Reul Ghorm."

She takes a step back, leaning against her big desk for support. "I may have some books that will answer your questions."