Chapter 32

Belle's curled up on the couch, a book about magic in her hands and a notepad in her lap. The couch is cluttered with books, there's no room for another sitter, so Gold takes off his jacket and tie, folds them carefully over the arm of his Barcalounger, and seats himself at her feet. She idly plays with his hair as she reads.

At last she sets the book aside to pay attention to her beloved. "How is she?"

"Only you would ask about her health," Gold sighs. "Someday, sweetheart, you're going to have to teach me where you found the bottomless well of forgiveness that you keep dipping into."

"You have it too," she assures him. "You just ignore it."

"I let it grow over with weeds. She's. . . still feisty. Still making threats. But she's ill from the dust. We need to make a decision soon. She has maybe three or four more days, I think, before her sanity. . . ."

"How long were you in Charming's mine?"

"I don't know. No windows, so I had no sense of time passing. But I had coping mechanisms." He doesn't want to remember: some of his coping mechanisms may have fueled the madness. "And you, in Regina's tower? How did you cope?"

They've talked about this before; they will again. But one day, they won't need to and then they'll let the rotten parts of the past go. Then they'll carry with them only those memories that lighten their present-day burden.

"I sang songs, sometimes lullabies my mother sang to me, sometimes little-girl songs from my halcyon days, sometimes songs from the bad old days too, about war and ogres. When I wanted to feel close to you, I sang the ones that I used to sing when I cleaned the Dark Castle."

"I remember," he says fondly. "The first time I caught you singing to yourself, you were kneading bread. It was a song about a tavern wench, not really a domestic song at all, much too bawdy for bread-making. I was shocked that my innocent maid knew such a song."

"You never sang then, but you do now."

"You give me reason."

She drops down to the floor and lays her head in his lap. "That bottomless well of forgiveness? This is how we draw from it. With songs, with happy memories."

"Is it really bottomless?" What he means is Will you always forgive me?

"It has to be," Belle answers. "Because god knows, human failing is."

"Love is," Gold adds thoughtfully. "Love is never-ending. Even for the likes of me. Charming's prison made me ill, but the moment when I thought I'd lost both you and Bae, that's when I went mad. But even then, sure that I'd never see either of you again, I couldn't stop loving you."

"There's your well of forgiveness, Rumple: your family."

He starts to consider this–and just as quickly, shuts the thought off. It would only get in the way. He bends to kiss her cheek. "I need to get up, sweetheart. I have a great many appointments, all to clean up the mess Regina made."

Gold spends the rest of his day with fire investigators, city code compliance officers, his insurance agent and, finally, the crew chief of a demolition company, all in relation to the burned-down fourplex. When he drags home, he concludes that next time he needs to raze a building, he'll conjure it gone: there's too damn much paperwork and talking involved in doing it the human way.

There was one bright spot in the day: the fire department found Henry's storybook unharmed in the remains of a dresser. Tucking it under his arm, Gold walks home just before sunset. On the porch to the pink house he finds another surprise: Dove has returned and is perched on the railing.

"Welcome back," Gold greets the bird. He wonders if Josiah came back of his own volition or by a communication from Snow White. He's inclined to think the former when, as soon as the front door is open, the bird flies inside and directly to the kitchen. Gold makes a decision then not to re-cage the bird. After filling some ramekins with water and seed, Gold fetches a box and fills it with shredded newspaper, then sets it in the laundry room. Dove watches him as he completes these tasks but doesn't budge from the back of Belle's chair.

Gold pours himself an iced tea and sits down heavily at the table. He's too tired to think and he would rather not feel, because if he does, it will be either rage or depression. . . or both. Why, he wonders, doesn't he feel satisfied? Regina's been prevented from taking Henry and she'll pay for what she did. Perhaps he relates to–though does not, cannot sympathize with–her, villain to villain, childless parent to childless parent. Or perhaps he feels guilty for having nudged a sixteen-year-old down a bramble-choked path.

This is bad, very bad. He'll derail his plans if he starts thinking about the consequences of his actions upon other people.

He distracts himself by watching the bird, which is watching him. "Josiah, are you in there?" The bird fails to respond. "I'm sorry."

How messy the house is, with new and donated clothes strewn about for the sheriff and her son, but Gold doesn't mind at all. How crowded the kitchen is, with two more round the table, but Belle doesn't mind at all.

The kitchen table is tight on space with four seated around it, passing platters and bowls back and forth. It's hardly traditional, but Gold's placed a fifth chair at the foot of the table; Belle understands why and doesn't mention the asymmetry. The guests don't notice: Emma's famished after a long day of patrolling the town for signs of additional damage Regina might have caused, while Henry's pumping all the adults for information about the trial and their best guesses as to Regina's punishment. He seems to assume Regina will be sentenced to a few months in jail, during which he'll be allowed to drop in on her with the same casualness as he has visited Emma there. He knows his mom is locked up, but he doesn't know about the fairy dust.

A glance passes between Emma and Gold. It's Emma's decision, but Gold's expression indicates he thinks Henry should be given more preparation for what may come. Damaged though it is, the boy does need to continue a relationship with the woman who raised him for as long as it's possible, Gold thinks–not for Regina's welfare, not even for Henry's benefit, but so that when Regina's gone Henry will have no cause to resent Emma. Gold understands Emma's wish to spare her son pain, but he compares Henry's situation to his own. He thinks back upon the few happy days, scattered over eight years, that he had with Malcolm, and he believes if, had he been given a choice to not know his father at all and be spared the pain of abandonment, he would have still willingly paid with all that pain just to have the little of Malcolm's love he was given. Or maybe not. He may not be that brave.

A small shake of the head indicates Emma's decision.

Gold gives her a small nod in answer: he will refrain from answering Henry's questions about Regina's incarceration, even if he thinks Henry's old enough to be told. His eyes drift over Emma's head to the photo on the wall. Gold understands how hard it is to parent. He made a few bad decisions in his day.

He's brushing his teeth, getting ready for bed. Emma and Henry turned in two hours ago: they're early risers and will hit the bricks before Gold and Belle even wake up. Then again, Gold may just surprise them and join them for breakfast. He has reason: Henry's got a ball game this afternoon and Gold ought to wish him good luck.

Last night, after Gold returned the storybook to the boy, Henry invited him to attend the game. Gold's never been invited to a game before. Hell, he's never been invited to much of anything before. He'll be there, and he won't embarrass his grandson by wearing Armani and Ferragamos: he'll go in the jeans and t-shirt Belle talked him into buying. And he won't yell too much or threaten to cane the umpire and he'll pack a cooler and share his bounty with the other parents and grandparents.

Belle beamed when Henry extended the invitation, but she had the good sense not to make a fuss. She stayed out of the conversation, conducting her own conversation with Emma, but she seemed unnaturally pleased that Clark's was offering a three-for-one on canned peas.

So Gold is brushing his teeth and thinking about the designated hitter rule when his eyes fall on Belle's hairbrush and suddenly the brainstorm hits him. Then he knows, as sure as he knew when he first came up with the idea of bottling True Love. This new idea has never been done before, never been tested, but his gut tells him it will work. It will break the boundary curse, restore Josiah and resolve the Regina dilemma. It will make Henry safe. It will enable Gold to go to Soho and find Bae. It will make Belle proud.

That is, if he pursues it. He sets his toothbrush back in its cup. This new idea will solve all their problems—but it means giving up everything that makes Gold special, everything that keeps him and his family safe. It's a tremendous price to pay.

Emma's late for the ball game. Gold's saved a seat for her—not that there's much competition for space on the risers—and as she approaches, he politely stands. She's wearing sunglasses, as is he, but as she sits down, sweat from her forehead runs into her eyes and she removes the sunglasses to rub the sweat away. That's when he finds out why she's late: she's sporting a black eye.

"Emma—"

"Oh, don't go there, Gold," she sighs. "Just toss me a beer, huh?"

"I'm going there," he says firmly. She groans but he pushes, "No matter how drunk he gets, Leroy would never hit a woman, so I'm guessing it was Regina who hit you."

Emma reaches past him, digs around in the cooler and fetches a beer for herself. "Forget it. I'm an officer of the law. This kind of crap happens."

"What else did she do?"

Emma pulls the tab and takes a long draught before muttering, "She. . .broke Whale's nose. He was examining her and she. . . she accused him of trying to rape her. All he was doing was listening to her heart with his stethoscope. She had him on the floor and was beating the hell out of him. Incredible strength, considering."

"The dust causes occasional spikes in adrenaline."

"When I tried to peel her off of him, she screamed and went after me. Thought I was an ogre."

He smiles wryly. "You can be rather intimidating, Ms. Swan." He raises his hand; his fingertip is glowing. "May I?" She nods and he touches the bruise, healing it instantly.

"Thanks." She looks out at the field; Henry's covering third base. "What'd I miss?"

"He's been up to bat twice. Struck out both times."

She shrugs. "Hitting's not his long suit." She flashes a smile. "Actually, baseball's not his long suit, but he has fun anyway."

"Emma, I know you don't want to talk about this, but it's only going to get worse with Regina. Who knows what form her madness will take? For me, it was kind of a mania: giggling, wall-climbing, talking to shadows. For Regina, it sounds like she'll act out in violence."

"We've got her on a suicide watch, by Archie's orders." Emma sips her beer. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone that. Guess I was hoping you might have an idea. Something in your hokus-pokus bag."

"Nothing that Whale couldn't prescribe for her. Emma, until she starves herself into weakness, she's very dangerous."

"I know." She touches her eye.

"If she's imagining ogres and rapists, she's already declining into insanity. If she were to get out—if she overpowered Leroy some night when he's taking her to the ladies' room, she could do a hell of a lot of damage and not even know who she's attacking."

"Henry."

"Yeah. She's already hurt one child. Micky's still in the hospital."

"We're going to have to speed up this trial. Still don't have anyone to defend her."

"A trial is pointless," he grunts. "A waste of time. We need to be talking about what to do afterward."

"It's the now that's my job. How do I protect the town from her? How do I protect Henry?"

He shakes his head slowly. "Whatever you do, don't let her out of the cell."

A crack of a bat draws her attention back to the game. Gold's hand on his beer can tightens. That boy out there on third base is his responsibility too.

For Henry, Regina must be stopped. For Belle and Josiah and Adelena, Regina must be punished. There's only one way to stop a sorceress.