Chapter 45

At eleven o'clock the Practice What You Preach Campaign (so named by Emma) launches as the Friends of Rumplestiltskin (so named by Francoise) hits the bricks. The junior auxilary seeks the signatures of the under-eighteens; Francoise goes after the business owners and clerks; Jefferson pursues the fashion folk: tailors, hairdressers, jewels, dressmakers and the like; Emma visits the seedier side of town; Belle chases down the bookish; Jo drops in on the blue-collar crowd at the cannery, hardware stores, auto repair shops, sporting goods stores and bait shops; Blue and Bernie visit the sick and the unemployed.

To fight for yourself is right, said Caine. By his own choice, Gold walks the residential neighborhoods, where, with no onlookers to compel good behavior, folks feel free to express what they really think of him. Doors are slammed in his face, dogs are sicced upon him (Ms. Ginger even orders her "attack cat" to bite him), mop water is tossed on him, brooms are shaken at him, trash cans are turned over his head. He expects this, now that his magic is gone and people believe that exiling him will result in the confiscation of his real estate holdings.

He's attempting to gather signatures, yes, but even more, he's apologizing for any offenses he committed against these people or their families. He doesn't attempt to justify his wicked behavior or ask forgiveness. It took every ounce of courage he could muster to knock on the first door; twenty houses later, a boulder still rolls around in his stomach. With each knock he reminds himself of Master Po's insight: The coward and the hero march together within every man, so to call one man coward and another brave merely serves to indicate the possibilities of their achieving the opposite.

As he speaks to the few who will listen, he struggles to remember the exact nature of his offenses against each person; his occasional memory lapses shame him because they reveal the extent of his disrespect for others. As recently as a handful of weeks ago, he'd felt no concern for anyone who wasn't Belle or Bae, but serving Storybrooke's cursed families–the confused children, the suffering mothers and fathers–had an effect on him, like a slow, cooling rain drenching the flames that had been consuming his soul ever since his father abandoned him.

I have seen a tree struck by lightning. Inside, a small fire grew and devoured the tree, said Caine. The fire of hatred would always burn in him, he recognized that; he'd practiced villainy too long to be cured of it. But since Emma broke the curse–since he chose to break his own curse–the flames have shiveled. Po said, But what is evil, but the self seeking to fulfill its own secret needs? All that is necessary is that we face it and choose. Every day, for the rest of his now-mortal life, he would have to choose–he, not Belle or Bae choosing for him, telling him what to do. He has to decide what's good and choose it, by himself, for himself.

So he hits the bricks and knocks on doors, and sometimes the doors are slammed in his face and sometimes they're opened to him. He keeps knocking, keeps asking for his apology to be heard and believed, keeps walking despite his fragile ankle and his fragile pride. Po said, But the threads that make up our human nature are two-ended. There is no capacity for feeling pride without an equal capacity for feeling shame. One cannot feel joy unless one can also feel despair. We have no capacity for good without an equal capacity for evil.

Long after dark, he returns home, pausing periodically to rest against a tree or a wall. In the dining room, the Friends of Rumplestiltskin are celebrating their achievements–thirty percent of the residents canvassed, nineteen percent of them won over–with pizza. Belle is glowing even as she strategizes the next day's campaign; perhaps she should run for city council one day. Gold shakes off his despair and shame to join them and thank them for their friendship.

But after the last slice of pepperoni has been scarfed down and everyone has gone home for a well-earned rest, he takes refuge in the shower, in the release of water and tears.

There are no fence sitters in this campaign. Some of the residents' stances surprise the Friends of Rumplestiltskin: Belle's friend Leroy sides with the Exilers, and his brothers all fall in line. The barflies and drug dealers and petty thieves take the opportunity to elevate themselves by lowering Gold's status. Most of the Chamber of Commerce vote for exile, perhaps sniffing the king crocodile's blood in the financial waters. But 62% of the under-eighteeners and 100% of the hospital staff and every mechanic, hardware salesperson, banker, tackle shop employee and dog walker in town sign Gold's counter-petition. Every member of every family whose custody case Gold and Belle took on signs for Gold; most help circulate the petition. Ruby votes for Gold; Granny votes for exile. Marco and August, Ariel and Eric take opposite sides too and Emma's sometimes called in to resolve noise complaints as the families shout at each other.

Archie signs the exile petition. He tries to explain; he thinks the only way Gold can truly change is if he faces the consequences of his actions. Gold and Belle are crushed.

Bae shows up driving a U-Haul. He's quit his job; he'll seek another here. He moves into one of Gold's rental properties, rent-free, of course, and lease-free; Gold and Belle suspect it won't be long 'til he moves again, into the house on Begbie Street.

Another week passes and then, broadcast live on the local news, Spencer presents the exile petition to Queen Snow. He's standing dignified and certain on the steps of City Hall, with a smirking Glass behind him; Snow, flanked by three dwarfs, shifts from foot to foot. Belle feels sorry for her, caught between her husband and Leroy on the Clean Up Storybrooke Society side ("Do they realize what their acronym spells?" Belle remarks) and her daughter and her grandson on the FOR side. Gold just feels sorry.

He admits it to Belle–he's come to realize that not only is openness good for their relationship, it's good for him. "Belle, I'm going out to the convent for a while. I feel like I need to."

"Should I come with you?"

"No, I. . .have some questions for Blue." He twists his cane in his hand, punishing it as he would himself.

Belle kisses his cheek. "I'll keep your supper warm in the oven."

"Rumplestiltskin!" Blue opens the door herself; her sisters are busy with their chores.

He looks a little embarrassed, a little hopeful. "If I'm not disturbing?"

"Not at all. Come in."

As he enters, she's puzzled: she's usually been the one to come to him, to his lab. "I wonder if we might have a talk."

"Certainly. About what?"

"About fate and free will, forgiveness and change. Memory and suffering and choices. And what your book teaches about them."

"About human nature," she surmises. "Let's go into the kitchen for a cup of tea."

Gold learns that the philosophies introduced in the book Blue follows aren't that much different from those he's picked up from Masters Po and Khan.

Belle is waiting up for him. It's past two in the morning and she's long since refrigerated his supper, but she puts on a pot of chamomile and lays out a plate of cookies. He relates his conversation with Blue. His voice is hoarse and his eyes red-rimmed: he confesses that a few tears were shed on both sides of the convent's kitchen table.

Belle holds his hand and just listens.

At noon, in a live broadcast, the FOR, in full strength, presents their petition and proposal to the queen. The television commentator points out that Emma, wearing her badge, patrols the crowd for signs of trouble, but her son stands at Belle's elbow. Gold's son stands beside Gold. The scrawl beneath the televised images declares this "Storybrooke's Civil War."

As Gold is handing over the petition, Archie dashes up the steps, squeezing through the crowd. He's waving a ballpoint pen. "Your Majesty! I've changed my mind. I want to change my vote." Snow allows it, but after the presentation Archie is beseiged by reporters, FOR and CUSS supporters and the simply curious, all demanding an explanation. "I remembered what I once was. I'd be a piss-poor psychiatrist if I couldn't recognize true remorse, and a damned hypocrite if I didn't believe in reformation."

Much later, he calls Gold. "I heard what you did, going house to house to apologize, even to those who signed Spencer's petition. The Dark One never apologized for anything. He didn't give a damn who he hurt or how. That showed me you've had a huge change of heart. So I want to apologize to you for misjudging you."

"Thank you, Dr. Hopper. And I want to apologize too."

Snow announces that she'll tender her decision when she's ready and not a minute before. The glare she casts around before retreating to her office prevents any arguments.

CUSS file over to Granny's for a premature celebration. The newscasters have counted the signaures: of Storybrooke's 3,018 inhabitants, 2,312 have signed the CUSS petition; 646 signed FOR's. Sixty were too young to write their names.

FOR meets at La Tandoor for a meal cooked by Francoise, Ruby and Josiah.

"This isn't a numbers game," Gold assures his supporters, surprising everyone with his optimism.

"That's right," Emma says. "Mom will make up her own mind, based on what she thinks is in the best interest of the town."

"Though Henry's puppy-dog eyes won't hurt any." Jefferson makes them all laugh.

"Don't worry, Grandpa. If we lose, me and Mom and Dad will visit you in New York, or wherever. A lot," Henry promises.

"You won't have far to go," Gold says. "If we lose–and remember, it ain't over 'til it's over–we'll move our house to Highway 22, just beyond the town line. I'm going to obey the law out of respect for Snow, but I'm also going to do everything I can to keep this family together."

A week passes, then two, and CUSS leadership begins to publicly demand a decision. When still another week passes, Spencer and Glass go on Good Morning, Storybrooke to accuse Snow of intentionally dragging her feet in the expectation that people will forget about the petition. "The queen and her consort are practically in-laws with the Dark One," Glass declares. "Think about it, Storybrooke: do you want the Dark One pulling your queen's strings? We didn't have this problem when we had a strong, independent queen leading us. I ask you, whose idea was it to drive Regina Mills out? We should demand an investigation. Who gained when Regina left? What sort of deal did the Charmings work out with their powerful conspirator? What was the Dark One's role in Queen Regina's so-called 'trial'?"

"Think about this," Spencer adds. "When did Neal Cassidy come to town? When did he show the slightest interest in Storybrooke or his girlfriend or his own son? Was it when Emma first came here? Was it any of the times she was in danger? Or when his son was in danger? Or when Storybrooke was threatened? No! It wasn't until we started circulating our petition that he came roaring into town. So I ask you, neighbors, why did he come here? Does he care about his girlfriend or his son? Or is it his father, the Dark One, he's here for? But the very same day he arrived here, he moved in with Snow White's daughter. The very same day!"

"That's a lie," Belle mutters. "Slander! Bae should sue."

"Ther's nothing to sue for, as long as Spencer and Glass continue to couch their accusations in questions. They've made no direct accusations."

"Well, they said Bae and Emma are living together," Belle says weakly.

"That is an untruth–for the moment."

"Is it his son and girlfriend Cassidy moved here for–or is it Snow? How safe are you, Storybrooke, when the Dark One's son is literally in bed with our sheriff, who happens to be the queen's daughter? How moral a decision can a woman make when her daughter and grandson are openly campaigning for a murderer, a thief, a manipulator, a liar? Whose interests are being served? Who's pulling the strings?"

"Bastard," Gold growls. "They can say what they want about me, but leave Emma and Henry and Bae out of it."

Posters demanding a decision go up all around town, even Granny's; other posters feature an illustration of a crazy-eyed, wild-haired Rumplestiltskin dangling Snow by puppet strings. The caption asks "Who's pulling the strings?" In the middle of the night, copies of that poster are plastered onto the windows of the pawnshop and La Tandoor.

"I didn't look like that, did I?" Gold gripes.

"Of course not," Belle assures him. "Now what are we going to do about this crap?"

"Keep our focus. This doesn't matter. Recognize this crap for what it is, an attempt to provoke me so I'll go on a rant. We ignore this, show Snow that I've changed."

But he relents when Henry is jumped by a gang led by the butcher's son. Gold agrees to be interviewed on GMS. He's a pro at projecting image and controlling conversation, and Goldie Locksley is easy to manipulate. He does, skillfully focusing on what this new campaign is doing to children and families. When Goldie asks, "But really, didn't you bring this on yourself," he speaks frankly. He relates the story of his past, beginning with his father's criminal behavior, proceeding through his killing of Zoso, and continuing on to the curse. He speaks plainly, without exaggeration or excuse, and when he's finished, he admits his wrongdoings exceed Regina's. He then discusses the changes he's gone through since the curse broke, his sincere regret, his discovery of the power of forgiveness and friendship, his struggle to overcome his dark nature. Looking into the camera, he apologizes, vows to improve, asks for a chance to put all his knowledge and scheming to work to serve the community.

His fifteen-minute interview forces GMS to drop a segment about Ms. Ginger's "A Dog-Free Storybrook" campaign, but it also produces the biggest ratings in GMS' history.

And then, wisely, he retreats from the public eye, allowing FOR leadership to speak for him. Pulling back is difficult for him; he wants to lash out at those who bully Henry and Grace, those who boycott La Tandoor and force Fran to close down, those who start a recall against Emma, those in the Utilities Department who tear up Bae's job application. No FOR supporter will go hungry or lose their home, thanks to Jefferson's and Gold's wealth, but they're snubbed on the street, denied service by the CUSS-supporting dentist, victimized by cowardly graffiti sprayers.

And still there is no announcement from the crown. The campaign enters its fourth week.

Belle and Gold are as busy as ever. Voluntarily, in a show of good will, they've begun offering free legal aid for the indigent. In his spare time he and Blue teach the hospital staff about the healing properties of local plants. In the evenings, there are frequent visits from friends; in the mornings, frequent breakfasts with Bae, Emma and Henry.

Sometimes Gold sits back in amazement at how much his life has changed, how much his feelings have changed, now that people are dropping in at the pink house. A year ago, he never would have allowed this, he never would have opened his door or his heart to these people. What the CUSS people think about him–what Snow and Charming think about him–he doesn't care. Is it not better to see yourself truly than care about how other see you?

The abandoned child in him feels secure and loved. Love is the armor.