Chapter 73

Caine: "You tell a man he is something less than a man and say it often enough, and even he will believe it. The price he pays is easy to see. The price you pay is hidden but it is just as deep."

The Swan-Golds arrive at the Golds' house at 5:45 with a box of donuts and Henry in tow.

Gold draws Bae aside as Henry distributes the donuts and Belle distributes bottles of orange juice. "Doesn't Henry have school today?"

"We thought this was more important." But when his father's expression remains doubtful, Bae reassures him. "I see what you're getting at, Pop, but Henry's growing up. We don't think we should shelter him from this. In fact, we think it would be more damaging if we did. He wants to be there to support you, and we're proud of him for that."

Gold reconsiders. "So am I." He pats Bae's shoulder as he passes behind him to carry his suitcase to the Cadillac. It bumps against his left leg as he walks, listing a little to avoid putting weight on his right leg.

"Let me help, Pop." Bae picks up Belle's suitcase. They have no idea how long the trial will run, so the Golds have packed enough for a week. Bae and Henry will return to Bell's Corners tomorrow to resume their jobs, but Emma will remain "for the duration," she announces—and then she tosses a single backpack into the Cadillac's trunk. "What?" she demands when the Golds seem puzzled by it.

"One outfit?" Belle asks.

"That's all I'll need," Emma insists. "This trial will be done today."

"Well," Belle decides, "after we win today, we'll take a celebratory side trip to New York."

"There you go," Emma approves. "Expect a miracle."

A Yukon pulls up behind the Cadillac and the driver's side window rolls down, Josiah leaning out. "Mornin'."

"Good morning, Jo, Fran," Belle greets, as Emma offers the donut box to the Doves and their passenger, Judge Fairbanks.

"Morning," Gold unfolds a road map to show Josiah. "I figure we'll take High—" He's interrupted by a short toot of a car horn as a Toyota draws up behind the Yukon and through the open windows, three voices call out greetings. Belle rushes over to greet the new arrivals as Gold asks Bae, "Did you know the nuns were coming?"

Bae just grins. "Nope, but it doesn't surprise me."

Josiah and Blue cluster around Gold to study the road map while everyone else chatters over donuts and orange juice. Emma only brought a baker's dozen, but somehow the pastries seem to be enough to feed four households.

Then a fourth vehicle, a red Camero, pulls up, Ruby at the wheel and Archie riding shotgun. They've barely acquired their donuts and driving directions when a Yamaha wheels up and Sam Browning lifts the visor of his helmet to say hello.

"What is this, a Shriners parade?" Bae chuckles.

Belle reaches for her husband's hand and the two of them stand open-mouthed as Browning cautions, "Don't let this rattle you, but—yeah, you're going to have a few others joining the parade en route. The Bells chartered a bus—well, they had the entire city council to haul. They're waiting at the town line."

As he speaks, a worn-out Ford pickup parks in the middle of the street because there's no more room on the curb or in the Golds' driveway. "Gramps! Gram!" Henry shouts, running to the pickup.

"Oh my gods," Belle murmurs to Gold, "it's Snow and Charming."

Gold rubs his forehead and murmurs back, "Please, gods, nobody say anything about fairy tales when we get into Portland."

Belle gives his hand a squeeze, informing him through touch that she supports, though dreads as much as he does, his intention to interrupt any burgeoning revelation that would expose Storybrooke for what it really is. They've talked about this intention extensively, even more so now that Gold has some sort of magic outside of Storybrooke; Belle proposed that he simply use that magic to put an abrupt end to any unacceptable revelations. Gold had nodded-he'd considered the idea too-but admitted, "I'm not sure I could."

"Because you haven't tested the magic yet?"

"No, I think the magic's powerful enough to make people stop speaking or forget what they've heard. Strong enough, but I don't think it's mean enough. I don't think it would allow me to control people."

Irked, Belle snaps, "Well, what good is it, then?" Then she clamps her lips together. "Sorry."

Jo checks his wristwatch. "Time to hit the road, folks, if we're going to be in Portland by seven."

Bae opens the rear doors of the Caddy and with a wave of his hand, urges his father and stepmother in. He's offered to do the driving; Gold and Belle have enough to worry about. Word is passed down the line, like a trail boss' order, and the vehicles file neatly behind the Caddy. Adjusting the rear view mirror, Bae admires the parade. "Something else, isn't it, Pop? They've closed the entire town down for the day. Those who aren't going will be watching the proceedings on GMS."

Ever practical, Emma counts the cars and wonders, "When we get to the courthouse, where are they all going to park?"

Kamen, dressed in a dark Hugo Boss, trots down from the courthouse steps as the entourage pulls into the parking lot across the street. "Well! Looks like you brought half of Bell County with you," he says as he shakes Gold's hand, but he doesn't sound surprised. "They do all know, don't they, court doesn't start until nine? I asked you to get here early for a little last-minute preparation over the best kippers and poached eggs in Maine." He offers his arm to Belle and to Bae, advises, "You might want to pass the word to anyone who's hungry, we're going to the Egg-cellent Cafe, three blocks straight ahead."

Portlanders on their way to work gape at the strange procession that marches up Federal Street. "This has got to be the weirdest start to a trial you've ever seen, huh, Mr. Kamen?" Henry inquires, but Kamen winks at him. "If you like weird, stick around." He's whistling as he holds the cafe door open.

Bae identifies the tune. "The Cars. 'Oh Oh It's Magic.'"

"Right the first time."

Gold gives Kamen a puzzled look, but the lawyer's already talking up the cafe's menu. "Belle, you're going to love this place. Twenty kinds of tea!"

"But what about the bagels?" Emma interrupts.

The good humor and freeflowing conversation die down as soon as the Gold contingency enters the courthouse and files through the security gates. "This is where we part company," Kamen announces to the crowd in a hushed voice. Handshakes and good wishes are extended to the attorney and his client, who separate from the pack after Gold hugs his family.

"I've got it from here." Fairfax clusters the visitors around her and as she provides an explanation of courtroom procedures, Kamen takes Gold to a side entrance. Before opening the door, Kamen examines Gold critically. "Tie's crooked." He straightens Gold's midnight blue tie. "Must've been all that hugging."

"I'm a lucky man," Gold says, and he means it.

"Glad you recognize that, Rumple." Kamen punches him on the shoulder. "Because you're about to get luckier."

A trial is an elegant performance, Gold thinks, as solemn and ritualistic as a religious service, but as unpredictable as a soccer match, with as many players to watch. Or maybe American football would be a better comparison, with each side in its turn placing its players carefully, moving them steadily down field, dodging attacks from the opposition. As the GMS cameraman, with anchorman Hart Archer standing by, rolls tape, the bailiff announces the trial and introduces the judge; the judge calls the audience to order; the prosecution lays out her argument. Saeva Anguem is as cool and smooth as her namesake–"cruel snake"–striking out in quick, effective bites. She speaks in an unidentifiable accent, cultured and ancient; Gold imagines Belle will say of her, "She sounds like she swallowed a dictionary." Gold would admire her style–if he weren't the defendant.

Kamen, intentionally by contrast, sounds local in his accent and chooses expressions familiar to Mainers. His hometown boy approach supports the image that all these visitors from Bell's Corners and Storybrooke project: that despite his Armani suit and billion-dollar bank account (which he hasn't had access to in six months), Gold is a family man, a small-businessman, a leader in his community. Gold belongs here. Gold is needed here. A quick glance over his shoulder at his friends reminds Gold there's plenty of truth in this image. He lets the tension drop from his shoulders and settles back into his chair, feeling as lucky as he's claimed to be. Deep in his belly, his magic radiates warmth even as it sleeps. A miracle's coming: his magic believes it, so he does too.

As Anguem calls her first witness, Kamen nudges Gold and whispers, "See that redhead in the fourth row, behind Fran Dove? That redhead is Marcia Bradley."

Scrooge's ex-mistress. Gold casts a quick glance at her and grins.

"And that blonde to her left–"

"Let me guess," Gold whispers back. "The former Mrs. Scrooge."

Kamen pats Gold's sleeve. "Here to testify for us, of course, about how odd it was that a man who makes sixty grand a year could afford to buy three cars at the same time. You can thank me later."

On the other side of the aisle, two rows back from the Prosecution's table, Scrooge sits, drumming his fingers and doing his best to ignore the blonde and the redhead. Gold chuckles a little, until he catches sight of Albert Spencer, seated in the last row. The DA exchanges a glance with Gold: Spencer's is triumphant, Gold's is a warning: there will be consequences for screwing with my family.

Anguem's witness is an IRS accountant who, with an lcd projector, is going through Gold's 2011 1040 form, line by line. Through the long-winded testimony, Judge Keaton remains expressionless: there's a reason he's called "Old Stoneface."

"And so, as you can see, in 2011, Rumple Gold-not yet married to Belle French–had an earned income–"

A commotion at the back of the room causes the accountant to scowl and stop speaking. The front doors burst open–and it's every bit as climactic as a Hollywood movie, because suddenly in the open doorway are two panting sheriffs, Grayson and Wolfe; behind them are Goldie Locksley and a second cameraman; and in the middle of this intrusion, propelled forward by the sheriffs, is a profusely sweating Sidney Glass. As the audience turns around to view the spectacle, the bailiff rushes forward with her hand on her revolver, and Judge Keaton rises from his seat. "Whoever you are and whatever this is, it had better be good, or I'll have you all on contempt charges."

"Your Honor, apologies," Grayson calls across the now-noisy courtroom as Keaton bangs his gavel. "But you've got to hear this." He clamps his hand onto Sid's shoulder and squeezes until the ex-reporter grimaces.

"I have something I have to say," Glass gasps, but as his eyes fall upon Spencer, who's got him locked in a death glare, he swallows repeatedly. "Your Honor, I. . . something to say. . . ." His voice peters out.

Keaton bellows, "Recess!" He points one by one to Glass, Anguem, Gold and Kamen, then the stenographer and the bailiff. "In my chambers! Now!" His robes swishing, he stomps off the bench.

Glass spins around as if he'd like to run, but the sheriffs seize him by the shoulders. "You heard His Honor." As the required individuals follow Keaton from the courtroom, from the corner of his eye, Gold spots Spencer edging his way toward the side exit. A small burst of magic from Gold and Spencer's tripped over a broken shoelace, giving Emma and Bae enough time to get to him. Each grabs one of the DA's arms and with a shoulder nudge, they navigate him to the third row, where they plop down on either side of him.

As the Defense, the Prosecution and the interruptors cram into Keaton's office, Anguem is chewing her lipstick off, the sheriffs are growling as they strong-arm their–prisoner, is it?–the bailiff is snarling, the stenographer is blinking in confusion and Keaton is mumbling to himself. Only Kamen seems unperturbed. "Hello, Sidney." Kamen smiles broadly. "Decided to do the right thing, huh?"

Keaton seats himself and points to the two empty chairs in front of his desk. The sheriffs push Sidney into one; the stenographer takes the other and sets his machine on Keaton's desk. "Now what the hell's going on here?" Keaton growls. He points to Glass. "You. Talk."

"I–I need to make a confession, Your Honor," Glass stammers. His eyes have bugged out and his breath comes in shallow gasps.

"Get him water," Keaton instructs the bailiff. "Before he passes out. Now, you." He points to Glass again. "Who the hell are you?"

"Sidney Glass, sir. I used to be a reporter for the Storybrooke Mirror before Regina fired me and it went out of business. See, the economy there is a total mess, ever since Regina was exiled–"

As subtly as he can, Gold steps on Glass' foot. Glass yelps but stops talking.

"Who the hell is Regina and why was she exiled?"

A brightly smiling face pokes in through the open doorway. "Sir, if I may be allowed, I think I can clear this up." Goldie Locksley steps inside, waving her cameraman in behind her, as Keaton shouts, "Now who the hell are you? And what the hell has happened to my courtroom?"

"Do you want 'em out of here, Yer Honor?" the bailiff asks.

"Aw, hell, let them stay. I'll get to them after I finish with Glass here." Keaton runs his hands through his thinning hair.

"Guess they won't be calling him 'Old Stoneface' any more," Kamen whispers to Gold.

"What's this crap about a confession, Glass? What did you do and what does it have to do with this trial?"

Sidney moistens his lips before plunging in. "I stole a pen."

"So?"

Sid points to Gold. "His."

"I repeat, 'So?'"

"Well, see?" Sid produces the pen from his jacket and presents it to Keaton. "'Forever.' It says 'forever.' It was sitting there on top of his desk, this designer pen, with 'forever' emblazoned on it–well, it just wasn't fair, that the Dark One gets his 'forever' and Regina and I don't. So I took it, on impulse. Just stuck it in my pocket and forgot about it until I got home that night."

Keaton minces his words. "Mr. Glass, you are dancing on my last good nerve. What does your stealing a pen–even if it is a designer pen and your crime may constitute a felony–have to do with this trial? If you're wasting this court's time, so help me, I'll toss you in prison for a night or two, and let's see how the murderers and the rapists take to sharing a cell with a pen thief."

Utterly flustered now, Sidney sweats and jabbers, "I had to break into his house to do it. Actually, Albert did the actual breaking in."

Keaton slams his palm against the table. "Mr. Glass! What does this have to do with tax fraud and embezzlement?"

"Well, we were planting forged papers at the time."