Chapter Forty-Five—"Puppets and Puppeteers"
"Phone," Renee supplied helpfully as Belle sat on the floor with her, playing with colorful blocks. Renee was starting to build some truly impressive structures, one of which was almost as tall as she was, but Belle's cell phone ringing had interrupted that.
"Thank you," Belle told her daughter with a smile, getting to her feet and heading to the other side of the room where the phone was charging. It was a new model, a much nicer one that Rumple had bought for her to replace Lacey's old and worn out phone, but shared the same number as the last one. Belle had even programed in all the same old contacts, which meant that she felt her heart sink when she saw her father's number on it.
Not Papa. This is Moe French, who kicked Lacey out for having a child, Belle told herself, trying not to focus her anger on the man she knew slumbered inside the caricature Cora had created. Still, her own father's actions had only been a little better. Maurice had considered her dead after she made that deal with Rumplestiltskin, had mourned her and moved on. Then he had tried to—well, she wouldn't think about that, not when she was trying not to be angry. Belle might have understood that had things not turned out the way they did, but her father's refusal to accept her marriage still stung. And because of that, Papa never knew he had a granddaughter…who his cursed self absolutely hates.
For a moment, Belle considered not picking up the phone, or answering it and only speaking long enough to tell her father what she thought of him. After all, it wasn't like their last five or so phone calls had gone well, even without her husband's interference. But doing that would be unkind, and she really did hope for the chance to rebuild her relationship with her father once everyone woke up. So, until then she'd just have to deal with Moe French's sudden and inexplicable desire to protect her. Lacey and Gold were together for years and he said nothing. But Rumple gives us a place to live—when Moe would have let us sleep on the streets!—and suddenly he's the devil himself, she thought with a scowl. Unfortunately, her anger must have crept through when she finally thumbed the phone on, saying:
"What do you want, Dad?"
Calling Moe French 'Dad' made differentiating between him and Maurice so much easier. Even when she was angry at him, Belle would never have considered calling her real father anything other than Papa. Or Father, if she was mad at him.
"Lacey," the voice on the other end said with relief. "I was starting to worry about you. You weren't answering, and…"
"The phone was on the other end of the house, and I was playing with Renee," she replied, trying to conceal her exasperation. What did Moe think, that Gold kept her tied up in the basement?
He probably did, although Belle found that thought entirely unamusing, given what she knew about Cora's treatment of her husband. But the basement of the pink mansion only contained Rumple's oldest spinning wheel and a variety of magical supplies he'd use after the curse broke. Even the dungeons in the Dark Castle had been oddly clean and airy. Poor Robin even had a nice cell when Rumple was busy flaying him alive, Belle thought with a giggle that she tried to cover with a cough. Of course, it was only funny because Rumple had let Robin go, a fact they were both now extremely glad for, given that the outlaw-turned-firefighter had saved her and Gabrielle's lives.
"Oh. Of course. You're not just telling me that, are you, sweetheart?" her father continued nervously. "I know that you're doing what you feel you have to, but Gold's a bad man, and if he's mistreating you—"
"He's not," Belle cut in angrily. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"
She burned to tell her father that she loved Rumplestiltskin and that she was married to him, that he was Renee's father and that even when he'd been just plain Gold, he'd been better to both of them than anyone else, but she knew that Moe French would never listen.
"Lacey, I just want what's best for you, and I'm terrified for you every day that you spend in that monstrous house."
This time she groaned aloud. "It's actually quite nice. You should come to dinner sometime. I'm sure I could talk Ru—Mr. Gold into that. We'd be happy to have you," Belle said before she could stop herself, her own mischievous streak getting the better of her. But the damage was done, so she added: "And I'm sure Renee would love the opportunity to finally meet her grandfather."
"I'll be happy to meet her, sweetheart, if only you'll come home," Moe replied, sounding desperate, and something in his voice gave Belle the chills.
That was a big change. Now he wasn't even talking about her marrying Gaston—or Tony, as he was currently known. Now Moe was talking about actually welcoming his daughter and his granddaughter home, and Belle was smart enough to pick up on how significant that fact was. Something had changed, and she didn't think it was good news.
"Dad, is something wrong?" she asked, now much more curious than hostile.
"Of course something's wrong! You're living with that monster, and I spend every night thinking of the horrible things that he's doing to my little girl."
"He's not doing anything to me," Belle retorted, hating the reminder of her own sleepless nights, the one she spent wondering what horrible things Cora was doing to her husband. "I keep telling you that. Why won't you believe me?"
"Because I know what kind of man he is, Lacey. He might have you fooled, but sooner or later, he's going to do something terrible to you," her father replied. "I just know it."
"And I know you're wrong." A crash from the other side of the room made Belle turn, but it was only Renee having destroyed her block-built castle and giggling over the rubble. Well, I know who her father is, that's for sure! At least looking at her little girl could still make her smile, even when her father was being an idiot. "Look, I've got to go. Thanks for worrying about us, but we're fine, and Renee and I have another castle to build."
She hung up before Moe could say any more, and ignored the phone when he called right back. Belle wanted desperately to make up with her father, but she wasn't going to do it at the expense of the family she had built. She loved her husband and daughter too much for that. If Sir Maurice couldn't accept both of them once he woke up, well, Belle had lived without him before and would manage just fine if she had to do it again.
"She still won't tell me what's wrong," a morose Moe French said several hours later. He was sitting on his raggedy maroon couch with his third or fourth beer in hand, staring blankly at the coffee table while his visitor sat across from him. She was in a chair, sitting with legs crossed and far more composure, careful not to touch anything more than she had to, lest she have to use hand sanitizer after she left. She'd also refused his offer of a drink, thinking that Moe was just inebriated enough, and she needed to be sober to properly…guide him. Not that Cora was interested in his cheap brand of beer, anyway. Particularly not on a Monday afternoon, when she would return to work so that even the annoying little sheriff didn't think of linking Cora with what was going to happen.
"That's such a pity," Cora said softly, resisting the urge to smile. She'd originally started encouraging Moe French's terrible worry for his daughter because it was amusing; watching him take Gold's little doxy on (and Gold by proxy, Cora was sure) was great entertainment, but Moe's desperation had given the entire affair a new flavor now that Rumplestiltskin was awake. Slowly, carefully, she focused her will on the curse, and said: "And she won't listen to you at all?"
Moe groaned. "I even offered her the chance to come home, and she insists on staying there."
"I have to say that it sounds like she's only staying there because she's afraid to leave," she replied, applying a gentle amount of pressure in just the right place. Of course, Cora knew Rumple far better than that. She knew that he'd never hurt a woman he had even the slightest feelings for, but there was no reason to tell Moe French that. The poor fool was beside himself with worry, and if Cora manipulated him just right, there was no telling what he might do.
Oh, there's a way to know what he might do, provided I get enough drink in him and give him the proper motivation, she thought smugly, hiding her desire to smile.
"Of course she is. God only knows what that bastard is doing to her," the forlorn father complained, finishing off his beer.
Reaching into the cardboard case of beer—the barbarian even drank his cheap beer warm—Cora handed him another one with a kind smile. Moe took it without thought, opening it automatically and knocking back a gulp. Barely managing not to grimace, Cora sat back once more, trying to adopt a properly somber expression while she was having the time of her life.
"I shudder to think of it," she agreed. "Poor Lacey. She's such a nice girl. Someone like her is mincemeat in Gold's hands. I know him well, and I do fear for your daughter, too."
"Can't you stop him?" Moe asked, and it was the first intelligent question he'd asked all night.
Cora put on a contrite expression. "We've spoken on it, but he refuses to be moved." He wants the girl there for some reason. Probably because she gives him sweetness and a shoulder to cry on, without the added obstacle of brainpower. "He tells me that what happens in his home is his business, and I can't find any evidence of any wrongdoing. Neither can the sheriff."
"But we know he's hurting her," the sot whined. "He has to be, so what does it matter if there's no proof? My Lacey wouldn't stay with him by choice."
Ironically, by this point, Cora was fairly certain that Lacey French was doing just that, although she didn't care what the girl's reasons were. Moe French's absolute certainty that Gold was harming his precious little girl simply opened a door that Cora was prepared to shove the fool right through. Rumple needed a reminder, after all, of exactly how much power Cora had. Oh, she'd proven her personal power over him more than once, but the last thing she wanted was for Rumplestiltskin to start thinking that he could help Emma Swan break this curse. Cora wasn't blind; she'd noticed Rumplestiltskin sticking his nose into that business a time or two, and it was time she took her old lover out of that game.
Rumple was a smart man. He'd get the hint. And then maybe he'd come to his senses and return to her willingly.
So, Cora reached out to lay a gentle hand on Moe's arm. "I agree with you, but what can we do? My hands are tied, being the mayor."
"Of course they are." He stared morosely at his beer can again, and Cora devoutly wished the idiot was a bit smarter. Then again, if he was smarter, I would have a harder time manipulating him.
"But that doesn't mean yours are," she told him. "Perhaps you should do something that I cannot, given my position."
Did she have to lay it on thicker, or was he going to get the hint? Moe brightened a little, but obviously hadn't quite gotten the message.
"I could talk to Gold," he said, taking another swing.
Cora bit back the urge to shake him. "Do you really think talking to someone like Gold will help? He'll run circles around you, and then make you thank him for the pleasure."
"You're right," the heavyset man decided, and there was the angry grimace she'd been hoping for. "He won't listen unless we make him listen."
"But how will you do that? If you approach Gold alone, he's likely to run away," she goaded him, sounding thoughtful. "You should take Tony Rose with you. Obviously, he has a stake in this, loving Lacey like he does."
"That's a good idea," Moe replied, putting his beer down. Cora didn't hand him another; she didn't want him drunk. She just didn't want him thinking straight, either. "Tony an' I, we're big men. And Gold isn't."
Moe laughed at his own insinuation, and then peered at Cora with a little worry.
"Don't worry," the mayor reassured him. "I've only come to provide comfort to a friend. If anyone asks, I am certain that you never meant to harm anyone. Things only got carried away."
"Carried away," the fool agreed, his eyes lighting up. "And there's no one in this town that could blame us. Gold's a monster."
"Indeed he is." With those words, Cora rose, knowing her work was done. For now.
"Any luck?" Emma asked as she sat down next to August at the bar in Granny's. The visiting author twisted to look at her with wide eyes, clearly surprised to see her and more than a little startled.
"On what?" August asked, like he had no idea what she was talking about.
Emma sighed, trying not to roll her eyes. Henry was along with her for cocoa after school today, and although he appeared to be engrossed in a comic book, there was no knowing with the kid. And besides, what Emma did know about the Basement was not something she wanted shared with any ten year old, particularly her own. "You know," she told August testily. "The thing you were going to try to help me with."
"Is this about the curse?" Henry piped up immediately, and Emma tried not to groan. Unfortunately, stopping herself meant August got in first with his answer:
"Not really. It's actually, uh, kind of about something else."
He looked nervous; Emma shot the author an odd look as Henry asked:
"But I thought you were here to help," the kid said, staring at August suspiciously.
"I am," August said all too quickly, and now Emma was on her guard, too, even when he manage to give Henry a more natural smile. "It's just, well, sometimes I help with other stuff, too."
"Police stuff. Normal police stuff," Emma supplied before Henry could start digging on that front, because the kid would. Maybe it was just that trying to get into the Basement had August nervous. He seemed to be a smooth enough operator when he was confident, but maybe asking him to try to go down there had been a bad idea. Emma didn't really know him, after all, so maybe she had just picked the wrong guy. Her superpower wasn't telling her that August was lying, at least not exactly, but something was off. August had to be nervous about trying to get into that dangerous place. Didn't he?
"Oh." Henry rolled his eyes and went back to his comic book, obviously having decided that police work was more boring than curse breaking.
Emma didn't miss the opportunity; she looked back at August. "So, any luck?"
"Not really," he answered, shaking his head. "I went out with one of the, uh, escorts, but I didn't get any other invitation. I guess I'll keep doing that until something happens, I guess."
"Right." Emma had never been a cop before her stint here in Storybrooke, but she knew that undercover work rarely got quick results, and if it did, you were probably doing something wrong. She had to be patient. "Thanks."
"Well, I'm here to help," August quipped, but there was that odd note in his voice again that really set off alarms in Emma's head. Something wasn't right here, but what?
1 Year, 6 Months Before the Curse
She'd lost the baby. The royal midwives and royal healer had done their best, but little Leo had already been gone by the time they reached Snow's side. No one had been able to do anything for the child, and from what the healer said, they might have arrived too late to save Snow, too.
"It's poison, Your Majesty," the portly healer was telling George as David sat by Snow's side, holding her limp hand and watching her breathe raggedly. She was unconscious, now, which the healer said was a small mercy, but all David could think about was how he should have gone to her sooner, how he shouldn't have let her sleep for so long without checking on her.
"So heal it," George snapped, but David barely heard the healer (who also happened to be a cleric, as most were) reply:
"The poison is magical in nature, sire. I cannot. It is beyond my abilities to heal—"
"But not mine!" a new voice interjected, and that finally broke through the fog of grief clouding David's mind. Twisting to look over his shoulder, he found that his ears hadn't deceived him, and that actually was Rumplestiltskin standing in the doorway. But why?
George, apparently, was as surprised as his adopted son. "What are you doing here?" he asked the Dark One in a rare public display of confusion.
"I heard you needed a bit of help," Rumplestiltskin replied, dancing into the room with a flourish. His amber eyes were unreadable, but at that moment, he was the best sight David had ever seen.
"Who cares how he heard?" he asked the king, and then turned to the glittery skinned sorcerer. "We need your help. Name your price."
Snow didn't have long, and David wasn't going to waste it wondering about insignificant details.
"Ah, that's the thing, dearie. My price has already been paid, so your princess will be saved," Rumplestiltskin replied airily, reaching the bedside.
David's heart skipped a beat. He didn't even want to ask who had paid the price, even though he had a fairly astute guess. There was only one other person in the world who loved Snow enough to take that on themselves. "Can you save her?" he whispered.
"Of course I can. Now be quiet, and let me work."
The Dark One said no more, instead bending over Snow from the other side of the bed, his reptilian eyes narrowed in concentration. The fingers on his left hand twitched, hovering over Snow's midsection, and David thought he felt a slight change in the air in the room, like some deep magic was working at a level none of them could see. Silence reigned for several seconds; David held his breath and imagined that everyone else was doing the same. Nothing seemed to happen, but that feeling in the air remained, and Rumplestiltskin stayed focused on Snow, his right hand moving up to hover over her forehead, almost close enough that the black-clawed fingers touched.
The healer, however, could clearly wait no longer, and spoke to George in a rush. "Your Majesty, you can't trust dark magic. It might hurt as much as it heals, and the poison is based in dark magic. You don't know if the Dark One was in any way responsible for that, or if he could even draw it out under the best of circumstances."
"Do shut up, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said without looking up or moving a muscle.
"Sire, in good conscience, I must—"
Rumplestiltskin's fingers twitched, and a purple spark leapt out of the palm of his left hand, zooming in on the healer, who threw himself aside desperately. But he was just too wide to move quickly, and the spark struck him in the right shoulder. Like lightning, it bounced off of the meaty shoulder—leaving a scorch mark on the blue tunic the healer wore—and then hit the healer full in the face. Purple flashes of light sparked over the man's face for a moment, sealing his lips shut as his hazel eyes went wild with terror. Rumplestiltskin just giggled, never even looking up, but the healer could speak no more.
"I never much liked clerics," the Dark One said with a shrug, and then leaned away from Snow as a soft blue light enveloped her. It hung like fog over her entire body for two seconds, and then ten, until finally it evaporated and Snow's eyes burst open with a gasp.
"Snow?" David breathed her name like it was a prayer, watching her gaze dart around the room for several moments before she finally focused on him. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," she whispered, and then looked down at her stomach. The next word came out in a whimper. "Leo…?"
Swallowing his own pain as hard as he could, David shook his head, having to bite his lip to keep himself from crying. "Gone," he answered heavily. "Poison."
"Oh, Charming…" she whispered brokenly, and David gathered his wife into his arms as she sobbed. They cried for several moments together, mourning the loss of the son they would now never know, just clinging to one another for dear life. David didn't know how long they wept for; it might have been hours, or mere minutes, but finally their tears were dry. The emptiness remained and always would, the great gaping chasm of loss that no other child could ever fill, but eventually they could both think again. And then it was Snow who asked, her voice hard: "Who did this?"
"Your stepmother still wants you dead, Princess," a soft voice said, and for a moment, David did not recognize it as belonging to Rumplestiltskin. He had thought that the Dark One would have been long gone by now, not caring for their grief.
"But why?" Snow whispered, looking broken again, and David squeezed her tightly.
"Her hatred of your mother survived even murdering Queen Eva," Rumplestiltskin responded. "Other than that, I know not."
"She killed my mother?"
"The timing of her death and your father's remarriage to Cora always was very suspicious." That was George, sounding studiously dispassionate, as usual, but his detached tone made David grimace.
Rumplestiltskin, however, gave Snow a slight smile that somehow looked sad. "Regina, however, would not have you suffer the same fate."
"My sister sent you?" Snow gaped, and David shook his head minutely. Of course Regina had sent Rumplestiltskin to Snow. She'd once told Snow and David that Rumplestiltskin was her teacher, and that his help was always available—for a price.
"Indeed she did."
"Whatever she promised you, I'll pay it," Snow said fiercely, sitting up straight to look the Dark One in the eye. Obviously, she was remembering the same moment David was, because the look she turned on Rumplestiltskin was calculating. For his part, David kept an arm around her shoulders but gave her the freedom to do so; he knew that Snow needed to do this.
Rumplestiltskin cocked his head. "You love your stepsister that much?"
"My sister," Snow stressed, her voice perfectly level and unafraid.
"Well, then," the Dark One said slowly, looking faintly surprised. "Let's just say that you'll owe me your gratitude. Perhaps someday, I might need a good deed in return."
"Is that all?" David asked warily.
The demon giggled. "Oh, dearie, you have no idea what I might ask for," he declared, obviously back on balance, his hands twirling flamboyantly. But there was a soberness in his eyes that David had never seen from him before. "But you'll know when the time comes."
He vanished in a cloud of red smoke, leaving David and Snow to wonder when that moment might arrive, and how dangerous a promise Snow had made. Interestingly enough, as it would occur to David a year and a half later, Rumplestiltskin failed to use that little 'moment of gratitude' when they locked him up in a dwarf-made and fairy-enchanted cell, left there while the curse was cast. Instead, he languished in solitary confinement, steadily appearing to go madder and madder, never speaking once of how they owed him Snow's very life.
Rumplestiltskin would be the first to tell you that he was no great romantic. Even when he'd been human, the 'normal' types of romantic gestures that men made for their loves in the Frontlands had been a bit of a mystery to him, but here in Storybrooke, he was trying. He knew enough to know that flowers were a traditional way of expressing one's love, and given how frustrated and bored Rumplestiltskin knew Belle felt, cooped up in that mansion he called home, he thought giving her something to brighten her day was in order. Belle had always liked flowers, anyway. He remembered her bugging him to fix the garden back when she was his maid, which led to a flowering maze taking the place of weeds and dead plants sometime after the mess with the werewolves. Of course, he'd still not been ready to admit his feelings for her (not aloud, anyway) back then, but somehow he'd still wound up giving her a veritable park.
Now, however, he thought some roses were in order in lieu of a giant garden. Besides, Belle hadcalled him during lunch today to tell Rumplestiltskin about how her father had called to annoy her—again—and that meant it wouldn't hurt for the Dark One to drop by Moe's shop for a little look around. Not that he intended to do anything, for he knew enough to know that Belle would never forgive him if he hurt her father, no matter what a fool the florist was being. In truth, he hadn't even seen Maurice since the last time Belle had tried to reconcile with him back home, but perhaps today was a good day to refresh his memory.
"Can I help you?" a hostile voice said as Rumplestiltskin stepped into Game of Thorns, making the pawnbroker stop short. He hadn't expected to see Tony Rose (Sir Gaston, in another life, and Belle's shallow former fiancé in both), here in Moe's shop, and surprise made his lips twitch into a sneer.
"You're straying awfully far from daddy's jewelry store, aren't you, dearie?" he couldn't help asking, the question a sly reference to how thoroughly Tony was busy running Juvelisto Jewelry Boutique straight into the ground. He'd inherited it from his late parents, and was supposed to be leaving it in the hands of his very capable manager, but somehow the knight was still managing to turn his profits into dust.
"You're straying awfully far from abusing Lacey, aren't you?" Tony shot back, and Rumplestiltskin was fairly sure it was the most intelligent thing he'd ever heard the taller man say.
Kill him! his own personal demon howled, but Rumplestiltskin used his amusement to push the thought aside. He'd expected people would react like this, and what did he care what Tony Rose—or even what Sir Gaston—thought? So, he smiled condescendingly at the knight-turned-jock.
"Do you work here now, or are you just harassing the customers?" he wondered, glancing around for an appropriate flower display. The less time he had to spend in the shop, the better.
"What, you're actually buying flowers for your kept woman?" Tony snorted. "Or is it for someone else, like the mayor?"
Rumplestiltskin's head whipped around so fast that he heard his neck crack, and his right hand tightened on the handle of his cane hard enough to leave impressions in his palm. Just hearing someone imply that he would ever willingly romance Cora was enough to make him see red, enough to make his blood boil. Had he possessed magic in that moment, he had no doubt that Tony Rose would have been turned into something particularly small, decorative, and stupid—perhaps a cocker spaniel—but not having magic gave him a moment to rein his temper in. Not that he was beyond making a mental list of the things he would like to do to Tony Rose at a later date, but physical violence would not behoove him at all, and Rumplestiltskin was a patient man. His revenges could wait.
"Are you done insinuating things?" he snapped. "I would like to purchase some flowers, so if you don't work here, just get out of the way."
"Tony?" a voice called from the back, sounding a little uneven. "Who's up there with you?"
Moments later, Moe French stumbled into the main shop, his bleary eyes taking a moment to focus on the man who had stolen his daughter away. Twice, I suppose. Rumplestiltskin would have empathized with the florist's anger a lot more if he hadn't fallen in love with Belle, and she him…or if Moe French hadn't so thoroughly abandoned his daughter that she'd been close to begging for scraps before Gold met her. He wasn't sure which of his cursed memories had actually happened and which were just constructs of the curse, but Rumplestiltskin didn't particularly care. Bastard though Gold had been, he'd taken better care of Lacey and Renee than this self-righteous bigot had, and that knowledge eliminated any lingering sympathy Rumplestiltskin might have felt for a man who had lost their child.
"Oh." Moe stopped cold. "It's you."
"If by 'it's you', you mean that you have a paying customer who would like to purchase two dozen roses, you are correct, Mr. French," Rumplestiltskin bit out, his patience near its limit.
Nevermind saying a few choice words to Moe to get him to stop harassing Belle. Rumplestiltskin now just wanted to get out of that shop without threatening to kill anyone.
Moe looked confused; was that beer Rumplestiltskin smelled on his breath? How the man didn't go any further under financially, Rumplestiltskin would never know, but looking at the slight disarray in the shop and its drunk proprietor made him recall the loan Moe French had taken out so many years earlier. I should re-read that contract, he decided. I doubt he's going to make the next payment on time, and that would be a hassle I don't need right now. Perhaps Dove could deal with the problem for him. At least Dove wouldn't feel so much shorter than the currently looming forward Tony Rose.
"How much is this bouquet?" he asked, pretending not to notice Tony's threatening demeanor and gesturing at a beautiful bouquet of yellow roses with babies' breath. Belle would love them, and choosing these flowers meant that Rumplestiltskin could stop looking around and get out of here.
"What do you want that for?" Moe asked drunkenly, and Rumplestiltskin wanted to strangle the man. Killing your father-in-law is frowned upon in every realm, he reminded himself firmly.
"Why does anyone want flowers?" Rumplestiltskin countered acidly. Because I love your daughter. Because she's my wife, and I want to see her smile, he was too angry to add.
"Those aren't for sale," Tony butted in, and Rumplestiltskin had to ask himself if he had any pressing reasons not to kill the dumb jock. Twice. I should have left him as a rose. I had no idea how appropriate that transformation was at the time.
"Nonsense," he replied, reaching out to take the bouquet off the shelf. It included a blue glass vase, which was good, because he wasn't sure if there were actually any vases in that vast mansion the curse had given him. Ignoring Tony, he looked at Moe. "The price tag says seventy-five dollars. Take it off the amount of your next loan payment."
Turning on his heel, Rumplestiltskin walked out of the shop, noting that Moe was either too stunned or too drunk to object. Tony growled something to the florist that Rumplestiltskin couldn't catch, but he really didn't care. Daylight was short during winter, and the sun was already going down. He needed to get home and cook dinner, lest he and Belle have to deal with a very cranky three year old (going on four, as Renee was quick to remind everyone). Besides, home was a far brighter place to be than the south end of No. 1 Road, where a brisk winter wind was starting to whip up off of the bay. Shivering, Rumplestiltskin limped diagonally across the street to his car, which was parked in front of the Storybrooke Harbor Fish and Gift Shop. The gift shop was closed for the winter, as usual, which meant that its reserved parking was open, and Rumplestiltskin had taken advantage of that. The walk there wasn't a long one, but he almost lost the flowers twice along the way due to the wind, cursing his old limp with every step. Needing the cane meant he could only devote one hand to holding the flowers, which the wind was trying very hard to steal.
Fortunately, once he reached the other side of the road, the apartment building and then the parking garage provided a better lee, and Rumplestiltskin was able to relax his death grip on the vase. That made him glance down at the flowers to make sure they weren't ruined, but the roses seemed none the worse for wear. They were just the right shade of yellow, too . Although not quite the gold of the dress he'd first seen Belle in, they were the color yellow that Belle liked best. That thought brought a smile to Rumplestiltskin's face as he limped past the parking garage, and he never heard the footsteps coming up from behind him until a golf club hit him square across both shoulders.
Stumbling and crying out, Rumplestiltskin somehow managed to catch his weight on his cane. Doing so made him drop the flowers, however, and the vase hit the ground with a crash, glass shattering and spraying all over the sidewalk. Pain spreading across his shoulders like fire, Rumplestiltskin managed to turn to face his attackers, hobbling a bit due to his limp. His right arm felt numb already—the head of the club had hit him right in that shoulder blade, and the hand he needed to hold his cane wasn't quite working right.
Somehow, he was not surprised to see Moe French and Tony Rose there, both holding golf clubs and wearing murderous expressions. Assault means more in this world than the last, dearies, he wanted to tell them, but neither would have made any sense of that remark. Still, taking control of the situation was probably the only chance he had, because Rumplestiltskin was not foolish enough to think that he could manage to get away from either man. Tony Rose had been Storybrooke High's track star, and even Moe French could run faster than Rumplestiltskin could limp. Damn this lame leg! He hated being a cripple, missed the freedom inherent in being able to move without pain.
He missed magic.
"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" he demanded, using his fury to hide the crushing memories of being the town coward, chased by bullies and unable to flee because he was a cripple. But Storybrooke wasn't Hamlin, and here he was not a powerless spinner.
"Avenging Lacey!" Tony spat, lunging forward and swinging his club.
Rumplestiltskin might not have been very nimble, but he was good at judging angles, which meant he managed to sidestep the blow. Tony wasn't as drunk as Moe, but his movements were a little hampered, which probably meant that he had indulged in a bit of liquid courage as well. Kill them both! his curse howled furiously, not liking this turn of events one bit.
Shut up! Rumplestiltskin ordered the demon, turning on Tony. "Lacey doesn't need avenging, dearie. She's perfectly fine."
"So you say," Moe growled, and suddenly the florist was there, too, stepping forward and raising his own golf club.
"You talked to her yourself this afternoon," Rumpelstiltskin pointed out as calmly as he could, cautiously backing away from the pair. His heart was racing madly. "She's—"
"She's saying whatever you force her to say!" Moe cut him off, sounding more sober and less drunk by the moment. Not that it helped.
"You must think very little of your daughter if you think she's so easily intimidated."
Tony was circling to his right, so Rumplestiltskin was forced to back up a little to the left, realizing too soon that doing so put his back perilously close to the outer wall of the parking garage. Cornered, he watched the two larger men nervously, realizing how bad this was about to get if something didn't interfere, and fast. Would they really dare? he wondered, but that hope only lasted as long as it took to look in both pairs of furious eyes. The worst part was that he'd never hurt the woman they were so hell-bent to defend; she was his wife, his True Love, the one person who had ever been able to break through the depths of his curse and find the man he wished he still was. But neither Moe nor Tony would believe that, not even if he spilled the truth at this very moment.
And the street was damnably empty. Even the nearby apartment complex had no one out on this street, probably on account of the horrible weather and the entrance being around the corner. One look around told him that there was no one to hear a cry for help, and too late, Rumplestiltskin fumbled into the pocket of his coat for his cell phone. He could call the sheriff, because Emma might not like him, but she would still—
Another swinging golf club cut that thought off, and although Rumplestiltskin tried to dodge this one, too, he had nowhere to go. The blow, coming from Tony, caught him in the right shoulder again, clipping him hard enough to send Rumplestiltskin stumbling backwards. His back hit the wall hard, and he barely caught himself before he fell, clutching his cane for balance and for dear life. Terror made him freeze for a moment before centuries of fighting back reminded him that he did not have to act like a coward, and Rumplestiltskin started to lever his cane off the ground to fight back—only to be caught in the midsection by a swinging slash of Moe's golf club.
Coughing and staggering, he swayed left and into the wall, barely catching himself on it. Then another blow came, this one from Tony, hitting him square in the right side. Something cracked, and Rumplestiltskin cried out in pain, crashing to his knees hard enough to send his cane clattering away. Seeing stars, he tried to get up, tried to say something, but another blow sailed in, landing in the exact same spot. Ribs splintered and Rumpelstiltskin screamed, collapsing to the ground as Tony rained down a half dozen blows in the same area. Moe joined in as he instinctively tried to curl up into a ball, desperately trying to shield his core from the blows with his arms.
One club nailed him right in the stomach, hard enough to make Rumplestiltskin taste blood, and roll helplessly with the blow, landing right in the broken glass from the vase. Had he bitten his tongue, or were their more serious injuries at play? But there was no time to think, only time to howl in pain as the blows continue to rain down. He was curled up on his left side, frantically trying to shield himself and to twitch away from the beating, but there was nowhere to go and nothing he could do. He heard Moe say something, but Tony's next blow came down on his right cheekbone and left his ears ringing too loudly for Rumpelstiltskin to make words out; he could only gasp in agony as spider webs of pain arced outwards from the point of impact, lighting his brain on fire and making his vision go black.
Unfortunately, they didn't stop there. "Let's try that busted leg of his," Tony growled, and Rumpelstiltskin tried to speak, only for his objection to be swallowed by a scream when the head of a golf club smashed into his right ankle.
Another blow came, and then another. Moe and Tony both concentrated on his long-ago broken leg, swinging with all of their might. Bones splintered and then shattered, and Rumplestiltskin's screams filled the empty street. What anyone might have heard was ripped away by the wind, and if not, well, the flower shop and the gift shop were on the end by the water. Only the parking garage was near either, and there was no one there to pay attention as he screeched in pain, seeing a black field of stars instead of the street he laid upon. His curse was screaming for vengeance in his mind, hating this helplessness as much as Rumplestiltskin did, but it was as useless as he was at the moment.
With no magic, Rumplestiltskin had no way to defend himself. Finally, the duo paused, allowing Rumplestiltskin to struggle for air and to try to make his eyes and voice work. Moe and Tony slowly swam into focus in front of him, both blurry and jumping about, but at least he knew where they were. He could barely feel his right leg, but could see enough to notice that the ankle was at a dangerous angle.
"Stop," Rumplestiltskin panted desperately, barely able to speak through the pain in his ribs. Blood bubbled up from between his lips. "I'm not—"
Silver flashed in the dim light of the street lamps, and another blow to the face made the world go black.
A/N: So…what do you think is going to happen to Rumplestiltskin now? How badly will he be hurt, and how much of a game changer is this going to be as the 'good' guys struggle to make Emma believe and break the curse?
Up next, Chapter 46: "Unexpected Associations", in which someone stumbles upon Rumplestiltskin, Emma starts investigating this attack, and Belle and Regina find themselves at odds. Back in the past, Rumplestiltskin tries to get rid of an unwanted student.