Chapter Forty-Eight—"Love and Misery"

Whale had kicked Emma out when she'd tried to question Gold the day before, citing the fact that his patient had had quite enough visitors already, so she came back the morning of January 25th, two days after the attack. Storybrooke's top surgeon didn't seem terribly happy to see her, although he shrugged and grunted when she asked if she could see Gold, just telling Nurse Zephyr to take her in.

"What's his problem?" she asked Zephyr as they walked through the spotless white hallways together, wondering why Whale had suddenly decided she needed a chaperone.

"The mayor came to see Mr. Gold yesterday, and he was very irritable afterwards," Zephyr replied with a shrug, her red hair bouncing as they walked. "He tried to refuse further medication, and Doctor Whale had to sedate him. His condition really has been touch and go. He didn't really calm down until Lacey French showed up, either."

"Lacey was here again?" Emma blinked, not having expected that. After all, what kind of kept woman would keep visiting her 'benefactor' in the hospital? Emma had expected Lacey to be reveling in her freedom, or at least visiting her father and ex-boyfriend in the Storybrooke Jail. She hadn't done the latter, however, apparently finding that her time was better spent here. And she was the only one who could calm Gold down. Weird. Well, you were wondering about their relationship, she reminded herself, trying not to feel surprised. Besides, Lacey kneeing Keith was hardly the type of thing some terrified kept woman would do, which meant there remained more to the ex-librarian than most people thought.

"We had to send her home at the end of visiting hours," the nurse said with a soft smile. "Otherwise, I think she would have slept here again."

Again? But Emma didn't get a chance to ask that question, or even to decide if she wanted to ask it, before they arrived outside Gold's hospital room. There really was something more to Gold and Lacey than met the eye, but she couldn't decide what. Particularly not after listening to Moe French and Tony Rose try to rationalize their actions all day yesterday, she thought irritably.

"Here we are," Zephyr said unnecessarily. Her manic cheerfulness grated on Emma's nerves, but the sheriff tried very hard not to show that. "Call if you need anything."

"Thanks," Emma told her, and headed inside, relieved to find that Gold was alone. He still looked like hell, though, lying pale and broken against the sheets, with bruises covering half the skin Emma could see and bandages covering the rest. She had hoped that he'd looked so terrible last time because he'd been fresh off a beating, but now she finally realized just how tiny the man was. He wasn't just slender; he was actually rather short, too. Somehow, his power always made him seem larger than he was, although at the moment he looked like she could snap him in half like a twig.

"Sheriff Swan." His voice was hoarse, too, and lacking his normally controlled cadence. "What can I do for you this fine morning?"

"It's actually snowing out. I'm not sure I'd call that fine," she replied without thinking, gesturing at the window.

"Ah, you'll have to forgive me. It seems I'm not allowed outside at the moment," Gold quipped, and Emma had to give the man some respect. Apparently he was more coherent now, because if he was being sarcastic, that had to mean he was feeling a little better. Even if he looks worse.

"I hear that's a side effect of being beat straight to hell," she said with a shrug, plopping down in the chair next to the bed. "You up to answering a few questions?"

Something flickered over his face. "I'm at your service, of course." Then he hesitated before adding: "Though I do have to ask you to take anything I said the other night with a grain of salt. I was a bit…"

"Drugged?" Emma supplied. "Yeah, I noticed. And the concussion, too."

"Indeed."

"So, are you ready to make an official statement? I arrested Moe French and Tony Rose based upon what you said on Monday night. Please tell me you're not going to say that someone else attacked you instead of them."

Particularly since I found them with two bent golf clubs and a load of excuses, Emma didn't add. But given the way Cora seemed to pull the strings on everything around here, she wouldn't be too surprised to find that someone's testimony abruptly changed…even if it was Gold's. He might have been the one person in town who didn't seem afraid of Cora, but the kind of beating he had just suffered could change anyone's mind. Suddenly, that thought made Emma blink. Wait a minute. Am I even thinking that Cora might be behind this? There's not a shred of evidence to support that.

I have got to stop letting Henry and Regina influence what I believe about her. Yeah, she's an absolute bitch, but she's not some kind of Evil Queen manipulating everything that happens in this town, the sheriff told herself for the thousandth time. Fortunately, Gold saved her from her thoughts by replying:

"Certainly not. I might have been out of it, dearie, but I wasn't that far gone," he grimaced.

"Good," Emma breathed, not even bothering to conceal her relief. "So…can you make an official statement?"

"Ask your questions, and I'll do my best to answer," Gold answered, shifting slightly on the bed. A spasm of pain seemed to shake him, and Emma found herself wondering exactly what 'touch and go' meant in reference to Gold's condition. Maybe Whale did have a reason for being so annoyed to see her.

"Right," she said, resolving to get this done with quickly. Moe and Tony really had done a number on Gold, and although Emma wouldn't have expected to feel sorry for the tricky pawnbroker under other circumstances, his current condition certainly was awakening stirrings of pity in her. "So, can you positively identify your assailants?"

"Moe French and Tony Rose," the patient replied succinctly. He still looked uncomfortable as hell, but his eyes were relatively clear for someone on what looked like a mean drip of morphine.

"Did either of your assailants say why they attacked you?"

"Mr. Rose said something about 'avenging Lacey'," Gold said dryly, and Emma could see a mixture of frustration and fury flicker across his face. "They seemed to think that I have forced her to live with me."

"Have you?" Emma asked bluntly.

"No," he snapped, but the force of the word immediately made him cough. One cough became four, however, and soon enough, Gold was wheezing for air. Emma leapt to her feet and headed for the door, but his voice made her turn around before she could stick her head into the hallway and shout for help. "I'm fine, Miss Swan. There's no need to…go running about."

"You sure?"

"I'm not going to get better any time soon, dear, so you might as well ask your questions," he replied hoarsely.

"If you're sure," she said slowly, lowering herself back into the chair and pulling her notepad back out. Gold nodded, the movement jerky and pained, so Emma continued her questioning: "Did you give them any reason to think you might be hurting Lacey?"

"Aside from being the town monster?" he countered, and for a brief moment, Emma thought she saw something raw, truthful, and vulnerable streak across his expression. It vanished quickly, but it left her wondering. How much did Gold hide behind that prickly exterior? Nurse Zephyr had indicated that they'd had to up his medication level to control the pain levels, and she knew that such things often lowered inhibitions. Perhaps lots of morphine made him more honest, because Emma thought she might be seeing the man behind the mask for the first time.

"I didn't say that's what you were," she protested, not sure what else to say.

Gold shrugged again, the movement making him suck in a ragged breath. "Let's not beat around the bush. We both know my reputation," he rasped, sounding out of breath. "But no, to answer the question you aren't asking, I've never hurt Lacey. And I wouldn't."

"Yet no one thinks you've hired her as a live in maid out of the goodness of your heart," Emma couldn't stop herself from pointing out.

"And what did Lacey say when you asked her why I hired her?"

Emma smiled wryly, remembering the conversation. "Pretty much that it's no one's business what she does with her life."

"Well, then. There you have it," the enigmatic bastard replied, apparently coming back on balance despite the painkillers.

He was clever, even when he was hurting, and even when it looked like breathing took a greater effort than thinking did. She had to give him that, and it really wasn't her business why Lacey lived with him, anyway. Emma wanted to know, but she was sure that any gory details there might be would come out during Moe and Tony's trial, assuming things got that far. She was there to investigate their actions, not to find reasons to blame their victim. Particularly when Lacey seems to be satisfied with her life. I wonder who is playing who there? Or maybe they're both telling the truth, odd as that sounds? Clearing her throat, Emma continued after a moment:

"Right. Anyway, can you tell me what happened when they attacked you?" she asked, getting back to the subject she should never have left.

Gold hesitated for a moment, and Emma watched his eyes focus on the wall behind her before he answered quietly: "I went to Game of Thorns to buy Lacey some flowers," he admitted, the words coming in groups as he tried to breathe around them. "My assailants and I…had a bit of a, uh, verbal altercation there, and apparently Mr. French and Mr. Rose followed me out of the shop. They attacked me on No. 1 Road, near the parking garage."

He looked winded from speaking so much, and Emma waited for Gold to catch his breath before she continued:

"With what?" She already knew the answer, but she had to hear it from him.

"A pair of golf clubs, I believe." Gold grimaced.

"Did they say anything else while they, uh…"

"Beat me?" Even while in pain, Gold apparently didn't pull any punches. "Nothing I remember, but I was…a bit distracted."

"I can imagine, yeah." Emma had to wrap this up soon, or Whale would probably drag her out personally. Gold was growing more wan and pale as he spoke, and although he was obviously trying not to show it, he was clearly not doing well. Whale had been hesitant to hand her the medical report the day before, but Emma had a feeling she'd really need it now. Not that there's a hurry. Gold's going to be in here for weeks, she thought.

"Please do tell me that you haven't waited so long to arrest them, Sheriff," Gold said, his voice growing smaller and weaker.

"Nope, they're safely in jail." At least she could tell him that. "Neither of them is going to be bothering you any time soon. I can promise that much."

"Good."

The fury that surged through his eyes was natural, Emma tried to tell herself as she nodded to Gold and walked out. And it wasn't like the pawnbroker could do anything to those two, anyway. He was strapped to a hospital bed and had doctors and nurses fawning over him twenty-four/seven…so why did Emma suddenly worry for the safety of the two homicidal idiots in her jail?

She was still contemplating that question when she passed Regina in the hallway, not noticing that Regina was obviously heading in to see Gold as well.

Emma seemed engrossed in what she was doing, and in Regina's opinion, that was a damned good thing. The last thing she wanted to do was explain the coming conversation to the sheriff; Emma still didn't want to believe that the curse existed, so trying to tell her that Gold used to be an ultra-powerful sorcerer with moral difficulties would only complicate things in was that Regina really wasn't up for today. Particularly if they got into the whole not-really-human part.

She supposed that this was none of her business, and she should just leave it well enough alone. But she couldn't. Rumplestiltskin had always been unpredictable, yet he was also her friend, and she needed to understand what the hell he was playing at. She'd overheard what he said to Lacey French, what Lacey had said to him, and none of it made sense. Regina had already asked him once what the hell was going on between the two of them, and he'd evaded answering, but she wasn't about to let him do that a second time. Not when it might suddenly explode and hurt all of them.

The image of Rumplestiltskin lying bleeding on the ground in a puddle of shattered blue glass and yellow roses just wouldn't leave her mind, and that little tart's father had done that to him. The connection was irrefutable, and while most people would have though the cold-hearted 'Mr. Gold' was too detached to fall for someone who might use him, Regina knew Rumplestiltskin better than that.

"So," she said, walking into the private hospital room they'd moved him into since she'd last seen him, trying to sound casual. "Are you going to croak, or what?"

"Very funny," her old teacher replied, and the pain in his voice made Regina wince.

"You look like hell warmed over, Rumple," she commented before she could stop herself, swallowing hard. She wanted to be detached, wanted to act like none of this mattered, but she couldn't.

"Huh," was all he said, and the word was a wheeze of pain.

"I won't stay long," Regina promised quickly, suddenly losing her stomach for a confrontation. Under normal circumstances, she enjoyed arguing with her old friend and teacher, but not when he looked like this. She was used to thinking of him as absolutely indestructible...but now he just looked so human and so broken that she had to swallow. Back in the Enchanted Forest, Regina wasn't sure that there was anything that could actually hurt him. Here, however… "I just need to ask you something."

"Well, I'm a bit of a captive audience, dearie," Rumplestiltskin rasped in response, quirking a smile that made her think of the Dark One. But his voice was uneven and full of pain, which rather ruined the effect. "Until Frankenstein kicks you out, anyway."

"Who?"

"I'll tell you that story…another day." He looked like a laugh might just kill him, so Regina chose to file it away under the Rumplestiltskin's odd sense of humor.

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. Look…I need to talk to you about Lacey French. The whole town is going on about how her ex and her father put you in here, and the truth is becoming pretty damn important. So enough of your games. Tell me the truth."

Regina didn't plan on telling him about the conversation she'd eavesdropped upon unless he proved less than helpful…which he probably would.

"What truth would that be?" he asked evasively.

"You and Lacey French. What the hell is going on between you?" Regina demanded, her already thin patience wearing out. She was worried about him, damnit, and if the bastard wouldn't look out for himself, she'd try to help him, anyway. Regina needed Rumplestiltskin. He was the only one who really understood her. Even once Snow and David woke up, they'd never understand her fury and her darkness. Or the fact that she would weep zero tears over her mother's grave, that she'd cheerfully help kill Cora if it kept her family safe. Snow and Charming were too good for that, but her teacher never had been. He'd always somehow understood the line between anger and love…even if Regina had never really thought he could love until now.

Truthfully, she still wasn't sure about that.

"She's my maid," Rumplestiltskin replied stubbornly, and Regina snapped.

"Oh, come on!"

Brown eyes met hers, and it was Rumplestiltskin who looked away after a moment. After several long moments of silence, he asked softly: "Why does it matter?"

"Because I'm afraid she's playing you," she answered bluntly. "Playing off whatever relationship the curse gave you—because am I right in assuming this started then?"

"Yes," he coughed, sounding worse and worse by the moment. Part of Regina knew that she should leave, should call the nurses in and let him rest, but the rest of her knew Rumplestiltskin well enough to know that he wouldn't answer her questions if he was feeling any better. Besides, she wasn't sure anything could actually kill him here, even if a florist and a jewelry store owner could beat the hell out of him. "There was a…relationship while I was cursed."

"So, what the hell are you doing? Is she playing you for the money and the expensive clothes, or are you playing her to throw smoke in my mother's eyes?" Regina pressed. "I'll grant you that no one would ever expect you as the Dark One to get in a relationship with a mousy little librarian, but that cover is wearing a bit thin now that she sic'd her family on you."

"She didn't cause this," Rumplestiltskin snarled almost before Regina was done with the last sentence, suddenly looking more alive and more angry than Regina would have thought he could, given his injuries. "Don't even imply that. She"—he coughed—"was as surprised by this as anyone else."

"Great. So she's a good actor."

"No," he wheezed. "She isn't, actually." He coughed again, his entire body shaking weakly, and Regina couldn't help cringing. "I'm not going to give you the gory details of my…personal life, Regina, but…let's just say that I know exactly what Lacey's motivations are."

She frowned. "That's not terribly helpful."

"Wasn't meant to be."

Regina almost pressed further, but Rumplestiltskin's breathing was growing far too labored, and she knew how stubborn he could be. Either he actually believed what he was saying—a distinct possibility, since he preferred twisting the truth to an outright lie—or he wasn't in the mood to share anything more. He didn't look like he could weather further questioning at the moment, anyway, so she let out a slow sigh and changed the subject.

"Is there anything I can get you? It looks like you're going to be here for a while."

A twitch of a smile actually crossed the Dark One's face. "No. Lacey…will be by in a bit. I'm all right."

"Let me know if I can do anything," Regina told him sincerely, remembering all the times that Rumplestiltskin had stood by her when she had no one else to turn to, when her mother had forced her to do some truly terrible things and she felt like the world was against her. She wouldn't abandon him now, not when he was laid so low. Even if he was a pain in the ass.

Receiving a nod, Regina gave him what she hoped didn't look like a helpless smile and headed out, having had her fill of hospitals and difficult Dark Ones. She still wasn't sure what in the world was between him and Lacey French, but hell, maybe they were just using one another. She wouldn't put it past Rumplestiltskin to have invited the maid to live with him so that rumors would start; the presence of a beautiful young woman inside Gold's mansion was probably driving her mother to distraction, so that tactic appeared to be working. Maybe their relationship was purely business, and Lacey had been acting in what Regina saw.

Or maybe Rumplestiltskin really was in love with the librarian. Stranger things had happened.

3 Years, 9 Months Before the Curse

"What do you have against mermaids, anyway?" Regina asked her mother, striding into Cora's boudoir with a scowl firmly in place.

Her mother looked up from the book she had been oh-so-gracefully reading. Regina swore that her mother arranged herself just-so, even when she was doing something like reading a book on curses and hexes, just in case someone were to see her. Cora always wanted to be the perfect queen, the ideal evil sorceress, and Regina was pretty sure that her mother was utterly incapable of actually relaxing. "Royalty is always on display, darling," Cora had told her more than once. "Act the part." Thinking on that memory made Regina stop and cross her arms, not caring if she looked petulant.

"Nothing in particular." Cora shrugged eloquently. "But that one? She befriended our dear Snow when the brat and her prince were on their way back to old George's kingdom."

"So?" Regina had to ask, not understanding her mother's all-consuming need for vengeance at all. "Who cares if she befriended Snow and James? That hardly matters with what you're planning."

The thought of giving her sister the nightmare curse still utterly turned Regina's stomach; she'd spent countless nights awake, tossing and turning and dreading the day that her mother would force her to do so. But now she felt terrible for something else, too. I put a curse on a mermaid because the poor girl befriended Snow? Regina felt sick. This was not the first time that she'd wondered after her mother's sanity, but it was perhaps one of the most remarkable. Cora's response certainly did nothing to improve Regina's opinion, either.

"I want her to suffer. And that means that anyone who wants to stand with her stands against me."

"Ariel wasn't standing with Snow, Mother," she tried to point out. "She just wanted to meet her own True Love. She rescued him in a shipwreck, and—"

"And did you do as I asked?" Cora demanded, acting as if she'd given Regina a choice.

"Yes." Regina shuddered, thinking of Daniel and what would happen to him if she had done any less. Cora had eyes and spies everywhere, and Regina's own cousins ruled that kingdom. Prince Eric, the man that Ariel had saved, was actually Regina's first cousin, and she knew that Cora still possessed plenty of hearts from that kingdom. Any one of them would have told the Evil Queen if Regina refused to do her bidding, no matter how vile it was.

Cora peered at her closely. "You are certain that the Lovers' Curse took root in her?"

"Yes," she snarled, trying to swallow back her own self-loathing. It wasn't like she knew the mermaid. And all Ariel had to do was never speak to her True Love, never finish falling in love with him. For if she did…

"Excellent. I always enjoy watching True Loves murder one another. I believe that it is the ultimate expression of power. Don't you, darling?"

"You wouldn't say that if you'd ever actually loved someone," Regina spat before she could stop herself.

"But I have." Her mother stood up, gliding over to straighten Regina's hair emotionlessly. "I simply learned that love is less important than power. And that includes True Love."

"True Love is the most powerful magic there is!"

"You've been listening to Rumplestiltskin too much, Regina," Cora purred, continuing to smooth out Regina's long locks. "True Love—if it could be harnessed—would indeed be the most powerful magic there is, but the act of breaking it is even more powerful. And in this case, our little mermaid will kill her True Love long before he can completely fall in love with her, which means that his kiss won't break the curse you've put on her."

"You're horrible," Regina said, yanking away from Cora's touch.

Her mother only smiled.

Regina did not expect to find her mother waiting in her office when she returned from visiting Rumplestiltskin, and, frankly, was not happy to see her there. Regina was still a little off, still trying to swallow what had happened to her old friend. For the first time since she'd woken up, Rumplestiltskin had looked so human and so damn helpless, and accepting the fact that either of those words applied to him was a bit hard to swallow. Especially when they had a Savior to shake belief into and a curse to break. Regina didn't want to do this on her own—she had enough on her plate between raising a son (while trying to keep him safe from her homicidal mother), managing her cursed husband's affair with his actual wife, and trying desperately not to fall too much in love with a man who might hate her when he woke up. She needed the wily old bastard, and seeing him in a hospital bed was just too much to process in a hurry.

"Mother," she said warily, not liking the way Cora sat perched on the edge of her desk, looking so satisfied. "What are you doing here?"

"Been to visit Rumple already?" was the too-sweet reply, and Regina could have strangled the Dark One if he'd been within reach. You might have mentioned that Mother knows you're awake, Rumplestiltskin!

Taking a deep breath, Regina did her best to look like she'd already known that vital bit of information. "Yes, actually. He looks horrible."

Let her mother chew on that. She knew that her mother had once been in love with Rumplestiltskin before she ripped her own heart out, and there had been times—particularly early in her tutelage with Rumplestiltskin—that Regina thought they deserved one another. Of course, that had been before she'd actually gotten to know him. Now she understood what her mother had actually done to Rumplestiltskin with that choice, and Regina felt that Cora deserved it when Rumple had spurned her second attempt to get back together with him. Not that she didn't curse him straight into her bed as Gold. I wonder how that's going now that she knows he's awake? Probably not very well, she thought with no small amount of pleasure. Unless he wants to be there. Now that was a thought she didn't want to have, and Regina pushed it away firmly.

"I know. I've already visited," Cora replied easily.

"I bet he was happy to see you," she shot back, figuring that she'd get her digs in where and how she could. Regina might be being more careful with how she helped Emma these days, but the library fire was over a month into the past, and her mother hadn't seemed willing to try anything again. Maybe that had been Cora's best shot—or maybe she'd really been after Lacey French, after all. Maybe Rumple has a good idea getting in a relationship with someone else. It probably pisses Mother off to no end.

"I wasn't terribly concerned with his happiness," her mother replied with a shrug.

"That's so new," Regina grumbled, rolling her eyes. Mother's love usually does turn into a self-centered endeavor. I doubt Rumple was surprised.

"Don't be obnoxious, darling."

Regina tried not to sigh and failed. "Did you need something, Mother? I have some work to catch up on."

"Oh, there's nothing I need. I just wanted to see what you thought of your dear teacher being so thoroughly…out of the game, so to speak." The thin smile her mother wore was the one that she always put on when she felt that she'd bested someone, and suddenly, the implication Cora was driving at hit Regina like a ton of bricks.

"You were responsible for this?"

"Of course I was. Do you think that idiot florist would have gotten that idea by himself?" Cora snorted. "No. He required proper encouragement, although I'll admit that I did not expect him to bring Tony Rose along. That was an interesting addition."

"Interesting in that they seem to have crippled him?" Regina gaped.

Cora shrugged again. "He was already crippled, and a lesson needed to be taught."

"They could have killed him!"

"Don't be overly dramatic, Regina." There was that look, the one that told her she was acting like a child again. Regina hated that look. "Rumplestiltskin needed to be reminded who has the power in this town, and how far I am willing to go to maintain that power. Do you?"

Regina's heart stopped. "What?"

"I asked if you need a reminder on that front, darling. Of course, I would never send thugs armed with golf clubs after my beloved daughter, but…"

She didn't need to hear her mother finish that sentence; Regina's blood had already turned to ice. The implication was clear; just when she had started to think that Henry was safe, Cora had resumed resorting to violence to achieve her ends. And, of course, if she pressed, Cora would remind her that Henry was no blood of hers. That difference mattered to Cora, and Regina suddenly understood that her son had never been safe. Not if the man who she thought her mother still loved had just been beaten within an inch of his life.

"No," she whispered. "No, I don't."

His attempts to survive with fewer drugs in his system had turned out to be an absolute and painful failure. Shortly after Regina left, Rumplestiltskin stopped arguing with Whale's attempt to up his dosage yet again. He didn't have the energy to do so, and everything hurt too much. Of course, it was just his luck that Nurse Zephyr came in with the doctor and smiled her sickeningly sweet smile. Thinking of Zelena's ham-handed attempts to seduce him in the past was just too much at the moment, and Rumplestiltskin tried to pretend he was asleep to avoid conversation with either one of them. Doing so did let him eavesdrop on what they said about him, though, and that wasn't particularly news he wanted to hear.

Whale was worried about internal bleeding…and his leg. Rumplestiltskin hadn't bothered to ask about the recently re-broken limb yet, not with everything else hurting so fiercely, but what Frankenstein said to the Wicked Witch was not promising. He was drifting a little by then, floating on a sea of morphine, but Rumplestiltskin was aware enough to hear that they weren't sure that he'd ever walk again. Give it time, the inner voice of logic tried to soothe the desire to panic. Don't get worked up until they're sure. It's too early to start worrying. But Rumplestiltskin knew himself well enough to know that he would be consumed by fear on that front had he not been so drugged up. Even with the drugs dulling his mind, he spent the next hour or so mulling over how he'd manage if his leg was even more mangled this time than the last, dreaming up horrible possibilities and hopeless futures until a hand landed on his left arm.

He'd been staring blankly at the ceiling, but the touch made his head snap left, and slowly, Belle's beautiful face swam into focus. She was smiling gently at him.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Hi," Rumplestiltskin managed, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton and his brain was stuffed with molasses.

"I know you told me that I should stay away as much as I could, but someone wanted to see you," she said softly, and Rumplestiltskin blinked, finally noticing the three year old that sat next to Belle on the bed.

The last thing he'd wanted was for his daughter to see him like this, but when Renee smiled a toothy but hesitant smile, Rumplestiltskin found himself trying to smile back.

"Hullo," his little girl said, looking around in confusion. "Mamma said you hurt and need happy."

"Hello, sweetheart," he managed to reply, hesitating a moment before reaching his hand out to take the much smaller one. His motor control was a little off, but Rumplestiltskin's fingers made it to their target after a bit of fumbling. His relationship with Renee had come so far in the mouth since the fire, and although it wasn't quite what he'd had with Gabrielle, Rumplestiltskin was still so grateful that is daughter's cursed persona accepted him like this.

"Renee made you a card," Belle told him, shifting to hold a card made out of yellow construction paper in front of Rumplestiltskin's face.

"Is for you!" their daughter confirmed, and he felt a strange warmth roll through him that had nothing to do with the morphine.

"For me?" he asked as clearly as he could manage, trying to mask the tightness in his chest. The painkillers made speaking a little easier, though not much, but at least he could focus on the card well enough to make out the drawings on the front. Or at least he thought they were drawings.

"Uh huh."

Blinking, Rumplestiltskin realized that they were band aids, just colored on and around, complete with blue flowers and some very sparkly clouds. The words "Feel Better" were written on the outside in a very three year old hand, and when he glanced at Belle, he could see the same softness in her eyes that he felt in his heart. Even his curse was silent right now, overcome by the sheer love and warmth he felt in the presence of his family, and Rumplestiltskin looked back at his little girl.

"Thank you, Renee," he rasped.

"Read inside, Mamma!" their adorable little tyrant demanded, and Belle chuckled, glancing at him.

"Shall I read it to you?"

"Please." Rumplestiltskin was pretty sure that making out the outside of the card hit the limit of his mental capacity at the moment, and besides, he'd always loved it when Belle read to him. She shot him a knowing smile as she opened the card, reading the note that was clearly in her handwriting—but so obviously dictated to her by a child.

"'Dear Daddy Gold'," Belle read as Renee bounced excitedly. "These band aids are for you to make you feel all better. When you feel better, can we have ice cream? Love you lots, Renee.'"

Rumplestiltskin had to swallow before he could find words, clumsily squeezing his little girl's hand as he looked at the stick figures drawn on the card. They appeared to be an adult and a child eating ice cream, and judging from the dark colors on one of the stick figures, it was supposed to be him. Although I can't ever remember wearing a shirt quite so brightly green, he thought with some amusement, shifting to look into a pair of big brown eyes that were full of love for a man who did not deserve to embrace such innocence.

"Thank you, sweetie," Rumplestiltskin whispered again. "You make lots of things better."

"We miss you," Renee replied, and Rumplestiltskin had to swallow. Gentle fingers touched his left shoulder, and he could feel Belle's presence next to him, giving him strength and helping him cope with the pain and the horrible feeling of helplessness.

"I miss you, too. Both of you."

Short sentences were much better, he'd found out earlier. That made him less likely to have a coughing fit or lose himself in the pain, and Rumplestiltskin would be damned if he'd scare his little girl like that.

"Come home?"

"Soon," he promised, glad, for once, that a three year old who had grown up (or not grown up, technically) in a cursed Storybrooke had little concept of time. But he couldn't help exchanging a glance with Belle, who gave him a worried smile. They both knew that he'd be in this damn bed for weeks, at best, and neither of them really wanted to explain that to their daughter. Not yet, anyway.

"Okay," Renee said with the sunny attitude of a child who knew they were loved. Then she shocked Rumplestiltskin by squirming forward to kiss his left—and un-bandaged—cheek. "Love you."

"I love you, too," he whispered, giving her a smile for all he was worth. Everything might have hurt, but somehow he had earned this remarkable little girl's love, and he was not going to ruin that. Not for anything.

However loving and adorable she was, however, Renee did have a three year old's patience, which meant that Belle soon had to deposit her in the chair next to the bed, pulling out a coloring book and crayons for Renee to amuse herself with. Renee became engrossed in coloring a picture of a dragon quickly, murmuring to herself about which colors went where. Then Belle sat down next to Rumplestiltskin on the bed and spoke quietly:

"How are you actually feeling?"

"More drugged," he answered truthfully, deciding to leave out his worries about his leg. After all, Whale hadn't told him about the potential problems yet, and he didn't want to bother Belle with that before he actually knew there was an issue. Rumplestiltskin might have hated his limp, but he did know how to deal with it. The injury had actually been worse back in the Enchanted Forest, which meant he did know how to cope with that, too, if worst came to worst. Assuming the leg remained even vaguely usable, he would figure out how to manage. Besides, Belle had enough on her plate right now. He'd tell her later if the leg turned out to be completely unsalvageable.

"You sound like it," she replied, bending to kiss him on the forehead. "That's a good thing, right? Now that you've stopped being an idiot?"

No one else in any realm could call him that so lightly, but for Belle, he smiled. "Something like that," Rumplestiltskin allowed, and then found himself being more honest than he wanted to be. "Everything still…hurts, though."

"Oh, Rumple," Belle whispered, squeezing his hand. "I wish I could do more."

"You do," he told her. "Just by being here. You…do."

"It's not enough," his wife argued, and Rumplestiltskin let his eyes drift to Renee.

"You have to…keep her safe. Can't trust Cora. Not now." The last two words were almost lost in a coughing fit, but they made it out clearly enough, judging from the worried way Belle was looking at him when he finally got control of the painful wheezing. His vision was dancing again, but Rumplestiltskin was fairly sure he knew which face belonged to the actual Belle, so he focused on that one.

"I thought your pleases…?" she trailed off.

"Should hold her. Not counting…on it," he managed to say before pain made further words stick in his chest. "Be careful."

The last sentence was almost a gasp, and Belle held his hand in silence while Rumplestiltskin struggled for air for several moments. As much as he had told her to stay away to lessen suspicion—Regina's ironic theory that Belle was playing him was only the icing on that cake—Rumplestiltskin was so glad that she was there. He needed Belle more desperately than he could express, particularly in moments like this when he wasn't sure if the pain was ever going to stop.

Could he live like this? He couldn't imagine how he'd do so, but Rumplestiltskin had a nasty habit of staying alive, and a family to fight for besides. He was so close to finding Baelfire, and he wouldn't let two drunks ruin that. Or ruin his family. He'd never been a fighter, but this was worth fighting for. Every bit of it.

1 Year Before the Curse

"Rumple, can we talk?" Belle asked the evening after she had started reading up on his curse. Gabrielle was asleep for the evening, and they'd headed to their chambers as well. She'd just finished changing into her nightdress and had watched him exchange his wonderfully tight leather pants for night clothes as well.

Rumplestiltskin paused halfway to the bed, studying her where she sat on the edge, on top of the covers. "Of course, sweetheart. What would you like to talk about?"

"There's something I wanted to ask you," she said hesitantly, trying to frame her words properly. After reading about the dagger of the Dark One in that first book, she'd found references to it in three other books, and that was starting to worry her. Rumplestiltskin had never once mentioned anything like that, and although Belle wasn't fool enough to think that he told her everything about himself—particularly given what a long life he had lived before he met her—she would have thought that something so dangerous would have been on the list of things to tell his wife of three years.

"Of course. You know you can ask me anything," he replied lightly, sitting down on the bed next to her.

"Anything?" Belle echoed before she could stop herself.

"Yes." But now he looked wary, and that wasn't what Belle wanted. "Sweetheart, you know there are things that I've done in the past that—"

"This isn't about your past," she cut him off, not wanting to open that can of worms. Although Belle knew intellectually that Rumpelstiltskin had done some truly horrible things in the years before she'd met him, she had always wanted to focus on their future together. She knew she could help him be better, and that mattered more to Belle than any past misdeeds of his. This topic, however…well, her instincts told her that it might be a sensitive one, but it was one that she needed to know about.

"Then what it is?"

Belle took a deep breath. "I was started reading up on your curse," she replied slowly. "On the Curse of the Dark One."

"Why…why would you do that?" he stuttered, but just as Belle had expected, Rumplestiltskin seemed to tense.

Why does he never want to tell me about this? What is he trying to protect me from...or hide from me? Belle was no little girl. She was a mother and his wife, and she needed to know these things. Why was he so hesitant? Wiling her voice to be firm, she told him the answer that she knew he needed to hear, and not the reason that had actually started her digging. "Because I think I need to know these things. There's so much you aren't telling me, isn't there?"

"It's my business," Rumplestiltskin snapped, but Belle could tell that the answer was automatic and told herself to be patient.

"And mine. I'm married to you, Rumple. And I love you," she told him, reaching out to wrap her arms around his right arm, which was closest to her. "I'm not going to use any knowledge I gain against you. I just need to know."

"Why?" he demanded, sounding more hostile towards her than he had for years.

Belle bit her lip, gathered her courage, and then the words came out in a rush. "Because there's a way someone can control you, isn't there?"

"What?" Rumplestiltskin jerked away and leapt to his feet so fast that Belle almost fell off the bed, twisting to look at her in fury. "Where did you hear that?"

"Several books mention a dagger," she said as calmly as she could, standing to face him and squaring her shoulders. "They say that it can make you do terrible things if someone has it."

"You don't need to worry about that, dearie," her husband snapped in response, his voice going high pitched and horrible.

"Don't call me that," Belle retorted automatically, hating the way he used that word to distance himself from people. "I'm not some random 'dearie'. I'm your wife!"

"Does that mean I'm supposed to trust you?" he demanded, and Belle jerked back as if struck.

For a moment, she couldn't believe what she'd heard. She'd worked so hard to get past Rumplestiltskin's thorny exterior. They loved one another. How could he ask that, and in that horrible tone? Suddenly, he was looking at her like she was a stranger, like she was a threat. That glare hurt, cut her to the very bone, and Belle heard herself snapping back:

"Yes, it does! I love you, Rumple, whether you like it or not!"

"Well, you're not exactly acting like it right now, are you?" he snarled, baring black teeth at her, his expression vicious and dark.

"How can you say that?" she gasped, feeling like she wanted to fall down and cry. But she wouldn't. Not now, and not ever. "I asked a legitimate question! The fact that someone could control you, could force you to do anything at all, could endanger us, and I need to know!"

"No, you don't," Rumplestiltskin retorted, his voice going higher pitched and panicked. "And if you love me at all, you'll forget about this. Or I'll make you forget about it!"

It was those last words, panicked and crazed, that finally made everything make sense to Belle. She'd read about the dagger, read about what it could force a Dark One to do, and she suddenly realized that her husband wasn't being closed off; he was afraid. The books had said that most Dark Ones were controlled by someone else, but if Rumplestiltskin was free—and Belle knew that he had to be—he had to have been incredibly careful and incredibly paranoid about the dagger.

"I'm not trying to take it from you," she whispered, reaching out for his hand. "Rumple, I love you. I just—"

He didn't let her say another word, jerking away from her fingers and storming out. As he walked—obviously too angry to even teleport away—his night clothes melted away and were replaced by the hard leathers that he normally wore around outsiders, with all sharp edges and no softness at all. Belle could only stand staring at his retreating back, wondering if she had just ruined something wonderful due to her own curiosity…and how she was going to fix this mess she'd inadvertently created.

A/N: Up next is Chapter 49: "What Heroes Do", in which Henry continues to believe, Emma visits Graham with questions, Whale gives Belle some frightening news, and a decision is made that will change everything. Back in the past, Rumplestiltskin and Belle face off over the dagger.

On a different note, if you're not already following me on tumblr (my blog is toseehowthestoryends, and the link is in my profile), you might want to check it out! I post sneak peeks of FOTS chapters a few days after each chapter goes up, so there will be one for FOTS49 on Wednesday or Thursday. I also have a new story here on FFN, featuring Rumbelle (and others) in the Hunger Games universe, titled "This is No Game."