Chapter Fifty-Eight—"This Day Which Might Inflame"

Spending a week and a half at home with no one for company but his wife and daughter for company (discounting Regina's visit) had been glorious. Rumplestiltskin didn't stay in bed nearly often as Dr. Whale would have liked, of course, but then, Whale didn't have magic to help speed the healing process. And back in the old world, he hadn't really believed in it, anyway. Still, after a week he was ready to go stir crazy, even with magic to keep him occupied. He was determined to open the shop again tomorrow, but he wasn't foolish enough to do that today. Not on Valentine's Day, particularly when he'd already planned what he was going to cook for Belle and they'd arranged for Mrs. Lagle (Mother Goose, in another life) to watch Renee so that they could have a private dinner. Besides, Belle had some errands to run that she wouldn't tell him about, which gave him time to prepare.

And that also let him spend some time with Renee, who was steadily becoming more and more like Gabrielle. Particularly with her sensitivity to magic. Rumplestiltskin hadn't counted on the subtle changes in his daughter that bringing magic to Storybrooke caused, but every day, she grew less and less Renee and more Gabrielle. He could see the lines blurring between the two, and for the life of him, Rumplestiltskin couldn't regret that. Along with her mother, Gabrielle had ownership of his heart—they, and his son, his Baelfire whom he had not seen in far too many years. Watching his daughter march around the kitchen reminded him so painfully of his boy, and he had to blink tears out of his eyes. He was so close, so very close. All he had to do was figure out how to get Emma Swan to believe and break the damn curse.

Well, his ability to heal himself should help with that, assuming that her mind wasn't so clouded by disbelief that she refused to see what was right in front of her face. In the meantime, however, he would make sure that he did not fail this child the way he had failed the last.

"Up, Papa!" his little tyrant demanded, and Rumplestiltskin bent to pick her up and place her on the chair at his side. Being able to do so while suffering only the slightest twinge in his leg was glorious. He could even have eliminated all of the pain with magic if he so desired. But Rumplestiltskin left that as a reminder to himself, a reminder of his old weaknesses and his failures. And as a reminder not to trust anyone outside my family. Moe French and Tony Rose had taught him that lesson, yet again. Perhaps too much time in the Land Without Magic had made him overconfident.

"How's that, my little rose?" he asked, bending to kiss her on the top of the head once she was situated. The chair was set with its back to the countertop, so that Renee could hold onto the back for balance while she 'helped' him cook. Of course, that meant she was already a mess of cream cheese and eggs, but that was what cooking with a child meant. He'd put aside extra ingredients just for this, anyway.

"Good!" Renee grinned toothily at him. "Cooking!"

"Yes, you are indeed," Rumplestiltskin chuckled. "Now, do you want to help me use the mixer?"

"Uh huh," she replied, and he showed her how to hold the button down—with help, of course. And very careful supervision. Rumplestiltskin could heal her if something went wrong, but he had no desire to ever need to do so. Not if it meant his daughter would have to suffer even the slightest hurt.

Renee managed surprisingly well. She was already more advanced than most three year olds, and not because she would be four in five months. Time may not have technically moved during the curse, but Cora inserting the slight element of into Storybrooke had meant that although no one aged, people did change ever so slightly, and that meant that children grew mentally, although not physically. She would probably always be old for her age, although Rumplestiltskin couldn't find it in himself to regret that. Not when his daughter was to his right and they were busy mixing cheesecake batter together.

Even if Renee seemed to be trying very hard to paint the kitchen walls with the mix, he could clean that up later. For now, Rumplestiltskin would just enjoy this time with his daughter as they made a Valentine's Day cheesecake. Belle usually did the baking, but Gold's memories had a useful trick or two up their sleeve in that regard. In this case, it was a made-from-scratch cheesecake recipe that he knew Belle would love. Gold had never made it for Lacey, for some reason, but he'd always wanted to. Perhaps he'd simply been too eager not to waste the few precious moments he had with Lacey cooking something that took hours of preparation.

"Decorate?" Renee asked as he filled the spring form pan with the batter.

"Not this one, sweetie," he said regretfully. "This one's just going to have strawberries on it."

"Strawberries!"

Chuckling, Rumplestiltskin bent to kiss her on the top of the head again. "And I have some for you, too," he told her. "In fact—"

Ring!

Pushing back the desire to snarl, Rumplestiltskin turned to glare at the phone, but it kept ringing. Seeing that Renee was busy licking batter off of her fingers, he cast a quick spell over his own hands, cleaning them off before picking up the phone.

"Gold."

"Rumple, dear, it's so lovely to hear you sounding better," Cora's voice cooed from the other end, and Rumplestiltskin almost hung up the phone immediately.

In the end, however, curiosity won out, and he found himself drawling: "I'm afraid the improvement is not mutual, dear. Unless, of course your magical problems have been rectified?"

"Now, why would I tell you that?" his former lover retorted, and Rumplestiltskin didn't bother to hold back his smile, asking sweetly:

"Will it help if I say please?"

He should not have used his caveat on a whim, but the imp inside him could not resist. There would be a price to be paid, of course, but in this case, it should be minor. Rumplestiltskin was very wary of using his 'pleases' in grand and sweeping demands; he had allowed himself one of those and one only, and it was to keep his family safe. His own safety he could now assure with his power. Cora might have been the mayor, but even at her full magical strength, she was no match for the Dark One.

Cora's snarl digitized through the phone line, and Rumplestiltskin barely bit back his own chuckle as she answered: "No. It hasn't improved."

"Well, then, what can I do for you this fine day, Your Majesty?" he purred, hearing his curse singing in his mind. It was so much louder, so much more powerful now that there was magic in Storybrooke. There were moments when Rumplestiltskin thought that the voice of his inner demon would drown out his own thoughts, but then he looked at his little girl, and even the imp had to go quiet.

"Well, I was wondering why you haven't sought revenge for that terrible maiming you received at the hands of your little maid's father and boyfriend. The Dark One I know and love would have avenged himself upon them already."

She's right, she's right, his curse chanted in his mind. Kill them both. Who can stop you? You have magic; you'll leave no proof. Kill them slowly and make them suffer. With an effort, Rumplestiltskin pushed the thoughts aside. It wasn't that he didn't want revenge—because he did. He burned for vengeance for the way they had hurt him, for how helpless they had made him feel. Like Cora, Moe and Tony had taken him back to his days as a helpless spinner, to his days of living at the mercy of bullies who had power when he did not. He was no hero to forgive and forget such a slight; Rumplestiltskin tended to hold grudges until they died of old age or it became useful to discard them. He was not a good man, and yet he had left them alone, save for notifying the District Attorney that he'd be happy to testify in court when the time came. Even Gold would have exacted revenge by now, and Gold was far more cold blooded than Rumplestiltskin.

"You knew me at my worst, dearie. I've grown a bit since then," he replied flippantly.

"Grown weak, you mean," Cora retorted.

Rumplestiltskin flat-out giggled, giggled his old imp giggle, the high-pitched and horrible one that haunted so many peoples' nightmares in their old life. He wished he could see Cora's face right now, but he could imagine well enough what she was thinking as Renee glanced his way curiously. "Oh, I've not started yet. I never said I became nicer. Just that I grew. Twenty-eight years of waiting breeds patience, and I have always been willing to wait to get what I want."

"You make it sound like a virtue instead of a weakness. What exactly has your patience accomplished for you? You're still looking for your darling boy, aren't you? Your patience hasn't brought Baelfire home, has it?"

For a moment, Rumplestiltskin was sorely tempted to reach out with magic and strangle Cora then and there. She certainly deserved death, deserved it far more than the men who had half-killed him, and he could feel the bloodlust burning in his veins. But no. He had to wait. Rumplestiltskin had just extolled the virtues of patience, and patient he would be.

"Well, it did bring about you casting the curse now, didn't it, m'dear?" he replied caustically. "Don't be too certain that I won't get what I want."

"Don't make an enemy of me, Rumple," Cora warned him darkly. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Oh, I think your games with me are over, don't you?" he snarled in return. "Because you can't be certain that you can now me out of using every little bit of power and knowledge I possess to dismantle you if you try to hurt me. You're alive on my sufferance now, Madam Mayor. And don't you forget that."

5 Months Before the Curse

"Rumplestiltskin!"

Cora thundered into the Dark Castle with all the power she could summon at her back, winds of darkness sweeping around her, fed by her fury and all of her thwarted vengeance. He had done this. She knew that like she knew her own name. George had no powerful enough sorcerer in his kingdom to defend Snow White, and he must have called on the Dark One to protect Eva's vapid daughter. Why Rumplestiltskin continued to answer those summons continued to infuriate the Evil Queen; she knew he was playing some game or another, but for the life of her, Cora could not determine which.

That was why she was here to demand answers.

"Rumplestiltskin!" she bellowed again. Red was creeping in at the edges of her vision, a danger of using too much dark magic and giving her anger too free of a rein. Even without her heart, Cora could rage like no other. She allowed herself to feel that fury because it gave her strength, unlike the weaknesses brought about by love.

Finally, the damn imp showed up, appearing right in his chair at the head of the table, dressed in silk and leather and without that enormous dragonhide coat he usually preferred. This look suited him, particularly with the yellow silk which he was now wearing, and Cora paused for a moment to admire the view. The distant echo of emotion stirred within her, but it was quickly overcome by lust. Lust was easy to feel without a heart; she only wished that her old lover realized that lust was safer and they could both have everything if only they stood together.

"You're looking a bit piqued, dearie!" the Dark One trumpeted, giggling.

"And I wonder why," she retorted dryly, striding forward to glare at him. But Cora was no fool. She stopped a half dozen feet away from him.

"Well, I can't keep all of my glorious misdeeds straight," he replied easily, sitting back and crossing his legs with a sly smile. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"Snow White is impervious to any harm I might do her. Does that ring a bell?"

This time his giggle was even more cheerful. "Oh, the irony of that statement is everywhere!"

"Stop playing games with me, Rumple!" Cora snapped, but she resisted the urge to try to attack him. The last time she'd tried to overpower the Dark One, nothing had gone her way at all. Next time, Cora vowed to herself. Next time, I will take his dagger, and then Rumple will have no choice but to become my lover.

And failing that willingness, he will become my slave. That thought warmed her slightly, and Cora found a small smile rising to replace her fury. Rumplestiltskin's next words, however, did not help.

"You'll not be able to harm her, you know. Blood given in love is a powerful potion ingredient, and no one of your blood will be able to harm your little stepdaughter or her family," Rumplestiltskin replied with a sharp smile. His reptilian eyes glittered. "In this world."

"What do you mean, 'in this world'?" she demanded, thinking: Someday, I will avenge myself upon you for this humiliation. Cora already knew that Rumplestiltskin had used her own daughter against her, and the thought that Regina had chosen Snow over her own mother—again!—burned. But Regina would not have been able to do it without the help of the demon who had taught them both.

"You'll have to figure that one out for yourself, dearie," he giggled again. "And you can do that somewhere else. You are interrupting my…well, I'm not going to tell you what you're interrupting. I'll just let you guess."

She would not suffer the humiliation of being forced to leave, so Cora strode out with her head held high, silently vowing revenge. In time, she would find the dagger, and she would make him pay. And then Rumplestiltskin would be the one executing her plans for revenge. He would be the one suffering, thwarted and furious. She would treasure his rage when he railed against her control, and she would grant him no mercy. You should have accepted my offer when I came to you, Rumple, Cora thought coldly. Then I would not be so justified in how I plan to treat you.

"He's upstairs now," Ruby told Belle, and she thanked her friend with a smile before heading up the stairs towards the rooms in Granny's Bed and Breakfast.

She felt a little guilty for heading out on 'errands' today instead of spending Valentine's Day at home with her husband, but Rumplestiltskin had seemed happy to have some time alone with their daughter. He was undoubtedly up to something—Belle knew her husband well—but so was she. She did feel much worse about not having told Rumplestiltskin the real goal of her shopping trip, but she had to know the truth before she told him what she suspected. Otherwise, knowing Rumple, he would do something dramatic. Oh, it would be well planned out and meticulously manipulative, but Belle knew that he could be careless with his own safety when his emotions took control. For a man who called himself a coward, Rumplestiltskin was willing to take amazing risks to keep his family safe.

Squaring her shoulders, Belle knocked on the door Ruby had pointed her at. Several moments passed before she heard footsteps approaching, and Belle's keen ears detected that there was something slightly off in the gait, like the man on the other side was favoring one leg or the other. Belle knew that slight misstep well; Lacey had listened to Gold walk that way for twenty-eight years. But there was no third thump, no cane hitting the ground. This was something different.

"Can I help you?" August asked as he opened the door, and Belle cocked her head to study him.

His eyes are blue.

"We need to talk," Belle said bluntly, pushing past him to walk into the room. He stumbled, just a little, and she'd counted on that to let her get by. The door swung shut behind her, and Belle reached past a stammering August to be sure it latched.

"What? Why would I need to talk to Mr. Gold's—"

"Let's not start that," she cut him off, rolling her eyes and turning to face him squarely. "My name is Belle. Lady Belle of Avonlea, back in the Enchanted Forest. Now, I don't know who you are, but I can guess that you're here to get the curse broken, and maybe to reunite with some family as well. The Savior's being difficult, and you're a bit lost, so let's talk."

August rocked back on his heels, obviously stunned. Then he blinked twice, very slowly, and cleared his throat. "You…drive a hard bargain, Lady Belle," he said after a moment.

"Your name first," Belle replied calmly. "And then we'll talk about if I help you or not."

Did Baelfire have blue eyes? Belle had never thought to ask her husband for a description of his son, though she knew from the drawing Rumplestiltskin had kept that Bae had dark hair. August had dark hair, too, and he certainly seemed clever enough to be Rumple's son. Could Milah's eyes have been blue? Belle had never thought to ask for a description of her husband's first wife. But her own eyes were blue, and yet Gabrielle had inherited Rumplestiltskin's brown eyes. Lacey had read a book on genetics at some point, but she couldn't recall if blue or brown eyes were supposed to be dominant.

August hesitated for a very long moment, and then answered: "Pinocchio."

"Pinocchio?" Belle repeated, not able to remember anyone by that name in their world. She'd seen the Disney movie, of course, but it wasn't one of Renee's favorites, so she didn't know it well. The next words came out in a bit of a gape: "A wooden boy."

"Yes, and turning a bit back every day while Emma screws around instead of breaking the curse," he retorted angrily. Then he pulled up the leg of his jeans to show Belle why his footsteps had seemed a bit off. His shin was entirely made of wood.

Well. That answered that, then. Belle swallowed, and forced herself to look away from the polished wooden leg and up at August's face. Now that she studied him dispassionately, now that she looked at him without hoping to see the stepson she had never met, she couldn't see any resemblance to Rumplestiltskin. He was too tall, too blue eyed, and too there was none of Rumple's softness in him. I had hoped so much for Rumple's sake…but that would have been too easy, wouldn't it? Learning the truth took her breath away, but Belle forced herself to focus.

"You're here to help break the curse?" she asked, just to be sure.

"I am. I…came through the wardrobe just before Emma. I was supposed to stay with her, but I lost her," he admitted.

And who sent you? Belle didn't ask. That was a question for another day; she had learned manipulation from the best, and Belle would not start making promises—or demanding answers—before she had a chance to talk to Rumplestiltskin. Knowing that another child had been sent through the wardrobe before Emma changed everything, but Belle still wasn't sure what she needed to do with that information. Nodding, she replied: "And now you're trying to make up for that."

"Yes."

"And to see that you aren't turned back into wood."

"I"—August seemed ready to say something, but stopped himself. "Yeah. I'd like to stay human, particularly with magic here, now."

Belle blinked. "How do you know about that?"

"Henry, of course," was the prompt response, and Belle started to wonder if his nose was going to start growing. She wasn't an expert at detecting lies, but the way August's eyes shifted left as he spoke was a dead giveaway.

"Of course," she echoed, and then glanced obviously at the clock. "I really must be going. We'll speak again."

"How am I supposed to talk to you when you're playing Gold's mistress?" August asked as Belle stepped past him. "And how do you remember, anyway? No one is supposed to!"

She just smiled at him mysteriously. "That's my secret. We'll talk another day. I'll find you."

Belle stepped out of the room with a light heart. Although she was disappointed that August was not her husband's long lost son, she at least knew who he was and could use that information. Knowing that the town's newcomer was Pinocchio certainly threw a wrench in all of their plans, but Belle knew that her husband would find a way to use that information. Rumplestiltskin always did.

1 Year Before the Curse

"I need to tell her," Rumplestiltskin said quietly after they'd put Gabrielle to bed, and Belle turned to face her husband in confusion.

"Tell her what?"

He grimaced. "That she has a brother that I lost through my cowardice."

"Rumple…" Trailing off, Belle laid a hand on his arm. She was never sure what to say when he got like this, when he blamed himself for the loss of his beloved son. Weaseling that entire story out of him had taken time, but Belle knew the complete truth now, and she was able to look at it a bit more dispassionately than Rumplestiltskin was. That was why she told him firmly: "You're not a coward."

"I am," her husband replied quietly, staring at the floor. "I always have been."

Silently, Belle stepped forward to wrap her arms around his waist. From what Rumplestiltskin had told her of his past—which was admittedly not everything—Belle understood a few very important things about him. One: he had been told his entire life that he was good for nothing, that he was useless and would take after his useless father. Two: he'd broken his own leg to come home to an unborn son so that he wouldn't be abandoned the way Rumplestiltskin himself was (a story Belle had only received in pieces and she knew there had to be more to). Three: he'd worn the label of coward ever since without complaint, accepted that he must be what others labeled him as. Sometimes, Belle thought, we become what others think we are, particularly if there are enough people saying it.

"Do you think you're the only one who has ever made a choice out of fear?" she asked him quietly.

"It's different. I'm—I was always afraid," he said harshly, but Belle thought she felt him tremble slightly. "You didn't see me then. I had nothing. I was nothing. Just a coward."

"And a father," Belle pointed out.

His whisper was ragged and broken: "Always that. Until I let him go."

"Rumple, if you'd been the coward you seem to think you were, you would never have taken on such a horrible and dark curse to save your son. You could never have stolen the dagger, faced the Dark One, and then done what you did. And if you were truly a coward, deep in your heart, you would still act like one now," she told him, squeezing him tightly. "You've been afraid, yes. You had a terrible life and you had reasons to be afraid. But you're not a coward now. You wouldn't fight to protect Gabrielle and I so hard if you were, and if you were truly a coward, you would not have spent centuries working to get back to Baelfire."

"I still let him go!" Rumplestiltskin cried, and Belle could hear the pent up pain of centuries behind those words. "I made him a promise and I broke it. He trusted me, and I let him go."

"I know," she soothed him gently. "And you'll have to face that when we find him. Not if: when. But I'll be right beside you, no matter what happens."

"I don't deserve you," he breathed into her hair, and Belle finally felt him relaxing a little in her embrace, with his arms slowly snaking around her in return.

"It's not about deserving," Belle told him for the thousandth time. "It's about love."

She felt him shake again. "I still have to explain this to Gabi. How do I tell her that I let her brother go?"

"Tell her the truth. Simply, because she's two. Tell her that you lost him and you're going to find him again," Belle advised. "She's too young to hold it against you, Rumple, but she'll resent it when she's older if you don't tell her now."

"All right," he said slowly. "Will you…be there?"

She knew that he hated asking for help, so Belle came up on her tiptoes to kiss her husband on the cheek. "Every step of the way," she promised.

This world had some terribly useful traditions, and Valentine's Day (named for some saint, whatever they were) was one of them. The romantic inside Killian always enjoyed this day, because it was a perfect one in which to make a new conquest—or to entice an current one into becoming closer than before. This year, of course, Killian's target would likely prove a greater challenge than any other, but he was prepared. He started with buying flowers (a challenge with the florist in jail, but Moe had started paying a few high school girls to keep the shop open for him). Then he'd bought a new tablecloth and a brand new set of china, digging up a set of beautiful champagne glasses out of someone's storage unit. These he set up together on the Jolly Roger, preparing to offer his lady a dinner and a view that no one else could. After all, what was more romantic than a dinner at sea, under the stars?

Of course, he was having it catered. The last thing he wanted was to trust Smee's cooking, or his own. But Killian had spared no expense and made certain every detail was ready before he stopped by the sheriff's station that afternoon, not surprised to find Emma Swan hard at work and neither of her deputies in sight.

The two men in the cells were looking particularly glum today, and Killian couldn't blame them. They'd attacked Gold out of love for Lacey French (whoever she really was), and Gold was free to abuse the lady in question while they were stuck behind bars. In Killian's opinion, Lacey had been damn foolish to refuse his own offer, but she had to be doubly stupid in order to refuse to marry Tony Rose, who was definitely one of the fifteen wealthiest men in Storybrooke. The librarian would probably have managed Rose's business better than he himself did, which would have been a win for everyone, but instead she chose to remain with Rumplestiltskin. Later. I'll think on how she might be useful later, he promised himself. Emma mattered today; not revenge.

"Good afternoon, love," he said, holding out a bouquet of brilliant red roses. There were dozens more of them, red and white both, decorating his ship, but he'd brought the most beautiful bouquet with him.

"Hey," Emma said with a surprised smile, and then blinked as she saw the roses. "What are these for?"

"For you, of course," he smiled back. "Beautiful roses for a beautiful lady. It's only most romantic day of the year."

"That's very sweet of you, Killian. Thank you."

As she replied, Killian caught sight of a vase filled with wildflowers that was already on her desk, and he forced himself to say casually: "Have I been beaten to the punch?"

"Maybe," the sheriff said coyly, her eyes sparkling. "What would you do if I had another admirer?"

"Challenge him to a duel at first light, of course, and let the winner take you as a prize," he replied automatically, but threw a charming smile on the tail end of the response so that she thought he was joking. And he was. Mostly.

"You know I'd have to arrest you for that," Emma laughed.

"Only if you caught me, Swan."

"I think I'd catch you. Henry gave me the flowers, so if you can resist the urge to challenge a ten year old to a duel, I think we'll be okay," she retorted, and now there was a glint in her eyes that wasn't so playful. "I'm no prize to be won, by the way."

"I didn't mean—"

"Of course you didn't," she cut him off with a shrug that was just a tad too casual. "But also I'm not a damsel in distress. I don't care how weird or old fashioned this town is: nobody saves me but me. Got that?"

"Of course," Killian said quickly, wondering how his perfect plan had gone so far awry. He put on a contrite smile. "I'm going about this all wrong. I was trying to play some dashing romantic hero, hoping to sweep you off your feet for a dinner under the stars, but I fear I've only annoyed you."

"You haven't," Emma reassured him, and this time her expression was softer. "But I already have a date."

He would not let his jaw drop. "You do?"

"Henry," she explained. "I promised him I'd take him out."

"What are his parents doing?" he demanded before he could stop himself.

"Busy."

Busy doing what? Killian wanted to snarl, but managed not to. Barely. "That's…well, that's a shame," he said slowly. Stop looking so eager, fool, the pirate told himself firmly. You're chasing the lass when you should be making her chase you. She's refused you twice, now; you need to back off and let her come to you. Killian made himself shrug. "It would have been a sight to see."

"I bet it would," Emma agreed, and did she sound regretful? He certainly hoped so.

"Then have a good day, Swan. I hope you and Henry enjoy your dinner together."

Now she smiled. "Thanks."

Giving her a nod, he turned and headed for the door, displaying a little bit of disappointment, but not too much. It wouldn't do to let Emma think that he was too hung up on her; women like Emma Swan didn't fall for easy men. They wanted challenges, someone who could keep up with them and give as well as they got. She needed to know that he was interested, but she also need to understand there were other fish in the pond. Killian could think of at least three other women who would drop everything to join him for dinner on board the Jolly Roger, and he would definitely be calling upon one of them shortly. Yet Emma's voice stopped him before he could finish opening the door.

"Killian."

"Swan?" He half-turned back to face her, arching an eyebrow casually.

"Next time, try asking a girl more than a few hours after you want her to go out with you. It helps to get in before anyone else," she suggested, and now he could see a slightly flirtatious light in her eyes.

"I'll keep that in mind," Killian promised, and left the sheriff to wonder. He had grand plans to execute, after all, and a lady to romance under the stars.

Yet he never called any of the three women he meant to. Instead, his feet again led him to the Basement, and he found himself paying once more for Mirabella's company…and forgetting all about Emma Swan.

Dinner for Regina and Errol had been an odd one; she'd invited him over to her home, but David had also invited Mary Margaret. The idea of doing a double date with her (supposed) husband and her (actual) sister was a little weird, but ever since that first dinner party that Henry had orchestrated, the dynamic of the four of them had worked surprisingly well. Their shared dinner had even been fun, if not terribly private. Somehow, Errol and Mary Margaret were beginning to become friends; apparently they'd taken to chatting when Errol stopped by the diner for lunch every day, and the fact that her sister, even while cursed, liked and approved of the man Regina loved truly warmed her heart.

And well, if a group dinner hadn't been romantic enough for a purist, there was plenty of time for romance when David and Mary Margret headed upstairs to talk. Regina and Errol remained downstairs, sitting on the couch together and sharing a bottle of wine. They talked of everything and nothing, simply enjoying one another's presence, laughing and teasing like they had known one another for years. Yet all the while, Regina couldn't help noticing the subtle ways in which she could see Robin of Locksley coming out. Errol Forrester wasn't terribly different from the man he'd been before the curse—he was still brave to a fault, still honest and honorable. His curse had been loneliness and a fabricated history where he'd always been too late to save anyone in a fire. So far as Regina knew, the fires that Errol "remembered" had never actually happened in Storybrooke, but until the library fire, he'd always felt like a failure.

"I think you're quite brave," she said softly in response to his admission.

"I've never felt that way," Errol replied, staring at his glass of wine. "I never knew what I'd do when the time came."

"Until you jumped right in and saved three people. Including my son," Regina pointed out, taking his free hand. "I can never thank you enough for that. Henry is my entire world."

"I understand, believe me," he said immediately. "Rol—Jamie is mine, too. I don't know what I would have done if he was in danger."

"You would have saved him," she assured him gently. "But what was it that you just almost said?"

Errol shook his head with an embarrassed smile. "I don't. It's odd. I just almost called my son by the wrong name."

"What did you almost call him?" Regina asked as casually as she could, struggling to hide her racing heart.

Could this be it? Could this really be a sign that the curse is finally weakening? she thought excitedly, doing her best to conceal her excitement. Say it. Please say it, she hoped so loudly that she was surprised Errol didn't hear her. But her new love only shrugged and replied:

"Roland. I almost called him Roland, and I have no idea why."

Henry's mere existence made him feel guilty. Just looking at the kid reminded August of what he had done—and what he'd failed to do. Blue never tired of reminding him that if he'd watched over Emma properly, she would never have even had a child to let go of, because Emma falling in love was apparently his fault. August didn't feel guilty for the fact that Henry existed, however; it was more the way that he had inadvertently made the kid an orphan who got adopted by the Dark Princess that ate at him. And that I tore apart two people who loved each other, and for what? I never would have done that if I'd known Emma was pregnant, he told himself for the thousandth time. But that thought wasn't any more reassuring today than it had been in the past. He'd still made Henry grow up away from his real parents, and Henry's father didn't even know he existed.

That made him feel guilty, and unlike a lot of the guilty feelings August had lived with over the years, he couldn't run away from this one. He was stuck here in Storybrooke until the curse broke, stuck looking at the kid and remembering. It was bad enough when he'd thought Neal was just some unlucky shmuck who was from this world and had an odd name. Now that he knew Neal was Baelfire, knew that Neal was from home, August felt even worse.

Besides, between that and the fact that Gold's whatever-she-was knew who he was now, August wasn't stupid enough to think that Blue's plan of him impersonating Baelfire was going to work. Truth be told, he was glad for that. He couldn't be certain that telling a lie of such magnitude wouldn't actually make his nose start growing, but there was honestly more to it than that. Maybe, had Henry not been born, August would have felt less guilty. Maybe, had he not come to like and respect Emma (even if she drove him crazy!), August would not have felt the uncomfortable stirrings of responsibility. But he'd promised his papa that he'd look after her, and in the end, he'd made her lose her child and all but forced a man who loved her to walk away. Yeah, he could rationalize it to himself that Neal had a choice, but really, August had done most of the choosing for him by calling the police with an anonymous tip that wound up sending Emma to jail.

Blue wasn't going to like it, but there was no way in hell August was going forward with that charade now. Lacey—or Lady Belle, really—would certainly clue Rumplestiltskin in if he tried, and August had absolutely zero desire to wind up on the Dark One's bad side. Rumplestiltskin was a villain, and a dangerous one at that. August had enough enemies, and he wasn't going to add the Dark One to the list unless he had to. Besides, Rumplestiltskin helped Snow and Charming many times. There's no reason to make him not want to help me, the former puppet told himself. Cora might not be willing to fix him, or the heroes might take her down before she could. That meant August needed a backup plan…and he needed to shut his conscience up.

So, instead of planning out how he was going to impersonate Baelfire like Blue wanted him to, August sent a postcard.

Neal, he wrote. Emma is in Storybrooke. Nothing is broken yet, but if you want to talk, call me. August scribbled down his cell phone number and then signed the card before he could change his mind. He'd drive out of town to throw it in the mail this evening; it wasn't like Valentine's Day had any special meaning for him, anyway. It would be good to get out of Storybrooke, just for a while.

He needed the break.

Belle might have kicked her heels off a little too enthusiastically when she came through the front door; one of them bounced right through the hallway and into the next room, crashing into something much harder than she meant for it to. That, of course, brought her husband into the foyer before she could wipe the scowl off of her face.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Rumplestiltskin asked, and Belle wanted to smack herself. She'd meant to leave her frustrations outside, meant to just enjoy this evening with her husband. Now what had she done?

"It's nothing," she tried to say, but she could tell from his expression that he didn't believe a word of the excuse.

"You don't generally take nothing out on your shoes," he pointed out, and Belle sighed.

"I'm just sick of it," she sighed, stepping forward to lean against his chest. His arms wrapped around her immediately, and just being in his embrace made Belle feel better, but it didn't eliminate her frustration. "Everyone looks at me with pity. They all think you're some terrible monster who demands that I do unspeakable things for you, and I just want to scream at them. Even Mrs. Lagle gave me this terribly pitying look when I dropped Renee off, patted me on the arm, and said that she hoped I'd be okay."

"Belle, I never meant—"

"It's not your fault!" Belle cut him off, pulling back so she could look at the horrorstruck expression on her husband's face. "Stop acting like it is."

"I know what I am," he said quietly.

"And so do I," she retorted firmly. "You're my husband, and I love you as you love me. You're not the problem. Those narrow-minded idiots are. I could shout that we're happily married and in love from the rooftops and they'd still feel sorry for me like I'm some weak-willed little girl who doesn't know what I want. And not hating them for it so hard."

"You're better than I am," Rumplestiltskin replied, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. "I don't usually bother to fight that urge."

"You care more than you let on," Belle replied, snuggling into him and feeling the warmth of their love start to ease her frustrations. Rumple was worth fighting for, even when fools told her that their love wasn't real, wasn't true. Perhaps things would get better when the curse broke.

Her husband laughed softly in response to what she'd said, but at least he didn't argue. This time. Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin hid a great many things behind a mask. In the Enchanted Forest, his heart had been concealed by the impish façade and a high-pitched giggle. Here, it was behind a cold expression and an uncaring attitude. But there was a good man hiding under the monster, one who really could care about people but was often afraid to do so lest he be hurt. Belle knew enough about his life before the curse to appreciate how fragile he was underneath the magic…yet she also knew that her love did make him stronger. So now she just came up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly.

"I believe in you," she whispered.

"I will never know what you see in me," Rumplestiltskin replied, his soft voice full of wonder.

Belle smiled. "Everything," she said mysteriously, and watched him smile slightly.

"Well, then, if you're done complaining about town attitudes you can't change, will you let me romance you on Valentine's Day?" he asked.

"Oh, you have plans?" she teased him. "I can't imagine why we sent Renee to Mrs. Lagle otherwise."

"I even baked," Rumplestiltskin told her, and Belle perked up.

"You did?" Her husband liked cooking, but generally found baking a little more boring—or at least he said he did and left it to her. Sometimes Belle wondered if Rumple did that to make her feel better about her own lack of cooking skills. When he did bake, however, what came out of the oven was inevitably elaborate and delicious.

"I did. Now"—he kissed her lightly, sliding a hand around her waist and pulling her close—"can I pull you away from your frustrations for a bit? We have five hours until we have to pick up our daughter, and I plan to spend them in ways that do not include complaining about the populace of Storybrooke. Agreed?"

Belle bit her lip and smiled up at him. "I hope you don't plan to spend those five hours cooking," she said suggestively, running a hand down his front and stopping teasingly in the vicinity of his belt."

"Sweetheart, I already cooked. Now, will you please get into the dining room so we can get the eating part of the evening over with?"

Giggling, Belle followed him. They were due for some time together, due for a few hours to just be husband and wife without the rest of the world telling them they were wrong. And without our daughter wandering in at the most inopportune moments, she thought with a fond smile. Last night it had been a nightmare. The night before she'd wanted four separate glasses of water, spaced fifteen minutes apart (and always at the most inconvenient moment!). Intimacy could be…challenging with a curious three year old around, and Belle was not going to waste the private time they had.

Particularly not when her husband was prepared to romance her with dinner, cheesecake, and roses. Even if Belle did have to gently inquire about exactly what it was he'd transformed into the roses, based on past experience. At the moment, however, she was fairly sure that she wouldn't have objected if Rumplestiltskin had turned her father and Tony into a bouquet each, so long as he promised to turn them back eventually. Unfortunately, he hadn't done that to his attackers; instead, Rumplestiltskin had used an extremely ugly antique chess set that Belle had been so hoping he'd eventually get rid of. Now he had, and she was safe in the knowledge that the roses hadn't started life as some innocent passerby. Not that she really thought Rumplestiltskin was so capricious as to transform someone random; his revenges were usually much more specific than that. But she was still relieved, and ready to enjoy her evening.

And when her husband wore that smile, she knew she was going to.

A/N: I swear I'm going to get back to my twice a week posting schedule – real life has just been a bear lately!

Next up: Chapter Fifty-Nine—"Memories Gained, Memories Lost," where Cora starts taking the revenge she has planned, Emma discovers two people are missing, Rumplestiltskin runs into Zelena, something strange happens to David, and August receives an important phone call. Back in the past, Daniel tells Regina to run.