"Why are we here?" Bae asked, not for the first time.

Gold ignored the philosophical denseness of the question—and the fact that even at its most basic, he couldn't answer it—in favor of pulling their overnight bags from the trunk of the car. "A little help?" he said, and was gratified when Bae didn't argue before taking the bags from him and heading toward the porch of the cabin resting, hidden, amongst the dark pine woods surrounding Storybrooke.

The cabin had been a spontaneous buy, years ago, when he'd first had money and could afford to purchase things on a whim. He supposed he'd had some foggy idea of it being a refuge from the dislike that followed him around town, a place he and Bae could go to be just themselves, a tiny family of two. But Bae had been busy with friends and school and always shuffling between Gold and Milah, and in the end, they never had gotten around to a single weekend retreat before…

Well, before.

But waste not, want not, and now, all these years later, they could finally have one of those father-son getaways he'd envisioned so fearfully hopeful. They could—because Bae was alive and Gold was alive, and those two things could so easily change, but for this singular moment in time, it was fact. It was reality.

And maybe he could make it permanent.

If only he were brave. And hopeful. And steadfast.

None of which he'd ever shown any aptitude for at all.

But for his son? For his boy, he could learn. He could pretend.

Patting his breast pocket, feeling both the rapid thrum of his heart and the heavy weight of his little notebook, Gold started after Bae. The keys felt too light in his hand for all the weight he was putting on this trip as he unlocked the door and ushered Bae inside.

The interior was lit by the late afternoon sun, fiercely scarlet and orange, buttery yellows cloaking the back of the couch and the recesses of the hearth. Colored like this, the arrangements Dove had made for their stay were obvious: food put away in the cabinets and packaged bakery treats left on the counters; the table already set; blankets folded atop the chairs and couch; an open door leading back to the bedroom with its wide bed, thick with warm blankets and plush pillows; the bathroom small but serviceable.

Bae dropped the bags with a thunk and spun in a circle. "Wow," he said. "I didn't even know you had a cabin."

"We have a cabin," Gold corrected, turning to check the thermostat. Even in early summer, the nights could get so chilly that they'd be able to see their breath. A getaway for him and his son was never something he'd begrudge, but he'd worked too hard so he'd never have to face the elements without a bit of comfort again. And Bae had been through far too much to ever endure another moment of discomfort if his papa had anything to say about it.

"It's nice," Bae said. He sunk his hand in the lush softness of the blanket folded over the back of a rocking chair. "Not too fancy."

Gold frowned. "Too little? I know there's only one bedroom, but—"

"Just right," Bae said firmly. He avoided Gold's eyes by bending and taking up the bags again. "I'll put these away, okay?"

His absence rushed in on Gold all at once. Even just having Bae in the other room, the door not even shut between them, was enough to have his heart pounding in his throat, his blood rushing in his ears. He'd told Dove to ensure there were no blades, no razors, no knives, even—all their food came pre-cut or simple enough not to need cut at all—and he'd left the gun locked up in that cabinet in his hallway. But…

But a determined person could always find a way.

Before Gold could start calculating the thickness and length of their bags' straps, Bae came back out into the main room. "It's a big bed," he said. "I think we'll make do."

And Gold had to turn then himself, pretending to fuss with something at the door, just to hide his watery smile.


Dinner was a strained affair. Not because he and Bae had nothing to say to each other, but because, he imagined, they had too much. And neither of them could start it—Bae because he was too hurt and Gold because he was too much a coward.

Bae made his sandwich with an absurd amount of ingredients but no mayonnaise while Gold contented himself with turkey and provolone. His son teased him for being too simple and Gold laughed when Bae couldn't quite get his mouth around his own sandwich until he'd pounded it down to a more manageable size. After dinner, Bae cajoled him into starting a fire in the hearth and Gold surprised him with a bag of marshmallows, some graham crackers, and a few chocolate bars. They shared sticky smores and joked that Dove would quit when seeing the melted marshmallow on the bricks, and when Gold nearly fell trying to come to his feet, his son steadied him and lent him a shoulder to lean on. When they were both sitting on the couch, their shoulders touching, Gold shook a blanket open and tossed it over their legs without mentioning the shiver he'd felt run though his little boy.

His little boy, who wasn't such a little boy anymore. A man all but grown, still a bit awkward in his broadening shoulders and new height, scruffy around the edges as his beard decided how and where to grow. But tall and strong and filled with secrets and pain Gold would never know.

Unless he opened up himself.

It was something Belle had said to her friends at that dinner, the three women and their two husbands and…and him…all crowded around a single table in Granny's. Gold had been nervous and shaky and it had still hurt to swallow, after an endless night thinking that Belle was ashamed of both him and who she was with him, and his hand had shook in hers even as he tried to think of things to sayto Eric about the dockyards and the search for qualified employers to oversee their growing business, tried not to let on that he knew Aurora's husband—that he'd spent days and days with him in and out of the precinct where he worked, that Phillip had been the one to lead him to his son and then to tell him that Pan, that his father, was dead. Tried, above all, not to shame Belle. Not to give her a single reason to regret introducing him as hers.

In the midst of all that, despite his exhaustion and nerves and traumatic memories, he couldn't forget Belle's answer when Ariel had asked her if she was happy here. Of course, the question itself had made his ears perk up, made every cell in his body strain toward her, even as he tasted bile overtop Granny's overpriced lasagna. But Belle had only smiled, and leaned into him, and said, "I'm happier than I've ever been. And all because I decided to talk honestly with a single other person—the one person I needed. I guess you never really know a person's heart until you get to know them."

And she'd kissed him, right there at the table, with Aurora giggling and Phillip smiling and Eric looking wistful and Ariel laughing through the crease on her brow. She'd kissed him and claimed him and welcomed him—and she was right. It was all because she'd talked to him. Because he'd been honest back, through the numbness and depression and desperation cloaking him in that heavy gray.

They'd talked, really talked, and Gold didn't have to hold that gun to sleep, didn't have to cling to his list to get him up in the morning, didn't have to think hard for things to keep him going. He'd endured long enough to find his son, and now Bae was here, alive, present, and maybe…maybe if they talked…he'd never have to shove through a door to pull a blade from his own son's hand and his own son's throat ever again.

He'd give anything to ensure that.

"Did you know," he began, quietly, his eyes on the fire's ever-changing shape, "that before I moved in with my aunties, I lived with my father?"

He could feel Bae's eyes on him. "No. You never told me that. Did…did he die?"

"He abandoned me." Gold had to force the words out past the constriction in his throat. Would this old truth ever get less painful? "Said all I did was hold him back. I was the worm that stole all his dreams."

"That's awful," Bae said. But there was something in his voice, a dark note of understanding. Like Bae had been told the same kind of thing.

"But I loved him," Gold admitted. And this was the seed at the heart of this painful truth, the thing that made the rest of it still burn and rip and gnash at him. "He'd abandon me and then he'd come back and spin me wild tales of some new adventure we could go on and I'd know not to believe him, but I'd stupidly hope this time would be the magic time, and I'd go off with him only to be ignored or used or…or hurt. And then he'd shuffle me off to the aunties yet again, often without a word of explanation. For years, he did this. But I never seemed to learn any better."

"Papa…"

"I just…I know I never told you about him." Gold closed his eyes and focused his every bit of attention on the warmth and weight of Bae's shoulder against his. Their shared body heat under the blanket. "But you deserve to know. All my life, all I wanted was a family to love. Milah…took advantage of that. Or maybe she did think she could love me, once upon a time, but realized too late it was impossible. But you…you were everything I'd ever wanted and more that I'd ever dreamed could be mine. From the moment I knew of you, I loved you. And I vowed I'd never be anything like my father."

"You kept that promise," Bae said. He sounded hoarse, almost choked, but Gold knew that was because his son was a terrible liar.

"No, I didn't," he said softly. "I didn't protect you. I couldn't find you. I abandoned you."

"I was taken from you," Bae corrected. "And you never stopped looking. Did you?"

"No," Gold said, answering that tiny thread of uncertainty at the heart of Bae's question. "Not for a single moment. I broke David's nose when he told me it might be impossible to find you. I dreamed of you every night. I…"

The little notebook in his pocket was so heavy. It felt like it took unimaginable strength to pull it out into the open. But then, Bae had always inspired things in Gold he'd never thought himself capable of.

"I kept a tally of every day I spent without you," Gold said. The notebook fell open under its own weight, and they both stared down at the exposed pages covered in black marks. "Each one felt like an open wound and every second was another grain of salt that aggravated it."

"Papa…" Gently, almost reverently, Bae took the notebook from him and began to thumb through it. Some pages were stiff and didn't sit right, soaked in tears. One was stained rust-red from blood that obscured a couple tens of tally-marks. That had been before he got the gun, back when he'd had his own near-fatal shaving accidents. As Bae turned another page, his wee hospital bracelet fell.

Gold caught it and clutched it close, only able to open his hand when Bae stared down at it curiously. "The bracelet you wore at the hospital when you were born," he explained. "I hate that I missed the event itself, but at least I got there in time to hold you. You were so tiny but already so curious about the world. You looked at me like you knew me, and you reached up your tiny hand and—" Gold brushed his finger against his nose in reenactment of one of his favorite memories, and Bae rolled his eyes. He'd heard the story a million times.

"You're a softy," he said, but he leaned harder against Gold and blinked rapidly several times.

"Being your papa," Gold whispered, "is the best thing I've ever done. Maybe the only worthy thing. And I'm so sorry that I failed you so badly and for so long."

Bae said nothing for a long moment. He held the little notebook in one hand and his hospital bracelet in the other, and stared at the fire. But that was all right. Gold knew it was hard to open up. Hard to be honest when doing so meant exposing the scarred and vulnerable underbelly that life taught you to keep hidden.

Besides, they had time.


They slept in the same bed, and Bae was as restless as ever. Gold woke every time his son shifted the mattress, but still he wouldn't have traded it for anything. His son trusted him that close and Gold treasured the constant reminders that his boy was alive and found. In the morning, Bae made them lopsided pancakes covered in enough syrup to drown the chocolate chips he'd added and Gold made them both coffee. They ate out on the porch, watching the lake in the distance and pointing out birds they thought they might recognize.

After breakfast, Gold suggested a walk and Bae agreed easily enough, but he seemed jumpy out in the woods. Though Gold kept them to the trail, every rustle of wild grass or creak of a tree branch had Bae tensing and looking over his shoulder.

"You okay, son?" he asked.

"Yeah." Bae's laugh was awkward and forced. "If these were dark alleys in a big city, I'd be just fine. It's just…it's so quiet out here."

"It is."

"Lets you hear your thoughts."

Gold said nothing, only listened.

"Too quiet," Bae repeated.

He fell silent then, but he didn't ask for them to turn back. Gold kept them going another twenty minutes or so and then circled them back around to the cabin. Bae's shoulders relaxed as soon as he saw the house, but after lunch, he didn't hesitate before following Gold back outside. They walked to the lake, only five minutes away, and sat side by side on the deck chairs Dove had placed for them on the pier.

"There's a boat somewhere," he said vaguely, but truthfully, he was relieved when Bae betrayed no interest in unearthing it. Water had never been Gold's favorite venue.

After a few moments, hoping despite himself that maybe his son would start talking, Gold pulled something from his jacket. Bae looked over, then laughed at the sight of Redwall.

"Your memory's something else," he said, but then he settled back in his chair, a bottle of soda in his hands, and waited.

Feeling content down to his soul for the first time in ages, Gold found the first page and began to read.

They had a late dinner of hotdogs Bae insisted on blackening over the fire—solely, Gold was almost certain, so he could talk them into making smores again. Gold would have happily crunched his way through mystery meat every night for a hundred years just to keep his son alive and safe and laughing like he did when melted marshmallows oozed onto Gold's chin.

"I missed this," his son said, almost inaudibly, as he folded up the bag of marshmallows and set it aside. "You and me. Not needing anything else. Just us."

"I love you," Gold said. Hoping it wasn't too much, he reached out and clasped Bae's shoulder. He searched for words to say exactly how much but came up short. All he could manage was, "You're my happy ending, Bae. Without you, I'd have nothing. I'd be nothing."

Bae's expression clouded over as his whole body clenched up, making Gold's hand fall from his shoulder.

"Bae?"

But Bae said nothing. Gold wondered if he couldn't. Maybe the gray, that heavy numbness that refused to let any beauty or light through, was too heavy for his son right now, suffocating him.

"I want you to see the last page of my little book," he announced.

If Bae was confused, he didn't let it deter his curiosity. He drifted to the couch and slumped down with all his youthful grace and adolescent clumsiness. The surge of affection that kindled inside Gold's chest then nearly overwhelmed him. He had to actually stand there an extra second and catch his breath from the force of it.

When he settled himself beside his son, his cane safely set aside, he pulled the book from his pocket and set it in Bae's careful hands. Just like before, Bae thumbed through it slowly, seemingly in no hurry to get to the end. This time, he fingered the edges of that worn flyer folded away, and Gold smiled as he nodded his permission to Bae.

"It's what gave me the idea of volunteering at the library," he said.

"And then you met Belle?"

"I knew her before. She's always been kind. She loaned me an umbrella. And Redwall. It made me think I could trust her to help me. Made me think I'd be welcome at the library at all. And that's what led to…everything else."

Bae smirked at him, but his mischievousness didn't reach his eyes. "What did she help you with?" he asked instead.

"The thing I want to show you. It's on the last page."

Bae took his time folding the flyer and tucking it away in the page it'd come from before he finally flipped to the end. There was a strange look in his eyes as he dusted his fingertip over the very last tally-mark Gold had ever made. Would ever make.

But then, finally, he was looking at Gold's private list. The four things he'd written down after years of drowning and an afternoon of researching websites that hinted at—but never said outright—suicide. And the fifth item he'd added months later, the one he'd completely ignored but that Belle had transformed anyway.

"What is this?" Bae asked. "Spend time outside. Talk to someone every day. Volunteer. Be accountable to someone. What does any of this mean? Why did you need this list?"

Gold thought his son already knew. He just didn't want to admit it.

"I needed it to stay alive," he said. Too blunt. Too honest, maybe. But he couldn't lie about it, not when the memory of his son in that bathroom, with that razor, bleeding that line of crimson, was so vivid in his thoughts every time he breathed, woke up, swallowed, existed.

"Papa." Bae's hand closed around his wrist suddenly, forcefully, as if he were checking to make sure he was alive and okay.

"I'm here," Gold reassured him. "But…for a long time, I almost wasn't. Every day, I thought it would be my last. I planned for it to be my last." His voice dropped. "Hoped it would be."

"No."

"They told me you were probably dead. That we'd never find you. That I'd never see you again. And I tried to hope otherwise, but…" His mouth twisted. "Hope has never been in my nature."

"And this list?"

"I made it last year." Gold couldn't look at Bae. "There's a gun. In the cabinet across from the door. I used to hold it every night. My hand felt empty without it. Without yours to hold. One night, after going to sleep in my bed upstairs, I woke up in that foyer with the gun in my hand. That's when I made the list."

Bae's eyes were round, his mouth gaped wide open. But he didn't pull away. He kept Gold's wrist tight in his grip.

"Going outside…they say it helps. That seeing the world, finding things to admire, looking at natural beauty…it takes you outside yourself. Helps you remember there's more to life than just the darkness inside you. The loneliness surrounding you."

"And did it?" Bae asks, his voice so small Gold might be tempted to think he was a wee lad again.

"After a while. It was Belle who started it. She mentioned how beautiful the rain was, and then…later, I saw it. How pretty it looked. Thinking of her made me notice a bird's nest. And the sunlight. And the way the light makes her hair look so much brighter than it does inside." Swallowing, he nods down at the book. "She's also the one who talked to me."

"Doesn't everyone?" Bae said in a desperate attempt at humor.

"I once went twenty-one days without speaking a single word," Gold confessed. "Sometimes, when I'd speak, my throat would hurt. My tongue felt too thick for my mouth. And I don't think anyone noticed at all. But being that alone isn't good for anyone. It made me think no one would miss me if I weren't there. But Belle noticed. She mentioned how she hadn't seen me in a while. Asked me in her roundabout way if I was okay. And then, she kept talking to me. She kept asking me questions, wanting to get to know me. It made me remember that…that I wasn't alone. That other people cared. That someone would notice if I just disappeared."

Bae flinched and looked away.

"That's why I was so glad she needed volunteers. It's supposed to be good for you to help others. To think about other people and remember you're not the only one who's suffered bad things or faced dark paths in the world. Helping others is a way to find yourself again. But I'd never have been brave enough without Belle's help. She invited me into her own private world and made me a place there and never made me feel anything but welcome."

Bae's grip was beginning to hurt. Gold curved his free hand around his son's and massaged it until he could move Bae's fingers down, their palms clasping, their hands interwoven. He wondered that he'd ever thought the gun a fitting substitute.

"By the time I was finally brave enough to tell Belle about the list, she'd already guessed most of it, I think. She understands in a way I almost wish she didn't. It hurts to think she's faced such a similar darkness herself. But maybe it was for a reason, because she knew exactly how to help me. She made sure I had a reason to get up in the morning. Someone to go to when the police asked me to identify a body in the morgue—not yours, obviously."

Despite Gold's quick, reassuring smile, Bae sucked in a sharp breath and leaned his head on Gold's shoulder. He was shaking. Or Gold was. Maybe both of them. Trapped in the nightmare of gray.

"And this last one?" Bae asked in a hollow voice. "Not to drag Belle down with you?"

"I added that later. When I was…hurting. When I thought all I could ever do was hurt the people around me. I didn't want to fail her the way I'd failed you."

"Papa," he groaned, and Gold wrapped his free arm around his son's shoulders.

"She didn't stand for it anyway. Came to my house and dragged me back into her world, really. Broke my teacup and made the house smell like her and…and wanted me. I don't know that anyone's every really chosen me before, only Belle—and you. You chose to spend every November with me and I don't think you ever knew how much that meant to me."

"I love you," Bae choked out, and then he was crying and sobbing and holding onto his papa.

Gold wrapped his arms around him, his own face wet with tears that dried in the heat of the fire, and hoped this was poison being lanced from his son's open wounds.


The next morning, it was Bae who suggested going outside. "Let's find something to admire," he said, too casually.

Gold walked beside him in silence and pointed out the tracks of a raccoon, the trill of white water rushing over smoothed stones. Bae pointed at the sky and admired the shade of blue.

Over lunch, Bae talked to him about Boston. Nothing dark. Not the kinds of things he'd told the police over those long, horrible days at the precinct. Instead, he talked about a dock he'd liked to sit at in between his assigned errands. His favorite sandwich shop. A little store that sold old cameras and used books and repaired clocks. Gold listened and responded whenever he thought he should and let himself think that maybe not every moment Bae had been missing had been miserable.

In the afternoon, Bae volunteered to read the next chapters of Redwall, and in his deepened voice, the story of the brave mice and otters and badgers came alive. Gold watched his son as he read, and he marveled at this moment. At the reality of it. He'd never thought this could be his life again. Never thought they'd be here, together, relearning how to be happy.

But they were.

And after dinner, sitting in front of the fire, the bag of marshmallows nearby but not yet opened, Bae hunched over his crossed legs, stared at the flames, and he said, "I think I need this list too."

Gold said nothing. Not with words. But he slipped down from the couch, ignoring his leg, and sat next to his son on the hearth.

"You think it could help me too?"

"I know it can," Gold said with all the certainty he wouldn't let himself question.

"The only thing is…" Bae's shoulders hunched over his ears, as if he couldn't bear to see Gold even from the corner of his eye. "I didn't save Emma like you tried to save Belle. And I didn't just pull her down with me—I ruined her."

"Bae—"

"I ruined her, Papa. I broke her. I didn't even know it, but it's too late now. I took her love and I used her and I left her and she hates me, or maybe she doesn't but she should and I can't fix it, I can't take it back, and it's all my fault."

"Bae. Bae."

Gold cupped his son's neck in his hand, pulled him down into him, and held him as he shook. His sobs were inward, sharp and shuddering and tucked away deep inside him so that not a single tear wet Gold's neck, but still he knew Bae was falling to pieces. Or maybe…maybe he was picking the pieces up. Recognizing them for what they were. Accepting their worth. And putting them back together, even if slightly misshapen and fractured.

"Oh, my son," Gold murmured, over and over again, until Bae stopped shaking and could finally speak.

"We met when we'd both run away—her from what she claimed were foster parents and me from…"

Despite himself, Gold felt a wave of relief when Bae couldn't say Pan's name. His specter was already apparent enough here; no need to give the devil his name.

"I'd stolen a car and then parked it where I thought it wouldn't get any attention. The plan was to get some sleep and wake up with a clever plan about where I should run to that wouldn't get me brought back kicking and screaming like all the other times. And then Emma…she broke into the car and stole it." Bae's lips twitched upward, his eyes years away. "It was funny, or at least I thought so, and eventually she did too. We decided to stick together and help each other out. It was easier to allay suspicions if there were two of us together."

It was hard to imagine that little girl that Mary Margaret had always been chasing after down the streets of Storybrooke as the tough, resourceful street rat his son clearly seemed to remember. But then, when Gold thought of Emma as she'd been since he'd returned her to her family, it wasn't so hard to reconcile the two personas.

"I'd stolen some watches a while ago," Bae said, his smile fading. "The cops got too close and we had to stash them in a locker. It'd been almost three years. I thought maybe…maybe he'd forgotten them. If Emma and I could get them and fence them, we'd have money to flee so far away they'd never find us. But…"

"Things didn't work out?" Gold asked, saying the words so his son didn't have to.

"No." The word was harsh. "Emma went in to get them. She said no one would recognize her even if they'd caught onto the fact the watches were stolen. I stayed out to watch her back. But…"

"He found you?"

"Yeah." Bae looked away, staring so hard into the flames that all moisture was wicked from his face before anything salty—and incriminating—could fall. "I thought if I went with him, maybe he'd ignore Emma. Only…I didn't have time to tell Emma the plan. And the cops must have been watching the place because she says they came for her later that night…after she'd waited for me. Looked for me. Trusted me."

"Bae, you did what you could. You—"

"She was pregnant." Bae's whole body shook. "She just told me. I didn't know. I never even imagined. But she…she was in prison and she had a baby and she had to give him up and then somehow someone found her and got her sent back home."

Gold looked away.

"She didn't even get to hold him. He was just taken away from her, and she says it's what she wanted, but then her parents were so good about taking her back in and they didn't blame her for anything and she says she thinks…she thinks maybe she could have kept him. She says that he could be anywhere, have any kind of family, and she thinks it's her fault. It's eating her alive. But it's not her fault." Bae's voice cracked. "It's mine. It's all mine. I'm the one who should have known better than to risk bringing Pan's attention down on her. I'm the one who should have found a way to protect her or stay with her or get back to her. I should have let her know that I'd never betray her! I should have—"

Gold pulled his son into him and cradled him close. No words came to him, but then, words wouldn't help this. Wouldn't change anything. Wouldn't make his son feel anything but guilty and responsible and bereft.

"It was a boy," Bae whispered. "A little son. And the way you talked about me last night…like I was everything to you…that's what my little boy should feel like too. I should have loved him the whole time. I should have known. You missed my birth, but I've missed everything with him. I don't even know what he looks like. I just keep…keep imagining him. He'd be three years old now. That's…that's so much stuff I missed—and I don't know how to be a dad, Papa, I don't know what to do with a kid, but I can't help wishing I had the chance, you know? I wish Emma didn't feel like this was all on her. I wish…I wish I could help her."

And still Gold said nothing. He couldn't. The slightest whisper of breath would topple his whole house of cards down on him.

So he just sat there, holding his son, listening to him try not to cry, and furiously trying to think his way out of this whole mess.


The next morning, Gold had breakfast waiting when Bae finally dragged himself from bed. Gold himself hadn't slept a wink, but he didn't feel tired. He felt on edge. Nervous. Unsettled.

"You okay?" Bae asked when they'd made it outside to start their walk.

"Just thinking," he said.

"Papa." Stopping in place, Bae turned to face him. "You don't have to try to fix this for me. I know you want to. I know you'd spent all your money and wear yourself to the ground trying to find mine and Emma's son, but…you don't have to. This is my mess. I shouldn't have dumped it all on you like that."

"You're not a mess," Gold said tightly. "But are you really saying that you wouldn't want to find your son if you could?"

Bae's lips clamped tightly.

"Look me in the eye. Look right at me and tell me you don't want to know your own child."

The silence was deafening.

"You're such a good man," Gold couldn't help murmuring, and before Bae could do more than blink in surprise, he turned and continued their walk.

"I know you probably can't hear this right now," he said as conversationally as he could manage, "but you were young and in a position you never should have been placed in. You did the best you could with the best of the knowledge you had. And you're doing your best for Emma now, to be there for her and to make what amends you feel is right. You shouldn't judge yourself so harshly. You made decisions, yes, your own choices, but so much of the situation itself was outside your control."

"That doesn't help Emma," Bae said, his tone harsh, his hands fisted in his pockets.

"No." Gold looked out at the reflection of the clouds on the lake, the trees swaying in the breeze, the birds darting through the air. He wondered if any of those birds were the tiny bluejays he and Belle had watched grow.

"Papa…" This time, Bae's hand on his was soft, and when Gold looked at him, he saw a young man meeting his eyes evenly. Equally. "I don't want you to blame yourself for this either. Like you said, the situation was outside your control."

But Bae only said that because he didn't know that Pan was the father Gold had told him about. He didn't know that Gold himself had told Malcolm about his son and how he'd do anything to keep him. He had no idea just how personal all of these last nightmarish years had been.

"Bae," he said before he could let his fear get the best of him. "What if we made our own list?"

"What?"

"The list to remind us that there are flickers of light out in the ocean of darkness…what if worked on it together?"

Bae's brow wrinkled. "But you said Belle was helping you with—"

"She does. But she shouldn't have to be solely responsible for keeping an old man from the dark. And you are my first priority, Bae, always."

The sound of water lapping against the shore was a gentle accompaniment to the terror that flooded Gold's veins as he waited for his son to think it through.

"So, what?" Bae said. "We'd go outside every day?"

"We could take walks," Gold said with no sign of the desperation brimming over his walls. "Like this. Every morning after breakfast."

"I could do that," Bae agreed. "And then?"

"Then we'd go about our day. We'd talk to the people in our path. You with Emma and August and Marco and…whoever else you meet."

"And you with Belle?" Bae looked almost mischievous as he added, "And Emma's dad maybe? Or Archie?"

Gold made himself sneer as if he weren't on the verge of a panic attack. "If needs must."

"And then? We'd…be accountable to each other?"

"We'd check in on each other. Ask how we're doing." Gold swallowed the lump in his throat. "Shave together."

Bae met his eyes evenly for all the shame reddening his cheeks. "And we'll move that gun out of the cabinet."

It wasn't a question, but Gold nodded anyway.

"What about the volunteering?" Bae asked a moment later.

"We'll think of something," Gold gritted.

The library. Or maybe the pet shelter.

Or maybe someone brave—someone good—would remind the Mayor that a little boy needed a lot of people in his life to love and maybe opening up a relationship to his birth parents wouldn't be the worst thing ever.

Maybe.

The problem was that no one else besides Gold knew, and Gold wasn't brave or good.

Just cowardly and self-interested. Uninterested in sharing the one unequivocal thing that was his.

He needed to talk to Belle. Only…he couldn't. Could he?

No.

She'd already proven just how close to being ashamed of him she was. Learning how utterly manipulative and secretive and selfish he could be would surely be the last straw that drove her away. Besides, she was busy with her friends and her own life. He didn't need to drop his own mess on her.

Strange. Gold frowned. Wasn't that exactly what his son had said to him?

No matter. He'd figure it out on his own.

It was for Bae, after all. And Bae deserved the best of him.

Even if that meant giving him over to a different, better, happier family?

At that moment, Bae looked over and smiled at Gold. "Okay," he said. "Yes."

Gold felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Yes?"

"Yes, let's do it." Bae slung his arm over Gold's shoulders in a quick sideways hug. "Let's help each other."

If only Gold could. But just like always, he feared he'd only end up making things worse…and ending up alone yet again.