It was chance that he noticed it. Chance and his usual preoccupation, but where he might have been too numb to process what he was looking at before, now, he not only saw it, but recognized it.

A spark of opportunism had him dialing Belle's number and waiting for her to answer.

"Rumple?" The note of worry in her voice finished the job of waking him completely.

"Everything's fine," he said immediately.

"Oh. Well, good morning!" There was just enough of a smile evident even across the phone that he wasn't worried she was annoyed to already be hearing from him again.

"Hey. I…there's something at the shop I wanted to show you. Do you think you could stop by for lunch?"

"Of course I can—half past noon?"

"Yes, that…that sounds perfect."

"I hope you appreciate it," she said, teasing. "I'm in the middle of a new book and was planning on getting a good bit of reading done during my break."

"It will be worth your while," he assured her, and then spent the next four hours panicking that it wasn't worth her time, that she'd be upset with him for having interrupted her own plans, that he'd messed everything up trying to pretend he was an ordinary man rather than the ridiculous wreck he was.

He picked up lunch from Granny's and got back to his shop with five minutes to spare, which meant he saw Belle locking up the library and heading down the street toward him. A swirling mix of nerves made him feel nearly sick.

For a moment, Gold regretted everything: his list, talking to Belle, volunteering, daring to go beyond the numb, unchanging monotony of his days. He'd been safer, then, secure in his never-changing routine. He'd certainly never had to worry about throwing up in front of the pretty librarian.

But then, a moment later, she was there, waving at him and smiling so widely he could see it even from this distance, and his nerves settled. He remembered, quite abruptly, that he wasn't safer alone—that every night, he still had to struggle not to put a gun to his head—and that even if the opposite were true, he still wouldn't give up these moments where Belle seemed happy to see him.

"Hey!" she said. "I was so curious to find out what your surprise is that I had to close up a bit early. You don't mind, do you?"

"No." Gold resisted looking behind him to make sure his 'surprise' was still there. "I just…I saw something this morning outside the shop and it made me think of you."

Her smile turned soft. "A book?" she teased.

Gold laughed and set the bag of food inside the door before turning to take Belle's elbow and tug her toward him. "Not quite. But it's always easier to notice beauty in the world when you're around."

Pulling her so her back was flush against his chest, Gold hooked his chin over her shoulder and then gestured above him, to the sign with his name and services spelled out in plastic and metal and paint.

"Look up there," he directed.

At first sight, he knew, there were only a few threads and twigs visible between the struts. But the longer one looked—particularly if they were half-asleep, half-numb, and stood there with keys in hand for long moments without moving—the more the shadowed sight resolved into the curve of a nest, tucked away between the sign and its support.

"Wait," he whispered. "If we're quiet, she moves out a bit. Her color matches your eyes."

Belle was almost trembling against him, excuse enough for Gold to slide his left arm around her, not quite incidentally pulling her back closer against his chest. His hand on his cane boxed her in on the right side, but she didn't seem afraid, unless placing her hand over his and squeezing excitedly was a sign of alarm. This close, he could smell her shampoo, her perfume, her, and feel how perfectly she suited him in height and warmth and everything.

Her gasp jolted his eyes back open, and feeling her hair tickle his cheek, he looked up to the nest. A bluejay peeked over the edge at them, her crested top bristling in the shadows.

"A bluejay!" Belle whispered. "Isn't it early for eggs already?"

"Not particularly. They nest early. She might not have laid all her eggs yet though."

"Oh! We'll get to see the little hatchlings when they emerge! Do you think we'll see their first flight?"

Her excitement was beautiful, sparking his own and allaying the last of his nerves. While most of him was focused on the feel of her practically in his arms—on these future plans she was making that involved her in his life, his shop, his heart—a tiny piece of his mind made plans to buy some birdseed and place it all along the lining of his shop if it meant Belle would keep coming by to check on his newest visitors.

"Were they here last year?" Belle asked, turning in his arms to face him—but not stepping away.

"I…I don't know." He frowned and let his hand fall from her waist so she could head into the shop.

Only, she didn't move. Instead, she stared up at him. On top of her proximity, Gold was distracted anew by the way she bit her bottom lip.

"Belle?" he managed.

"I'm trying not to be impulsive," she said back, so quietly he had to incline his head toward her in order to hear. "You know that. It's not good for me to make hasty decisions."

"Right."

"But…this doesn't feel fast. Or rushed. Or bad."

"What doesn't?"

She bit her lip again, so close he couldn't pull in a full breath. "But maybe it's the wrong time. You're upset, and worried, and you've just had such a terrible trauma."

"I'm fine," he said, stiffening. It was a lie, but did she have to call him on it? Sometimes, that lie was all that kept him getting up day after day.

"No, I know, I just… I don't want to ruin this."

"Ruin what?"

Her hand slid up his chest, along his shoulder, over his nape, until her fingers were twined in his hair. "Does this feel reckless to you?" she whispered.

She probably wasn't talking about what it seemed she was. In fact, he was sure there was a simple, perfectly ordinary, non-magical reason for her to be moving even closer, for her other hand to be cupping his jaw. But if there was, he couldn't figure out what that reason could possibly be.

And just in case… Just in case, he said, "No, reckless isn't the word I would use."

Miraculous. That was the word that came to mind when she tilted up on her tiptoes and let her mouth hover so near his.

He thought about asking if she was sure. He thought about checking her temperature. He thought about pinching himself to make sure he was awake.

He did none of those things. The only thing he did was tip his head down.

Their lips met, a tiny, almost infinitesimal pressure against his mouth.

Such a small touch to set off such a far-reaching chain reaction.

His heart seized up and turned over and blazed into fiery warmth all at once. His arms closed around Belle's small waist, his left hand splaying out to touch as much of her as possible, even as he took the tiniest of steps to erase the last inch of distance between them. And when she stretched up again, he was there, instantly, wanting to go slow, too desperate not to lose this moment to do anything but devour her as wholly as he knew how.

She made a tiny, shuddering sound in her throat, and his cane bumped up against the door, banging his knuckles, as he gave up any pretense that he wouldn't take full advantage of her moment of insanity. Her dress shifted as he fisted his other hand in it, her mouth opened to his, so wet and warm and welcoming that Gold trembled down to his bones.

How long since he'd felt so alive? How long since he'd felt wanted?

He meant to pull back—to breathe, if nothing else—when her nails scraped over his scalp, and Gold surged forward. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that he'd already opened the door, so instead of pressing her up against a flat surface, they stumbled into his shop, his cane knocking aside the bag of food.

But Belle didn't let go of him; in fact, her free hand closed around his tie and kept him fused to her mouth, so they didn't stop moving until the small of her back came up flat against the edge of a counter. A spare thought had him sliding his hand between her and the glass to keep her from being hurt, but that backfired on him rather spectacularly considering this meant his hand was now pushing her hips tight against his.

Lightning struck his veins, and then impossibly, struck again, this time hot enough to have him sucking her tongue into his mouth and rocking his whole body into hers in a way that had them both letting out shocked gasps.

And this felt fast. Reckless. So impulsive he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but push and strain and feel.

Despite what his body screamed at him, Gold was grateful for Belle tearing her mouth from his and sliding her hands flat against his chest, creating just that inch of distance between them. His mind was spiraling, his heart pounded like hammers in his ears, and even so, it took every bit of self-control he'd cultivated throughout his lifetime to keep from falling back into her.

"Belle," he panted. "I…I'm sorry—"

"Oh, no!" she said. "Please. Please don't apologize. If you apologize, then I'll have to—and I've never done anything that felt more right. Please don't make me be sorry for that."

If he did pinch himself then, well, he did it where his hands were clasped behind her back, so no one need know.

"I'm not sorry," he admitted, and was gratified by her easy smile.

"Me neither," she said, and swooped up to leave one more quick, light kiss on his lips. "Maybe...maybe we could do this…slower…you know…with, like, dinner and a movie or something in between?"

He blinked down at her. Somehow, even with her still in the circle of his arms, even with her taste heavy in his mouth, he hadn't thought this was anything more than a passing fancy of hers she'd soon think the better of.

But in public, in front of everyone, planned events and meetings and occurrences…

"You mean dating?" he blurted.

It was Belle's turn to look confused and surprised. And hurt. "You…you don't want to?"

"No! I…" Gold took a deep breath and told himself to act like a grown man—he'd been married before, he knew how to do this! Didn't he? "I do want that. If you—"

"I do," she said, already smiling again. "Trust me, I want this. I just…" Her brow crinkled in an endearing expression of uncertainty. "I don't want to push you if this is a bad time. I know with everything going on, dating might not be a top priority on your mind—and I would never want to distract you from your son—"

He kissed her. It was asking too much of him not to. He was only a man, and a lonely one, and a father who hadn't been able to talk to anyone about his son in far too long. The fact that she cared, that she thought of Bae, wanted to put him first…it meant everything.

If he hadn't already been in love with her, this moment would have sealed the deal.

"I will never stop loving or worrying about Bae," he told her. "But I care about you too. Would you like to go to dinner tonight?"

Belle bit her lip again—he was beginning to think he really liked the reason behind her making that small gesture—and looped her arms around his neck. "Yes," she said. "The library closes at 7:30."

"I'll meet you there?"

"Please do."

Another kiss—he couldn't say who initiated this one—and then they had to part and at least pretend to eat lunch. Neither one of them seemed that hungry, and Gold knew he certainly wasn't thinking about food as he hugged her goodbye and watched her walk back to the library.

"I could kiss you too," he told the bluejay mother above him. "Consider this your home for as long as you like."

Then he went inside his shop to start quietly and intensely panicking over the fact that he was now, apparently, dating Belle French.

It turned out, dating Belle wasn't much different to everything they'd already been doing. He still volunteered at the library twice a week, they still had lunch in either her back office or his backroom every other day or so, and she still answered her phone with a smile and a "Hey, Rumple," whenever he broke down in his entryway and needed to hear her voice.

Only, now…now, she kissed him when she saw him. She clasped his elbow between her hands when they walked anywhere. She made him dinner in her apartment and pulled him down onto the couch atop her and didn't stop kissing him for over an hour. It was nearly enough to assure him that even his characteristic clinging wouldn't scare her off.

In fact, it was almost perfect.

Until he had to come home at the end of the night. Trudge up his steps under that glowing porchlight. Enter his empty house. Try to ignore the gun in the cabinet. Put down another tally-mark in his book.

With Belle, he was so incredibly happy that it seemed impossible he could still have so much trouble staying away from that cabinet. But somehow, the instant he came home—to the house where once his son would have been waiting to greet him—all that happiness just vanished, like a popped balloon.

It seemed unfair to Belle, to think that she wasn't enough. Of course she was. She was more than he ever could have dreamed of. She was beautiful and bold and brilliant and she made him laugh and smile in a way he'd never thought he could again. She made colors rise from the gray, and beauty break up the spotlight of the harsh sunlight, and every sight something wonderful to be discovered.

But she wasn't his son. His little boy who was still missing, still out there, still alone and cold and maybe hungry and probably hurting. She couldn't make Gold into the man he needed to be—one smart enough and powerful enough to find his son, rescue him, bring him home, and keep him safe for the rest of his long, happy life.

So every day, Gold was happy. And every night, he looked at that gun, he felt the weight of it in his hand, and he wondered if it wouldn't be easier on everyone if he just ended it.

"Are you okay?" Belle asked him one evening when he was buttoning his coat in preparation of braving the drive home. He'd stopped walking everywhere now that Belle might need a ride somewhere or might ask him to meet her at one of the town's few restaurants.

"Of course." He smiled at her.

She slid her hand into his. "You seem a little sad all of a sudden. Were you reminded of something?"

Just that it was time for him to head back to his empty house echoing with ghosts. He couldn't help but wonder if Bae would have teased him about Belle or encouraged him. Would he have hated the idea of his papa loving someone besides him, or would he have been overjoyed to welcome Belle into their tiny family?

It killed him to think that he'd never know.

"I just hate leaving you," he said. And because she apparently wanted him to, because this was somehow his life now, he bent his head and kissed her. Just because. Because he wanted to. Because it occurred to him and it was allowed and he still couldn't fathom how miraculous this all felt.

"I hate it too," Belle said. Which was sweet even if she didn't realize exactly how much he hated it. "You know…" There she went biting her lip again. Instead of meeting his eyes, she played with his hand, tracing tickling caresses over each finger. "You could stay here. I slept on your couch once. You could try mine out for size."

"I like your couch," he said, thinking of that evening spent kissing her until his jaw ached and his lips were chapped.

Her smile lit the shadowed gloom. "Great! Then you can stay and really enjoy it." A peek of blue sparkled as she dared a glance up at him. "It'd be nice, you know, to wake up to you."

"I doubt I look any better in the morning than I do now," he said wryly, and then could have kicked himself. Was he trying to talk her out of this?

"I'd like to judge for myself," she said with a sly smile as she pulled him down into her.

Gold had just opened his mouth to agree—yes, of course, of course he'd stay the night with her and wake up to her and share breakfast with her—when a sudden thought struck him.

If Bae came back tonight…he'd find an empty house. He wouldn't know where his papa was. Gold hadn't left a note—until recently, he wouldn't have had to, he never went anywhere but to the shop. But if he stayed with Belle, Bae would never find him. He'd think Gold was gone. That his papa didn't care to wait for him. To look for him.

"I'd better not," he heard himself say. "I can't…" At her questioning stare, he blurted, "It's my leg. I take painkillers. They're at the house."

And now he'd made himself look pathetic as well as turned himself into a liar.

"I'm sorry," he added miserably.

"It's okay," Belle said.

He was suddenly, fiercely sure that he was upsetting her. She'd wanted him to stay and he'd refused her and now she'd be angry with him. She'd stop speaking to him. She'd turn away when he approached her at Granny's or the library. She'd find little ways to hurt him, humiliate him—

Forcibly, Gold quieted his thoughts. She's not Milah, he made himself think, once, twice, a third time. She's not Milah.

"Maybe another time," Belle said. And she looked disappointed, but not upset.

"I'm so sorry," he said again. Not that apologies ever helped much, in his experience.

She blinked at him. "It's okay." Running her hand down through his hair, a tender touch he couldn't help but lean into, she said, "We'll just have to plan a bit better next time."

If there was a statement better suited to keeping his mind preoccupied for the rest of the drive home, Gold couldn't imagine it.

Of course, all that and everything else besides flew straight out of his mind entirely when he parked the Cadillac and saw David waiting for him on his porch, his badge glinting in the porchlight and a grim expression painted over his chiseled features.

"Hey, Gold," he said as soon as Gold had made himself get out of the car. "We need to talk."

It was probably more accurate to say he and David headed for Boston late at night rather than early in the morning. Gold kept his phone in his hand and rubbed his thumb over the side of it until he worried he'd wear his skin away, his eyes locked on the scenery out the window. Across from him, David was blessedly silent as he drove.

They were nearly to Boston, the sky a dawning blue as the sun rose over the horizon somewhere beyond the skyscrapers stretching out ahead of them, before Gold stirred.

"Will I see him immediately?" he asked. "Or will we have to wait?"

"Phillip's delaying his release until we can get there. It should be pretty quick."

"And…he said it was him?"

David paused. "Not exactly," he said. "But he matches the aged-up picture."

That was hardly promising. Of course, it was the same thing David had told him the night before, too. Then, it had seemed more than enough for him to leave immediately without even a word to Belle. Now, in the cold light of day, Gold wondered if he hadn't just rushed headlong into a new form of self-destruction.

Rubbing his thumb once more over his phone, he turned it on. Then off. Then on again.

"Something wrong?" David asked, and Gold nearly scoffed. As if he had time enough to answer that question.

"No," he said shortly. "I just…"

Glancing over, David gave him an encouraging look. "Just what?"

David was married, Gold suddenly thought. He'd been married for years, to his high school sweetheart, after they'd both ran away and eloped in a scandal that had made the rounds in Storybrooke a couple decades before. What's more, he and his wife had not only survived the trauma of their own daughter running away and being missing for two years, they'd seemingly come through all the stronger for it.

"Do you think…" Gold reminded himself to be as brave as Belle deserved him to be and said, "Should I call Belle? I didn't even let her know I was leaving town."

David's eyebrows arched high before he seemed to catch himself and returned to a somewhat neutral expression. "So…you and her are…you're really together now?"

Gold looked back out the window. "We're dating," he said.

There was more to it, of course, but he hadn't admitted the full scope of it to Belle—had hardly faced it himself—so it definitely wasn't something David needed to know.

"Hey, that's great." At Gold's suspicious look, David smiled. "No, I mean it. I'd wondered, the last time I saw you together. I don't know her well, but she's always been incredibly nice to Emma. I'm glad you two found each other."

"Do you think I should call her?" he heard himself asking, even more plaintively than before.

"I think she'd want to know," David says. "I mean, last time you brought her along, so…it would probably be the best thing for you both if you kept her in the loop. Besides, if there's one thing nineteen years of marriage has taught me, it's that honesty is the best policy. Well, that and hard work."

It sounded so simple, when said so bluntly in David's take-charge voice. In Gold's experience, honesty with his significant other had rarely led to anything good.

Still…he wanted to hear Belle's voice.

He waited until they had reached the station and David had gotten out of the truck to talk to Phillip, coming down the steps toward them, before he turned his phone on again. It was still early, but hopefully Belle was awake by now.

"Rumple? What time is it?" The slurred way she spoke the words had Gold wincing. Apparently, she hadn't been awake yet.

"Hey, sweetheart, I'm sorry to wake you, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's fine. What is it? Are you okay?"

Gold looked up at the imposing façade of the station ahead of him. In moments, Phillip would direct them to some holding cell where there was a teenage boy on the cusp of adulthood waiting to be questioned.

We picked him up about twenty city blocks from that warehouse we raided. He said his name's Neal and that he was being chased by Pan's right-hand man, someone named Felix. No ID on him, no proof that he's telling the truth, and he looks to be about the right age, but he didn't show any reaction to the name Baelfire Gold.

With David's words echoing in his head, Gold hunched over in the seat and pressed the phone tighter against his ear.

"I'm in Boston," he said. He could hear Belle's sharp intake of breath and a rustling that made him think she'd sat up very abruptly. "I'm with David. There's someone… They found someone… It could be…"

"Oh, Rumple, you should have come and gotten me. I'd have come with you."

Gold put his hand over his mouth—afraid to even speak these next words aloud.

"He's alive. The boy they found…he's still alive."

Belle's silence was exactly what he needed. It filled in the gaps for him, letting him hear his own thoughts, process his own desperate hopes.

Last night, he'd filled up the third-to-last page in his little book.

If this was his son…he would never have to make another tally-mark. Never have to look at that cursed gun again. Never face that empty house—that mausoleum of memories—alone again.

"Rumple," Belle finally breathed out. "I hope…oh, I so hope it's him. I'll be thinking of you all day. I know…I know that you'll probably be incredibly busy, but if you have a spare second, keep me updated, okay?"

"I will." Gold's chest was so tight he could scarcely pull in a breath. "Belle…if this is Bae…"

"You'll find him," Belle declared, so confident, so absolutely certain, that Gold couldn't be anything else. "Today or another day."

"Thank you," he whispered, though what he really wanted to say were three different words.

He might not have found the strength to hang up on his own, but outside, David was waving at him to join them.

"I'll call you later," he said.

"Your son will be so proud of you for not giving up," she said, the words so rushed and quick that by the time he translated them, the call was over.

Still, they gave him strength enough to stand upright as he slid out of the truck.

"Detective Prince," he nodded to Phillip, "thanks for arranging this."

"I want a happy ending for you," Phillip said. "I'd just feel a bit more confident about it if he'd responded to your son's name."

Neal Cassidy. It wasn't familiar, rang no bells, struck no affiliations in Gold's mind, but then…it had been over five years. His son might have met any number of people—might have learned to love dozens of men more worthy of his respect and his emulation than Gold had ever been.

If that was ever more obvious than now, when Gold couldn't bring himself to move toward the station, he couldn't face the memory of it.

"You coming?" David asked. Just that. And then, as if he didn't notice anything wrong about Gold's reluctance, he set himself at Gold's side and only took a step when Gold did. One, two, three, a dozen more, up the steps, into the station, past the gates and doors opened to them by Phillip's badge and keycodes, and then, suddenly, there was a holding room, a locked door, a window the detective was gesturing him toward, and only a matter of feet between him and…who?

A stranger?

His son?

"Whenever you're ready," David said. Phillip was there, but he gave them what distance he could, pretending he wasn't watching closely. "Just take a look first. If you think it might be him, you can go in."

Gold's hands were shaking. His knees were knocking against each other. He couldn't breathe.

It wasn't going to be his son. It couldn't be. Nothing this good ever happened to him.

Except Bae. Bae's birth. Bae's love. Bae's presence. Bae choosing him over Milah whenever possible.

Maybe…maybe this would be another time his son granted him a miracle.

Rubbing his thumb against his forefinger, Gold stepped forward. And again. And again, until he was right up against the window.

At a table inside, looking exhausted and worried, a young man sat, his hands rubbing over the thighs of his jeans. He wore a ragged sweatshirt open over a shirt that was too loose, and his shoes were so worn that Gold was surprised a toe wasn't poking out. On the boy's—man's?—face, there was the start of a beard, mostly just at the chin and above his lips. A wide gash marred his right temple, though it looked like it'd been hastily bandaged.

His hair was dark and boasted a hint of a curl. His features were wide and blunt and too thin to be as rounded as Gold thought they probably should be. His hands were square and big. His eyes, when he looked up, as if sensing Gold's stare, and locked gazes with him, were dark. Not brown—a dark blue that sank deep into Gold's heart.

"Bae," he whispered.

The boy's eyes widened. Rounded. His mouth was falling open.

"Bae," Gold said.

He was standing, backing away, the chair falling behind him, the wall closing him in, and Gold was scrabbling at the door, tearing at the knob, swatting at David until he realized he was opening the door for him, and the door opened and—

And there was nothing between them anymore.

"Bae," he said.

The boy stared. And stared. And stared. His eyes were dry. His hands were steady. But his lip…oh, that bottom lip wobbled exactly like a young boy's had every time Gold had to tell him goodbye before sending him off to his mother's.

"Bae," he keened, and he opened his arms wide.

"Papa!" Bae blurted.

And he ran forward. Careened into Gold so that they both fell heavily back against the doorframe. Not that Gold cared. He had his arms around his boy for the first time in years, and nothing could dim the joy he felt in this moment.

"Papa," Bae whispered into his neck.

"Bae, my son, oh my boy, I love you. I love you so much."

"Papa," Bae said again—but not enough. Gold would never be able to hear him say it enough to satisfy his starved heart. "I thought you were dead."

"No. I'm here. I'm here, son, and I am never leaving you again."

His last tally-mark had been penned. From now on, there would be a new book, one filled with all things Bae, alive and well.