A/N: So sorry for the delay, life has been extra crazy lately and a new puppy has been demanding all my attention! :) Thanks for sticking with me!

Gold was living in a dream. A surreal, wispy dream that hovered too near the edge of becoming a nightmare. And yet, how could he say that? How could he even think that when his son was alive? No. No matter what else came with it, Gold didn't want to wake. He'd stay here forever, balanced on this knife-edge between elation and despair. Awe and horror. Like in a real dream, he was helpless to do anything but be yanked along on the eerie currents, but unlike what had been his reality for far too long, at least now Bae was here with him.

Next to him at the table over breakfast, chattering on and on about something he'd read about some kind of Volkswagen car, his words tumbling out of him so fast Gold couldn't get a single word in edgewise. He was there in the living room in the afternoon, reading and then writing or sketching on endless reams of paper that all seemed fated to be ripped into tiny pieces or crumpled into brittle balls. He was in bed every night—and sometimes through the whole next day, barely stirring, hardly uttering a single word, so still and drained of energy that Gold called Whale dozens of times hoping for a different answer each time.

Nothing Gold did seemed to make a difference. He'd push to get his son out of bed, and if he could elicit a response, he'd drag him downstairs to mope on the couch. If he tried to quiet his son's torrent of words about whatever new obsession he'd uncovered, Bae would simply watch him through flat eyes Gold couldn't read until he himself subsided into silence. Then Bae would start talking again, only now he'd get up and pace, all but climbing the walls as nervous energy poured off of him.

His son was home. He was alive and he was home and there was no greater dream come true than that.

But his son was a stranger, one Gold didn't know how to talk to. It'd been easier, in the hotel, to explain it away. Justify it. Make excuses. What his son had volunteered to do for the police wasn't easy, and Gold knew it had to have taken everything out of Bae to delve so deeply into his bad memories—memories so horrible that they'd left Gold pale and shaking just to hear them. If Bae was quiet and withdrawn, even standoffish in the hotel, well, Gold couldn't blame him.

But they'd been home for a week, and they'd yet to have a truly personal conversation.

In fact, the only time Gold felt like a father rather than the host to a strange guest was in the dead of night. The darkest hours, just before the world tilted back in its slow path toward the sun. That was the time when Gold, sitting wide awake and fingering a little book in his lap, would hear the screams.

Bae hadn't had any nightmares in the hotel. Or maybe he had and just hadn't made a noise then. Maybe he did feel a bit safer here, at home—safe enough to cry for help.

Maybe.

Or maybe Gold didn't know his little boy at all.

Regardless, every night, Gold waited for the sound of his son's screams. Then he got out of bed and limped as fast as he could to Bae's bedroom. Past the desk and the paints and the books—all of them untouched, gathering dust yet again—to the bed where his little boy thrashed and yelled and fought off invisible assailants.

"Shh, waken up, son, it's okay, Papa's here," Gold crooned. He sang little lullabies and said his son's name, over and over again, whispered reassurances and tiny promises of safety. Anything to soothe the struggling mass of blankets.

Sometimes, Bae's fist would land heavily against his ribs or his shoulder—a few blindingly memorable times, he'd kicked his ankle at just the right place—but eventually, Gold would worm his way into his son's bed. He'd gather his precious boy into his arms, crooning and singing and reassuring.

"Papa's here," he'd say, over and over again, until finally, Bae would quiet. His breathing, harsh and ragged, would give away that he was awake, but he never spoke. Never said a word.

He clung, though. He clung to Gold like the little boy he'd once been. His eyes were so wide in the moonlight, too bright, too shiny, too scared, but he'd hug his papa and he wouldn't let go. And Gold wouldn't either, not for anything.

It was the only time Gold felt that he was doing anything good for his son at all.

Every day, while Bae chattered in his newly deep voice, Gold would keep his hand in his pocket, cradling his phone, and think about calling Belle. Every afternoon, in the sucking void of his son's silence, he'd play with the phone in his hands. He hadn't been to the shop in weeks now, and had no plans of opening it any time soon. How could he bear to just leave Bae all alone? In the evenings, when his son disappeared into his bedroom, before the screams began, Gold would stare at the picture of Belle she'd set as her own contact photo.

He wanted to call her.

But how could he face her?

She'd waited for him, answered the phone every time he called, soothed his every worry, readied his house for his son…and what had he done in return? Broken down like a pathetic weakling in front of her. Sobbed and shaken to pieces, a drooling, weepy mess against her ruined shirt.

He could still remember the way she'd extricated herself from his arms and stood, taken his hands and tugged him to his feet, led him to his bedroom and tucked him in like he was a child. She'd kissed his brow, as a kind nurse might, and then she'd left with a quiet, final "Goodbye, Rumple." No note. No phone-call. No visit.

Gold could take a hint.

Besides, Bae needed him. Maybe he didn't say it in words, but Gold knew that his little boy was hurting and felt alone and desperate. As a father, he couldn't leave Bae to face such horrors alone. As someone who'd once been the recipient of Malcolm's cruel mind-games and crueler manipulations, he couldn't bear to let his son face the repercussions himself.

So he stayed. And he stared at her picture. But he didn't call.

And Bae didn't speak.

And slowly, Gold felt himself drowning.

"Bae," he said one night, his son's head heavy on his shoulder. "Please talk to me. Let me help you."

Silence was his only answer.

"Bae," he said the next morning at breakfast. It had taken him forty-five minutes to get his son out of bed and downstairs. "What do you think about going for a walk today?"

Bae stared blankly.

"Or at least into the backyard?" Gold said, feeling desperate. "I've kept it just the way you remember it."

His son stood without a word and retreated back upstairs into his bedroom.

"Bae," he said as he stared at his son's locked door. He laid his left hand flat over the wood and prayed for it to open. "Please. I don't know what to do. I love you. I'm here. Please don't shut me out."

The door stayed closed. There was no sound from within until five hours later when the screaming began.

"Bae," he moaned into the darkness as his son's flailing fist glanced across his right chest, causing him to stagger into the desk. "I think we need help."

"I knew you'd give up on me," Bae growled. "That's all you ever do. Did you ever even look for me?"

Gold let out a breath that was nearly a cry, more winded by the accusation than the blow.

"I did nothing but look for you!" he cried. "I had dozens of people looking for you. I poured everything I had into the search. I kept the porchlight on every night hoping you'd come back. I—"

"Leave me alone," Bae said. His voice was flat. Neutral. He rolled to his other side, his back to Gold, and said nothing more no matter how Gold begged.

Eventually, Gold left.

He came back the next night, summoned by his son's screaming, and his boy clung and whimpered and breathed raggedly into Gold's ear, and they said nothing at all.

The next morning, Gold stood at the breakfast table and held Bae off. "We're eating outside," he said firmly. "You need the sunlight."

"I did just fine without sunlight for three years," he said harshly.

Gold tried not to wince. "All the more reason to get some now," he said. "The food's outside."

"I'm not hungry."

Lunging sharply, Gold grabbed his son's shoulder. Not too tight—he wouldn't hurt him. Just enough to keep him in place. "Too bad," he said in a paternal voice that used to come so naturally. "Go outside, son. I won't ask again."

Behind his breastbone, his heart was running like a rabbit tearing away from a sheepdog. Bae looked at him for a long moment—Gold refused to drop his eyes—before finally letting out a loud sigh and stomping toward the backdoor.

Gold allowed himself five seconds to breathe out his relief, then he tightened his grip on his cane and joined his son on the patio to eat cold eggs and toast.

The next day, after breakfast outside in the chilly April air, Gold told his son he needed his help cleaning out the attic. It was mostly antiques he'd planned on fixing up before adding to the shop's inventory, and he figured Bae could help him sort them.

"Taking after Pan with the slave labor?" Bae asked with an arched brow.

"Can't a man ask his son for help?" Gold replied, doing his best not to let Bae see the blow land.

He couldn't help but wonder if Bae knew. If Malcolm had ever told him. If Bae guessed just how much those last few days in Boston had cost Gold.

He hoped Bae didn't suspect a thing. He hoped Bae never knew.

"Fine," Bae grumbled, but after he'd climbed up into the attic, he reached down and helped his papa up too.

Gold did his best not to break down into tears right then.

The next day, after hours and hours spent fighting back his cowardice, Gold told Bae to get dressed. "We're going to the library," he said. "You could use some new reading material. You've surely learned everything you possibly can about a Volkswagen Beetle."

For some reason, Bae flinched. Gold, braced for a hurtful remark, felt a sudden flash of panic. If his boy begged to be let out of this errand, there was no way he'd force him to do it.

But Bae only got his shoes and a jacket without a single word spoken.

"Thank you," Gold said, biting back everything else he wanted to say. Retrieving a scarf, he wrapped it around his son's throat and then, gently, surprised Bae was letting him so close during the daylight hours, tucked it beneath his coat.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Bae whispered.

Gold looked up, but Bae kept his eyes averted.

"I don't mean to… I'm sorry."

"Shh. It's okay, son. I love you." He had to tug his son's head down a bit to be able to plant a kiss on his brow, reminder of just how much time he'd lost with him. But Bae accepted the kiss without ducking away or sneering at him, which was enough to make Gold feel lighter than he had in weeks.

"Has Belle not been coming over because of me?" Bae asked when they were in the car. He batted Gold's hands away and buckled himself in. "I wouldn't mind. I mean…I'd be nice to her."

Gold swallowed and pretended it took all his attention to back out of his own driveway. "Belle and I only just started dating a little over a month ago," he said. "We're not really at the stage of going over to each other's houses all the time."

They'd been so close to that stage, though. The memory of her invitation to sleep on her couch still made him break out in shivers if he wasn't careful.

But that was before she'd seen just how much of a wreck he was.

"Still…" Bae looked out the window at the passing town. "I could stay in my room for a while if you needed me to."

"Thank you for offering," he replied, carefully, feeling as if he were maneuvering through a minefield. "But, son, you know Belle wants to get to know you too. You'd be part of our evening."

The sight of his son's mouth quirking up in the smallest sign of a smile was so welcome, so delightful, that it took Gold far too long to realize that he should have prepared Bae for the fact that Belle wasn't actually dating Gold anymore at all.

Or maybe it was Belle he should have prepared with that, because judging by the brightness of her smile when she came around the corner to find him standing in her library, she was either remarkably skilled at pretending ease around someone she'd dumped—even if in the kindest possible way—or she had completely forgotten that she'd kissed him goodbye after realizing just how much of a pathetic mess he was.

"Rumple!" she exclaimed, then immediately blushed and looked around. Fortunately, Gold had picked Thursday morning precisely because it was a slow time for the library, and so no one was around to hear his ridiculous name. "I'm so glad you're here!" she said, dumping her pile of books at the circulation desk and rounding it.

Gold nearly swallowed his tongue when she walked right into his arms, her hands sinking into his hair as she gifted him a tight hug. He was reduced to simply gaping at her like an idiot when she kissed his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth.

"And Bae." Belle took a single step back, her hand still on his elbow as she turned to his son. "It's so good to see you out and about. Have you come to catch up on the Redwall series?"

Bae blinked at her with much the same expression, Gold imagined, as he was wearing. "Red-what?"

"The book," Gold said quietly. "About the mice and rats. I…I remembered that you were reading it…"

"Oh." Bae was silent for just long enough that Gold began to panic, thinking they'd brought up a terrible time in his life or he didn't remember the silly little book at all and whatever connection Gold had imagined between them had been nothing more than the deluded fever-dreams of a desperate man…when, finally, he actually smiled. "Oh, right, I remember. Yeah. Yeah, I guess I could give it a shot. There's more than one?"

"Lots more," Belle said with all the relish of a bibliophile.

Gold hung back a bit, his mouth curving upward as he watched Belle and his son walk toward the children's section, their steps matched, Bae's eyes fixed on the librarian as she chattered away about the author and the series. The sound of her voice, the sight of Bae's shoulders loosening from their constant rigidity, had Gold wondering why he hadn't dragged his son here that very first day.

This was what he needed. Of course it was. Anyone would benefit from having Belle in their life.

And Belle… Maybe her leaving so wordlessly the week before was nothing more than exhaustion after a long day. Or preoccupation with something in her own life that had nothing to do with him and his constant struggles. Or…well, he wasn't sure what else it might have been, but Belle was too kind to smile at him like that, reach out and slide her hand into his as Bae looked over the books, if she meant to distance herself from him.

Which made Gold realize, foolishly slow, that if she hadn't left his house wishing him well for his life apart from her, then he'd basically just ignored her for ten days.

And yet…she'd smiled at the sight of him.

When Bae selected a book and drifted to a nearby chair to flip it open to the first page, Gold squeezed Belle's hand in his.

"I'm sorry," he said, the apology jostling up against the very same two words she gave to him simultaneously.

"What?" they both asked, again in unison, and Gold's lips quirked up in answer to Belle's giggle.

"I missed you," she said, suddenly, and then she stepped back into him, her arms tight around his neck in an embrace he couldn't help but sink into. "I meant to call you, really, but then I wasn't sure what was happening between you and Bae, and I didn't want to come between you or try to distract you from your son—I know he's the most important thing to you, really, I do—and then so much time had passed, and I'm not sure what the right—"

"You're important to me," he said.

She fell absolutely still in his arms.

Gold's heart fluttered weakly against his breastbone.

Too much. Of course it was. His love always was too much: cloying, constraining, suffocating. Milah had drilled this truth into him repeatedly, as if his father's lessons hadn't been enough to engrain it into his unworthy heart. And after she'd fled from his love, escaping like a bird for freedom from the cage of his affection, Cora had taken it upon herself to ensure he never again forgot how little he had to offer a woman besides the chains of his own grasping, weak love.

Loosening his arms, Gold steeled himself for the instant Belle would step away. She'd avert her eyes where Milah had glared. Would couch it in kind words where Cora had told him with all the bluntness of a steel fist. Would still smile at him in the streets where his father had never bothered to take notice of him.

But the end result would be the same.

He hoped she wouldn't hold anything against Bae. His son deserved her attention, her bright words, her laughing concern.

"Oh, Rumple," Belle said—Gold flinched—and then she was kissing him.

Not on the cheek. Not on the brow. Not even on his hand.

Full on his mouth, her lips plucking at his, her tongue tasting every inch of his, her hands stroking back through his hair and holding him close to her—ensuring he didn't pull away.

"You're important to me too," she said, quickly, smiling wide enough to break the kiss before she tugged him back down into another tight hug. "I'm so glad you came—and that you brought Bae."

"I…" Gold splayed his hand out over her cheek, needing to see her but not wanting to push her away. "I'm sorry. I thought…I thought you were done with me."

Her brow wrinkled. "What?"

"You… I cried for hours," he said, unable to look at her at this reminder of his weakness. He started to pull his hand back, but she caught it in hers and pressed it closer to her cheek. "I don't blame you for not wanting to look at me another minute. You don't need a pathetic disaster pulling you down—drowning you—especially when I can't…I can't give you as much attention as you deserve. My son—"

"Your son deserves all your love, and he has it," she said, and for all the softness of her tone, there was a layer of steel beneath the assertion. "I would never begrudge that, Rumple. In fact, seeing just how deeply you love him can only make me want you to care about me a fraction of the same. You…you are such a remarkable person."

Gold blinked. Much as he rewound her words through his mind, he couldn't make them fall into any sort of sense.

"I… But I haven't talked to you in ten days."

"Ten days, hmm?" Belle's smile was slanted and close-mouthed, but just as genuine as the shade of uncertainty hidden in her blue eyes. "I'm glad you know the exact time." Her smile fell away. "But I didn't talk to you either."

"You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to," she said firmly. She clasped his hand in hers and brought it to her heart as she met his eyes. "Rumple, have I made you think…" She shook her head and started over. "Why would you think that I'd just…discard you like that?"

His voice locked itself away behind the lump in his throat. He'd never mistake Belle for Milah or for Cora, but just then, feeling so raw and vulnerable, he couldn't help but notice that she was dark-haired and blue-eyed and beautiful, and if a man had a type, did that mean he was destined to make the same mistakes with all of them?

"Did…" Belle swallowed. "Did your wife do that to you?"

"Not just her," he murmured before his eyes widened. "I know you're not the same as them. They could never compare to you! But Milah…and Cora…and…"

Her eye twitched. "Cora?"

He shrugged it away, unable to meet her gaze. "A mistake after my divorce. I thought she could be a good mother and she expected me to be her steppingstone to greater things."

"That's funny," Belle said. Before he could even flinch, she cupped his cheek and said, "I think you're my greater thing. Remember? My adventure. A mystery to uncover."

Words escaped him, and for once, Gold was brave. He bowed his head and kissed her.

Belle rewarded him quite warmly for his courage.

The next day, Bae was ready to leave for the library even before Gold could prompt him.

"Belle says you've been reading the Redwall books," Bae said as they drove toward Main Street.

"Aye," he managed, choked and trying not to show just how much it meant to him that Bae was reaching out. "I've read the first four."

"I'm rereading the first," he said, his eyes fixed out the window. "I remember some of it."

"So did I." Gold dared a brief smile. "You talked about it enough."

"Maybe…maybe we could read them together. At night?"

If he hadn't been driving, Gold would have broken down into sobs and crushed his son to him. Probably the reason Bae had waited until now to mention it, really.

Regardless, Gold smiled over at him and said, "I'd love that, son. More than anything."

The twitch to Bae's lips wasn't exactly a smile, but it was the closest he'd come, and Gold treasured the memory of it in the deepest recesses of his heart.

As soon as Bae was squirreled away in the children's section of the library, Gold swept Belle into a tight hug, kissed her so thoroughly that he had to hold her up, pressed tight against him, and knew he'd never be able to repay her for what she'd done for him.

Dinner seemed too small a thing, but Gold had spent two hours helping her mend old books while Bae read, gearing himself up to ask her, and it was all he could do to get the words out. Her wide, brilliant smile was answer enough even before she said, "I'd love to! I close up in a half hour."

"We could walk to Granny's together," he ventured.

"Sounds perfect. Just let me tidy up before I lock the doors."

Belle nearly skipped as she bustled away from him, and Gold couldn't deny the bounce to his own step as he went to find Bae.

His boy was bent nearly in two on one of the small child-sized chairs, sprawled forward over the low table, his eyes darting over the small paperback held in his hands.

"Enjoying the book?" Gold asked.

He anticipated the tiny flinch Bae couldn't cover, as well as the instinctive way he clutched the book to his chest. What he hadn't expected—hoped for but not expected—was the way Bae relaxed a second later and nudged a chair from the table with his foot for Gold.

"It's pretty good," he said. "The food all sounds delicious."

Gold couldn't have imagined a better segue.

"Yes, well, I was thinking we could go to Granny's for dinner. Belle could accompany us as soon as she closes the library."

Bae's eyes fell back down to the book. His thumb rubbed against the corner of the pages.

"Bae?" he couldn't help prompting. "You used to like their hamburgers."

"I don't like mayonnaise," he muttered.

"We can ask for one without. Or you could order something else. Whatever you want."

"Are you sure?"

Gold frowned at his son. "Of course you can. I wouldn't force you to eat something you don't want."

"Are you sure you want me to come with you and Belle?" Bae looked up at him abruptly, a strange challenge in his eyes. "I know what it means to be a third wheel. Nobody wants their kid along on a date."

"Bae…" Gold scooted his chair closer to his son and tried not to think dark thoughts about a dead woman who never deserved to be mother—but somehow produced the most amazing son anyway. "I always want you with me. I would be delighted for you and Belle to get to know each other better."

Bae looked away, his shoulders pulling inward over his ears. He muttered something down to the table, a question Gold couldn't catch.

"What was that, son? I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"You're not ashamed of me?" Bae demanded, so loud the question echoed through the empty stacks.

"What?!" Gold stared at him. "Why would I—? I've never once been ashamed of you, Baelfire. You…you're the best thing in my life. The only good thing I've ever done. I would tell the whole world you're my son if I could."

It was Bae's turn to stare. Nausea roiled in Gold's stomach in reply to the shock sitting there on his boy's face.

"Really?" Bae asked. "You…you're not trying to…? You never tried to get rid of me?"

Gold lunged forward, his cane clattering to the ground, the tiny chair escaping him as he fell to his knees at Bae's side and pulled his boy down into him. "Never," he vowed fiercely. "Never, ever, not even for a single second! You're my greatest love, Bae, my happy ending. Everything I've ever done has been for you. I've wanted you since the moment I first heard of your existence, and I never stopped looking for you when you were gone, and I would lay down my life for you in a second if it would only keep you safe and happy. Oh, my boy, my son, I love you."

"He…" There were hot tears wet against Gold's neck, but Bae didn't pull away. "He said you sold me to him. He said I was only in your way and that you wanted Mom to take me off your hands and I could never be anything but a burden—"

"He lied," Gold whispered, then said it again, louder, louder, so loud he hoped it drowned out the whispers Bae was hearing. The same whispers Gold had heard inside his head his whole life. The same words, spoken in the same voice, from the blackest heart of the same man. "He lied, Bae. I love you."

"I love you too, Papa," Bae whispered, and his arms came up to wrap around Gold in a tight hug that lasted until they heard Belle walking toward them, keys jangling in her hand, and yet still didn't last quite long enough.

"So," he said when he and Bae finally let go of each other and each tried discreetly to wipe away their tears. "Dinner at Granny's?"

"Yeah," Bae said. He helped Gold up when he lurched, his knees and ankle both throbbing. "Yeah, that sounds good."

There were a few stares, when they first stepped into Granny's. Gold leveled a dark glare at anyone looking back, and soon enough, they were ignored as they slid into the back booth, Gold and Bae side by side and Belle sitting across from them. Belle ordered a hamburger with extra ketchup, Gold one with extra pickles, and Bae ordered the biggest breakfast special they offered.

"Breakfast has been growing on me," he said with a shrug that seemed too casual next to the way he darted a sidelong look Gold's way.

Gold thought of cold eggs and toast out in their backyard every morning and hid his smile behind his cup of tea.

"You know," Belle said, looking between the two of them, "it's so obvious you're father and son."

Gold exchanged a surprised look with Bae, searching for what she saw. He saw only what he always did: his son. Beautiful. Brave. Too good for him. And sporting Milah's curly dark hair, a darker shade of her blue eyes, and her height.

"It's in the expressions," Belle continued. "And something around the eyes, maybe the mouth. You're both incredibly handsome."

While Gold gaped, Bae rolled his eyes and ducked low in the booth. "Yeah, whatever," he said.

Belle's lips quirked up. "I only speak the truth as I see it."

"Oh, sweetheart, you see the world in a way I think no one else does," Gold said. He'd finally recovered his composure long enough to speak, but seeing Belle's eyes widen, ever so minutely, at the endearment that slipped too easily from his mouth had him blanching again. Before he could walk it back, Belle reached out and took his hand in hers.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Thankfully, their food arrived not long after, giving them all a chance to regroup. But even eating, the silence seemed to stretch a bit until Bae finally looked up from inhaling his hashbrowns and said to Belle, "You don't sound like you're from here."

"I'm not," Belle said calmly. "Well, I've lived here six years now, but before that I was in Boston, and before that, in Australia."

"That's a long way to come," Bae said. He took a sip of the coffee Gold still couldn't believe he'd ordered—or that he was drinking. He should have asked. Should have made some every morning for his boy who'd grown up into a man.

"Well…" Belle twisted her fork in her hands. "I think I kind of had the opposite experience of you, actually. I ran away from home the morning after my eighteenth birthday and tried to get as far away from any reminders of home as I possibly could. No Australia, no sunshine, no beaches. Just Boston and cold weather and crowded harbors."

Bae met her eyes, his attention fully captured. "What were you running from?" he asked quietly.

Before Gold could insist she didn't have to answer, Belle just smiled sadly and said, "My mom. She died when I was sixteen and I didn't think I could ever get past it. So instead I tried to become someone new. Someone different. Someone who never lost her mom. I even went by a different name for a bit—Lacey."

A quick indrawn breath sounded from Bae, and Gold tried not to intrude too obviously even as he shifted in his seat until his shoulder was pressed up against his son's. Neal Cassidy. He hadn't yet managed to ask Bae why he'd chosen that name in particular as his own.

"Did it work?" Bae asked, so softly Belle had to lean forward.

"Not really." Belle reached out, quick like a hummingbird, and squeezed Bae's hand before pulling it back to her own lap. "I pretended it did for a couple years, but really I was kept running from myself. And no matter how far or how fast you run, no matter how much you try to hide from it, eventually you realize that you're still just you. I was never going to be able to change that, and trying just hurt everyone who loved me."

"So you stopped running?"

"I did. And a couple years later, after some hard work getting my life all straightened out, I ended up here." Belle's wistful expression melted away into a smile as she looked over to Gold. "Exactly where I needed to be."

Bae rolled his eyes, but he seemed more thoughtful than anything as he returned his attention to his dinner.

"Belle…" Gold trailed off, not sure if he wanted to apologize for his son's intrusive questions or marvel aloud at the inner strength she carried within her to have become the woman sitting here today.

"Rumple," she said back—quietly—and smiled happily when he clasped her hand in his.

They might have sat there staring at each other for long moments more—Gold certainly wouldn't have begrudged it—but the door opened and both Gold and Bae instinctively looked up.

For his part, Gold felt a riotous swirl of conflicted feelings to recognize David there with his wife and daughter. On the one hand, the sheriff had done what he'd promised. He'd worked and fought and stirred pots until Gold had his son back. On the other hand…well, it was still hard to look at the younger, handsomer man without making the inevitable comparisons, and even more so now that Gold knew it was partially down to David that he had his boy back home.

Bae's reaction, though, was quite a bit different.

His plate hit the floor with a resounding crash at the same time as he leapt to his feet, half-backing away even as he raised one hand forward. Toward Emma.

Who stared back at him, eyes wide, mouth falling open as she gasped, "Neal?!" She backed away in the next second, shaking her head, moaning a soft, "No, no, no, no!" before turning on her heel, shouldering her way out the door, and running.

"Emma!" Bae shouted, a longing in his voice that Gold recognized on a soul-deep level, and then he was gone too, tearing past a suspicious David and an astonished Mary Margaret—and seemingly completely forgetting the father he was leaving behind.

"Bae!" Gold tried to say, but it took him forever and a day to clamber out of the booth, and by the time he made it, with Belle's quiet support, David and his wife were there in front of him.

"What was that about?" Mary Margaret demanded.

"How does your son know my daughter?" David asked.

Gold met his eyes and hoped he didn't look as distraught as he felt. "I imagine," he said coolly, "that they must have met while your daughter was on the run."

Mary Margaret looked as if he'd punched her while David's whole face pinched tight.

Gold left them to stew. He had his own problems to consider.

Like the fact that the adoption he'd helped the mayor arrange had been his way of paying back the sheriff's kind discretion three years ago. He'd thought it so clever to have David's own grandson raised here in town, where he and his wife and daughter—the boy's own mother—could know him even if they never realized the connection.

Now, Gold couldn't help but wonder if his cleverness had fooled even himself.

He couldn't help but wonder when exactly his son and Ms. Nolan had met—and if he was already as terrible a grandfather as he was a father.