A/N: Thank you to everyone who's come on this journey with me! I hope the ending is as full of hope for you as it was for me!

The little book fit easily in his hands. It was supple and compact, a solid weight that anchored him in place and gave him something to focus on besides whatever might happened to ruin everything in the future. Rumple shrugged deeper into the couch, glad for the flames lit in the hearth before him, as he flipped open the book. It fell open, easily, to the first page.

Blank. White. Empty. Awaiting whatever he wanted to make of it.

Belle had given him this new journal, bound in blue leather, its pages sprayed gold, on an evening when the clouds had made everything gray—on a day when Bae had dinner with the Nolans and didn't make it home at all. Bae had gifted him, a few days later, almost embarrassedly, the pen Rumple now picked up and set to the page. This time, he didn't make a tally-mark. He refused to count down the days in which both Belle and Bae were in his life because that would imply there was an end to it, somewhere down the line.

"No need to think of endings when your beginning is all around you," Belle had told him, and how could Rumple argue with that?

Instead, Rumple began to write a new list. He still used his old one, sometimes, but not all the time. Not every day. In fact, lately, when Bae would bring it up, checking in with him, Rumple would have to think to remember the order of those few bullet points that had, once upon a time, been all he clung to. But now, with Belle humming lowly to herself in the kitchen and the porch light glowing outside, Rumple recorded a new list, this time all made up of names.

A list of his very own reasons to live.

1. Bae

2. Belle

3. Henry

4. Regina

5. Emma

6. David

7.

Gold's hand paused. His eyes were fixed on this list and how it had taken him mere seconds to fill out so many entries.

Bae. Of course. Always and forever. First in his heart, in his priorities, in his calculations, his everything. Bae, who now trusted his papa to be there. To help him. To understand him. Bae, who'd begun confiding in him, in small moments, quiet ways, the nightmares that haunted him about Pan. Bae, who told him, over and over again, that Rumple was nothing at all like Malcolm.

Belle, who'd moved in with him in all but name ever since he'd gotten out of the hospital. She smiled at him when he woke in the morning, stole sips of his tea as she got ready for the day, shared nearly every lunch with him, always acted pleased to see him when he came to help her lock up the library, even when she was disgruntled about the petty annoyances, the mundane problems, of her day. She helped him cook dinner most nights, and either made herself a steady, background presence while Rumple and Bae read through their series of books or distracted Rumple quite thoroughly and enjoyably when Bae was gone, out spending time with his own family.

Henry. Bae's son. Rumple's grandson. He was such a smart little thing, and every time Rumple saw him, invited to the park where Bae was allowed to spend two afternoons a week playing with his little boy, Henry seemed to be just a bit more open and exuberant. Confident. Rumple couldn't help but smile when he thought of the hug the young boy had wrapped around Rumple's knees before leaving the last time, worth every bit of pain to his bad ankle later that night.

The sight of it had made Regina freeze, her face a mask, but Rumple thought it was good for her, just like him, to have more people in her life to love. It's been rough, of course, introducing the idea of Henry's birth family to her, but there'd long been an unspoken understanding between her and Rumple, and eventually, she'd seemed to be at least somewhat open to Bae's presence in her son's life. Emma was another story entirely, but then, they were both mothers. Rumple remember what it'd been like to have a stepfather intruding into his time and relationship with Bae and had counseled both Bae and Emma to patience.

Emma was more than willing to go slow. She seemed to know she wasn't ready for full-time motherhood, and Bae said she was still grappling with Henry being flesh and blood reality instead of the abstract concept that had haunted her these past years, but it was obvious in their limited interaction that she loved Henry. More importantly to Rumple's mind, she loved Bae, and as much as she bristled at everything Rumple said, he could respect her bulldog-like love when it was his son who benefited from it. Besides, Bae loved her, and so Rumple could do nothing but try his hardest to do the same.

Even when that meant spending actual sociable time with David, who'd taken their connected families so much more in stride than Rumple had ever imagined he might. They'd gotten drinks together a few times, after the mess with Malcolm had all been cleared up, and Rumple could admit if only to himself that he didn't wholly hate David's clear-cut sincerity and startling dry humor.

Six people. Six entries in this otherwise blank book. Six reasons to live when just a year ago, he'd been drowning and desperately searching for a single reason, any reason, not to end everything. If he'd been told, back on that fifth anniversary of his son's disappearance, that in only a year's time, he'd have his son, an extended family, and a woman who not only loved him but never hurt him, never scorned him, didn't call him out for his weakness and cowardice…he'd have thought it nothing more than a fairytale.

But here he was, six entries deep with room to add more. The journal still had hundreds of blank pages, after all. Not that Rumple wanted a whole host of people to worry over. He was quite content with just these six. But perhaps that was what having a whole life ahead of him to look forward to really meant—anything was possible. If this date Bae was on—and had been nervous about for two weeks now, his hands trembling so badly he'd asked Rumple to knot his tie for him—and Emma was as tenacious as she seemed, then Henry might have little siblings in just a couple years. More little ones to love. More names to add to the list.

Rumple's hand stuttered on the page as his eyes lingered on Belle's name and he was reminded of how young she was. How much he loved her. How willing she seemed to build a life and a future with him.

Perhaps Bae wouldn't be an only child forever either.

Suddenly feeling inspired, Rumple flipped to the last page of the book and began jotting down yet another list. First just a list of jewels that might complement Belle's lovely hand. Then a list of locations where she might be most inclined to say yes if a question was presented romantically and beneficially enough. Soon, he was writing down some ideas for places they could hold the ceremony, his mind afire with thoughts of what would suit Belle best, what she'd most want for such a momentous day. He didn't flatter himself to think he was a suitable catch for her, which meant he had to make everything else perfect for her.

"You're not staying up so late just to wait for Bae, are you?" Belle's voice made Rumple startle, and he flipped the book back to that first page just in time as she walked around the couch to join him. She settled against his side so easily, so naturally, and looped her right arm through his left elbow as she leaned her weight against him.

"No," Rumple replied, half-truthfully. "I thought I'd make a go at starting to fill this new journal you gave me."

Belle's eyes, already so full of light, brightened still further as he tilted the opening page so she could read it. "I love it," she declared. "Can I help?"

"You do," he said. "More than you can possibly know. I don't think there'd be this list for me to write at all if it weren't for you."

When her smile turned soft, he leaned his brow against hers. Unable to stop himself, and having no reason to try, he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth and smiled himself when he felt her doing the same against his lips.

"I love you," she whispered. Like it was a secret—no, not a secret. Like it was a truth she cherished far too much to just drop so carelessly in front of the cold, uncaring world.

"Oh, my beautiful Belle," he breathed, and turned into her—

The sound of keys in the front door had them both jerking away from each other, his hand dropping back to its slightly more innocent position on her waist, her hand drawing his shirt together to hide just how many buttons she'd undone.

At her amused giggle, Rumple couldn't help but laugh. Her eyes were full of mischief, and there was a secret hiding in the tilted corner of her lips, and for all that he'd been counting the hours until his son returned, Rumple couldn't help but wish he'd stayed out another thirty or forty-five minutes.

The sight of them both laughing together dulled the sharp suspicion in Bae's eyes when he walked into the living room and quashed any of the sharp words he might have been readying. Not that, in his most even-minded moments, Rumple blamed him entirely. His son was a grown man and had been fighting for more independence lately, but Rumple was finding it harder to let go than his boy preferred.

It'd made for some tense moments.

Tonight, though, Bae only looked slightly embarrassed. "Hey," he said slowly, his eyes darting from Belle to Rumple as if making sure they were decent before he stepped farther into the living room.

Rumple smiled at his son, backlit by the flames and so handsome it hurt his heart. "Hey, son. I see the tie lasted a long while."

Bae rolled his eyes and tugged at his loose collar. He'd left the house in a full suit and tie, but now he wore only the trousers, a shirt with the top buttons undone, an open vest he seemed to have forgotten about, and scuffed shoes. "A suit isn't really Emma's style, or mine. Besides, Regina called in a panic about some emergency meeting, so we ended up leaving the restaurant early and spending the evening watching Henry."

"Explains the paint on your hands," Belle said. "And behind your ear."

His son scratched at the wrong ear and shrugged, his eyes dropping away from them. "Henry likes art."

"So do you," Rumple said quietly. As far as he knew, his son still hadn't touched all the paints upstairs in his room. He was desperately curious—worried—about it, but he'd been afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Maybe I should go through the stuff upstairs," Bae mused. "Might be something Henry and I could do together."

Belle's hand tightening over his elbow kept Rumple from agreeing too effusively and ruining the moment.

"Whatever you'd like," he said instead, and was rewarded both with a kiss on the cheek from Belle and Bae's lopsided smile.

"Maybe we could go shopping," Bae suggested. "You love buying stuff for me, and I guess I could try not to mind too much if some of it is for Henry."

This time, Belle had to prod him with her elbow to get him to speak at all.

"I'd love that," he rasped. "We could go tomorrow?"

"Emma and I are meeting at the library to look at some online courses." Bae raised a warding hand before Rumple could even process that. "I'm not saying either of us want college degrees, but there are some trade classes we could take that would give us more job marketability. We can't live at home forever."

"You could," Rumple said before he could second-guess himself. "If you wanted. You're always welcome here, Bae."

For once, his son didn't bristle at the possible overstep. Instead, he smiled and said, "I know, Papa. And I'm not in a hurry, okay? It's just…"

"You have your own family," Rumple said. It was always better to say these things himself rather than have to hear the ones he loved spell it out for him.

"You're part of that, you know," Bae said. He sat on the coffee table and leaned in, so close that Rumple could see the dark ring circling his already dark blue eyes.

Belle murmured something about tea and slipped away, and as much as he was grateful to her for not intruding on these moments with his son, he couldn't help but imagine a day when she was so much a part of this small family that she knew she was welcome to stay.

For now, he and Bae both watched her go, then let the silence stretch for a long moment. The flames crackled against wood, the wind whistled outside, signaling another cold and rainy autumn, but inside, Rumple could clearly hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"Papa," Bae said. He stared down at his hands, clasped between his knees, bumping up against Rumple's on the couch. It was so strange, to see his son at a loss for words, that Rumple allowed himself to do what he wished—he reached out his hand and placed it over his son's.

"It's okay, son," he said. "I'm so proud of you, I hope you know that. You've faced so much, without help for so long, and you're still a better man than I could ever be. Henry's lucky to have you."

"And I'm lucky to have you," Bae said. He made a half-laugh. "Look at us, getting all maudlin over here. I just… I've been thinking about some of the things Pan said"—Rumple stiffened, but Bae turned his hands over and squeezed Rumple's close—"and I don't want you to be thinking about it. Any of it. Trust me, Papa, that monster had no idea what he was talking about."

"Bae, I should have…I should have told you—"

"I don't care!" Bae said fiercely. "I care about you, Papa. Okay? And you're my family. You'll always be my family. If Emma and I ever make it through a date and end up somewhere together, you'll be right there with us on birthdays and holidays and ordinary family dinners. If I ever get to have Henry at my own place, you'll be just as welcome there as I am here. Got it?"

"Oh, Bae, my boy, I…" Tears flooded his vision, and Bae laughed again and tugged at Rumple.

"Come on, Papa, I guess we can hug this one out."

His son's embrace was warm and enveloping and so exuberant it drove the air from his lungs, and Rumple wouldn't change a thing about it. Bae smelled of rain and open air and paint and just a bit of some kind of perfume he'd have wagered Emma wore—because he and Belle both knew that the red 'paint' behind Bae's ear hadn't been from Henry's blue and green masterpiece that dotted Bae's hands—and the moment was so perfect, Rumple knew he'd be trying to catalog everything about it in his little notebook.

This, right here, this was every reason he needed to keep living. Keep trying. Keep getting up every day, even on the hard ones, and remembering just what there was keeping him here.

"I love you, son," he said, and felt the tremor that ran through his boy's frame.

"All right, all right." Bae stepped back a moment later, avoiding Rumple's eyes, his cheeks flushed, his hands busy as he brushed casually at his eyes. "That's enough of that for one night."

"Oh, no," Belle said from behind them. "I just about had the camera ready too."

"Perfect timing!" Bae declared, but he paused long enough to kiss Belle on the cheek and say, "I'm glad you're here, you know. Remember that when I hide the camera, okay?"

Belle laughed, her eyes sparkling with more than just happiness, as she swatted at Bae's retreating form. "Good night, Baelfire."

His son paused on the threshold. "You can call me Bae," he said. "You know, if you wanted to."

"Okay." Belle paused to swallow. "Then good night, Bae. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Sure."

Rumple didn't bother collecting his cane to walk the few steps to Belle, knowing she'd let him lean on her. Wrapping his arms around her from behind, he hooked his cane over her shoulder and kissed her cheek—the opposite one to where Bae'd placed his own clumsy good night. "I told you he'd love you," he said, his tone all smug satisfaction to hide just how touched he truly was.

"He doesn't mind me being here," Belle said, and for as obvious as he thought that statement, she sounded wondering. Even disbelieving.

"He likes you here," Rumple corrected, flattening his hand over her stomach to press her spine closer against him. "Almost as much as I do."

Any other moment, any other day, he wouldn't have been so brave. But his son loved him, Belle was letting him support almost all her weight, her hand keeping his pressed against her, and that journal with those ten pages of plans and lists and hopes for the future was just behind him. So Rumple was brave. He was strong. He was hopeful.

"You should stay forever," he whispered. "Let this be your home. Let us be your family."

Belle's breath audibly caught in her throat. She tried to turn, but Rumple tightened his arms around her, burying his face in her rose-scented hair to keep from having to see whatever her face showed.

It was probably too soon for such a bold move. She probably had reasons not to put so much faith and trust in him and in their relationship lasting. He probably should have thought better of—

"I'd love that," Belle said. "Really. But…"

Rumple squeezed his eyes shut.

"Are you sure you want this?" she asked. "Really sure you want me? Here all the time?"

"You belong here," Rumple said. "If you want that."

"I do." And this time, she turned so fast he didn't have the chance to prevent her. She threw her arms around his neck and went on her tiptoe to bury herself in his embrace. Rumple's hands fisted in her dress, and it seemed as natural as breathing to slant his lips over hers and drink her in.

"Stay with me," he breathed into her mouth.

"Forever," she vowed without even a second's hesitation. "I never thought I could be this happy. I…I didn't think I could be enough to make someone else happy."

That was so utterly ridiculous that Rumple had to kiss her to wash the words from her mouth.

"I love you," he said.

He could have said more—about how happy she made him every day, how much of his life she'd turned bright and colorful and beautiful, how she was the light that had pierced his ocean of darkness and brought him safe to shore—but truthfully, they didn't seem to need the words. Maybe he'd say them later. Or maybe, when he one day had a ring to give her and a perfect proposal planned out, a single question would say all those things for him.

"It's raining," Belle told him between kisses. It seemed a strange thing to focus on at the moment, and he redoubled his efforts in distracting her.

"Rumple!" she panted, and then she was lacing their fingers together and leading him toward the front door. "It's raining," she repeated, this time with a smile. "I think we should see how pretty it looks under the moonlight."

Dazed and awed, feeling almost as if he were in a dream, Rumple took the cane she handed him and followed her out to the porch. The yellow lamplight gleamed and refracted from thousands of raindrops falling all around them. The overhang protected them from the deluge, but Belle eyes glowed brightly in the darkness. The sky was blocked by endless gray clouds, the moon veiled and hidden.

But still, with Belle's hand in his, her form a warm weight against him, Rumple thought he saw rainbows hiding in each drop that fell. They were cold and made him shiver, but Belle was warm beside him, the house was heated and safe behind him, and upstairs his son slept safe and sound in his bed.

"Beautiful," he said as he gazed at Belle.

She smiled, a soft, secretive smile, and lifted her hand to run her fingers back through his hair. "Beautiful," she replied, looking at him, and for this moment, Rumple believed her. "Let's go inside."

"Let's go home," he agreed, and kissed her against the door, and again in the foyer where the gun no longer resided—it was locked away in a safe, still present in case he needed to defend his family again, but no longer a temptation or an exit plan—and yet again in the hallway. The stumbled their way into the living room and fell onto the couch, and Rumple thrilled to think this was his life now.

No more empty house. No more little journal filled with too many tally-marks and not enough hope. No more missing son or featureless days or grief-wracked nights.

He'd lived. He'd survived. He'd kept trying even when it had seemed impossible.

And he was so glad that he had. So glad he was here, safe in the circle of Belle's arms as she arched up into him and pressed his weight more fully down atop her.

He was still here, still alive, still remembering everything that tethered him in place—not his power, or his wealth, or his position. But the people he loved. The ones who loved him in return.

With more to come.

Outside, the skies were gray.

Inside, Rumple feasted his eyes on color and light and happiness and knew he would never grow tired of it again.

He lived.

He lived.

The Beginning