Chapter 1: Smoke
Chapter Text
That sneaky, conniving bastard.
Regina gave a thin smile of satisfaction that twisted dangerously close to a snarl.
He didn’t think I would notice. But I did. Who’s second-best now, dearie?
But… now what?
Regina pondered for a long time, examining the framework of the spell, the weft and weave of it. She understood the purpose of the spell: to take away everyone’s happy ending, except her own. It would afflict everyone in the Enchanted Forest… except her.
And apparently, except for her former teacher and crafter of the spell. The Dark One.
Rumplestiltskin.
He said he wanted a comfortable life under the spell. Comfort and power. But he wants to keep his memories as well? Regina scowled. No. Unacceptable. The idea of the Dark One with his memories running around in the middle of her happy ending… no, Regina did not like that at all. She didn’t know why he would want that, nor did she care. She just needed to ensure he lost his memories like everyone else.
Unfortunately, while she was clever enough to find this part of the spell, Regina knew that unraveling it was beyond her skills. If she tried, she risked destroying the entire thing. Years of work, sacrifice, and heartache… all for nought.
That too was unacceptable.
Some time and numerous small magical pokes later, Regina thought, If I can’t undo this part of the spell, perhaps I can… shift it? To someone else? She still didn’t like the idea of someone having their memories, but as long as it wasn’t Rumplestiltskin… if it was someone small, powerless, unimportant, someone she could keep under her thumb…
Regina smiled.
That sneaky, conniving bitch.
The second the purple smoke touched him within the bars of Charming’s castle, Rumplestiltskin knew something was wrong.
She messed with the spell. She messed with my spell!
There was no time to fix it, no time to examine what exactly she had changed. All he could do was hope that Regina’s tampering wouldn’t interfere with their trip to the World Without Magic. Whatever she’d done, he could deal with there. Hopefully.
Unfortunately, hope was something he didn’t believe in. Not anymore. Not since—
And he was gone.
Belle had never been so happy to be underestimated in her life.
After her initial imprisonment and… interrogation, Regina had pretty much left her alone. For some time, Belle remained in a hazy, pained delirium, but when she finally recovered her wits, she was pleased that no one except a guard came to see her once a day with her ration of food and water.
While living the the Dark Castle, Belle had learned how magical wards “felt” for lack of a better term. Rumple (don’t think about him don’t think focus on getting out) had made sure to teach her so she would stay away from enchanted items or other things she wasn’t supposed to go near.
So she was pretty sure that, while her cell was comprised of stone, mortar, and iron, it lacked any magical alarms or locks.
Which meant she’d spent the last several months working on an escape.
Her hands were raw and bloody from gathering, shaping, and hiding the pieces of the lock pick, janky and unwieldy as it was. The dungeon was very quiet, and with no sign of the guards with her meal of gruel for two days, Belle knew it was now or never.
Praying to whatever gods may be listening, Belle carefully wound her makeshift lock pick around the bars and into the lock. Precious seconds ticked by but she forced herself to go slow, to concentrate, even as every instinct screamed at her to hurry hurry hurry run.
It’s quiet. It’s too quiet.
She gritted her teeth, tossed a lock of sweat-dampened hair out of her eyes and bent to her task.
Click.
Belle froze, uncertain, then slowly, so slowly pushed the door.
It opened.
She stifled the urge to weep, to yell, to dance. Easy, Belle, take it nice and slow. Don’t snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
Moving silently in her bare feet, Belle drifted from shadow to shadow, following the same route she saw the guards take, ready to hide at the slightest sound.
Nothing.
Unease coiled in Belle’s stomach. Where is everyone? Granted, the dungeons were not exactly the most bustling place but there should be some activity…
Do you want to get caught? Use the blessing you have to your advantage, dearie.
Belle smiled as she pictured Rumple standing there berating her, hands on his hips and a frown on his face. Her vision blurred with tears that she quickly wiped away. I’m coming , she silently promised. I’m coming back. Wait for me.
No one accosted her and Belle moved faster, winding her way up and up and up…
Into the open air.
She froze, eyes stinging with the bright light. She blinked, trying to bring everything back into focus. The wind whipped around her, cold and crackling with energy, like before a storm.
When her eyes cleared, Belle found she was atop a parapet, looking down over a castle. Regina’s castle. But that wasn’t what caught her attention.
It was the swirling cloud of black and purple smoke rising from the center like a giant whirlpool in reverse, spewing out into the world rather than pulling everything in.
Belle felt the ground groan and shudder, as if the land itself was screaming in protest. What is this? Magic? If so, it was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Regina. This has to be Regina’s doing.
I have to escape.
But there was no where to go. The stairs only led back to the dungeon. Belle looked across the span of stone and saw that it connected with another tower. Perhaps she could reach it and find another set of stairs…
A blast of magic struck the wall, the raw power of it shattering wood and stone, and tossing Belle into the air.
With a scream, she disappeared into the maelstrom.
Chapter 2: Flowers
Chapter Text
Storybrooke was one of those picturesque places that was quintessentially “small town American.” Cute, quaint, and quiet, with nothing more dramatic to disturb the peace than a tearful breakup, the rowdiness of a few extra beers, or the competition of the latest bake sale.
Mr. Gold, pawnbroker, landlord, and resident pariah, hated it.
And yet he never tried to leave it either.
In a small town, he was a big fish. A pike, perhaps, slipping through the murk in predatory silence, only to snap his jaws around an unsuspecting duckling. But in a larger town, that might not be the case. And Gold liked the security that came from power, knowing that no one in the town would dare cross him.
Except perhaps for Mayor Regina Mills. But there were enough fish in the small pond to satisfy two pikes, enough to keep them from ripping each other apart at least. They rarely crossed paths, with her gliding through the swells of local politics while he focused on the murky depths of economics. It was enough to keep him busy, occupied, and away from a woman whose self-satisfied smirk make his skin crawl.
Most of the time, it was enough.
Sometimes the issues, the bargaining, the politicking was just… so… small. Petty. Insignificant. The rise and fall of local fortunes did not interest him unless they impacted his business. The tears and wringing of hands when someone tried to alter the terms of a deal were maudlin and irritating. Their trials and tribulations held no meaning for him, as they did not include him… and he preferred it that way. The townsfolk thought in such limited terms, rarely planning for the future, yet came crying to him when their own short-sightedness blindsided them.
Then again, in a sleepy town like this, why would they need to? Nothing unusual or unexpected happened here in Storybrooke.
Nothing at all.
***
He almost missed them in the dark. Gold’s leg burned with fatigue from his rounds collecting rent, and he fumbled the keys. Muttering a curse, he bent down… and saw his keys lying next to a tiny bundle of blue flowers.
Gold blinked, not sure what he was seeing at first. But they remained, a few deep blue flowers shaped like stars, their stems tied together with a braid of grass. He scooped up his keys, then cautiously picked up the little bouquet. There was no note, no indication of why they were there.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Gold hastily unlocked the door and went inside, securing it behind him before turning on the lights. Closer examination revealed nothing, except that they appeared to be picked from the wild rather than purchased from a shop.
With a shrug, Gold tossed the flowers into the rubbish bin and gave it no more thought.
***
Another bouquet appeared on his doorstep the following month, this one of white Queen Anne’s Lace. The month after that it was a bright orange flower, similar to the Queen Anne. Then a delicate sprig of Lily of the Valley. Growing curious about the flowers in spite of himself, Gold looked along the roadsides for the blue flowers and orange ones, then begrudgingly took them to the florist, Moe French, to identify. The orange ones were Butterfly Milkweed, and the blue ones from the very first bundle were called Bellflowers.
When yet another bouquet arrived, this time of a branch with delicate pink blossoms, Gold ordered a book of plant identification so he wouldn’t have to visit French again. Something about the quaking, sniveling florist turned his stomach, and the last thing Gold wanted was for anyone to know about the bouquets.
He wasn’t sure yet why these flowers were being left. If someone was playing a prank, he hadn’t yet discovered its purpose. He had no allergic reactions to the flowers, they didn’t possess thorns or other unpleasant surprises. There were no notes. Just flowers tied together with long grasses.
If these flowers were being left at anyone else’s door, Gold would have suspected someone had a sweetheart or secret admirer. But that option was an impossibility. No one here loved or admired him.
But there was a pattern. The bouquets always arrived on Rent Day. Once he tried staying home and had his enforcer Dove collect the rents. No bouquet appeared on his doorstep, but when Gold went to his pawnshop the next day, a small branch decorated with vibrant oak leaves and a delicate braid of grass sat waiting for him.
Which told Gold that someone was watching his house.
Chapter Text
“What’s this I hear about you purchasing security cameras?”
I’m going to sew shut the flapping lips of that shopkeeper, Gold thought. He smiled and said through his teeth, “Mayor Mills. To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”
The immaculately dressed Regina Mills put her hands on her hips and smiled back just as insincerely, her teeth startlingly white against the bright red of her lipstick. “Really, Gold, you know as well as I do that there is no call for something so drastic.” She glanced around the pawnshop, nose wrinkling with disdain. “There’s nothing here of any real worth. And besides…” She flashed another smile, “who would steal from the resident beast?”
Gold kept his smile firmly in place. “There’s a first time for everything, dearie.”
Regina scowled and his own smirk widened. If there was one thing Regina hated, it was the idea of change. Everything in Storybrooke was arranged to her satisfaction because no one was interested in challenging her.
No one except him.
“You do know the town ordinances prohibit anything so… unsightly to be mounted on business exteriors,” Regina said.
That made Gold pause, eyes narrowed. “Who said anything about exteriors?”
“I assumed–-”
“You assumed wrong, dearie. I’m only interested in what’s inside my shop. Not that it’s any of your business.” He smiled again. “Now, I suggest you get back to… mayor-ing or whatever it is you do around here.”
“You have no idea what I do for this town,” Regina hissed.
“Nor do I care. Now leave. Please.”
At that final word, Regina stiffened, turned on her heel, and left.
Gold let out a slow breath. He had no idea why the Mayor acquiesced when he said “Please,” but he tried to use it sparingly, never sure how far the unexpected grace would extend. But she was taking an interest in his affairs and that would not do. Fortunately, no purchase had actually been made. He’d merely perused the possibilities, but it was clear now that he couldn’t risk installing cameras even at his shop, let alone his house. Regina would want to know why.
And for some reason, the thought of her finding out about the little “gifts” left on his doorstep made his chest feel tight and his stomach lurch with nausea. This was his mystery to unravel. She would not interfere.
He would simply have to find another way.
***
Since the flowers never came with a note, Gold decided he should leave one of his own. The morning of Rent Day, he left a piece of paper securely taped to the door with a very simple message:
Who are you? What do you want?
When Gold returned that evening, the note was gone. On the doorstep lay a stem of golden rod and a sprig of blue bellflowers, which he had not seen since the very first bouquet. This was the first time two different flowers had been left… and unlike previous bouquets, these were laid side by side, not tied together.
Gold was certain this was a message of some kind.
Unfortunately, he had no idea what it meant.
***
“Goldenrod, or Solidago, represents encouragement and growth, although other meanings include caution, good luck, and good fortune. Often given in times of grieving and loss, goldenrods are meant to be a sign of positivity and support. The genus name is derived from the Latin word “Solido”, which means “to heal”, “to save”, “to make whole”, in reference to the supposed healing properties of these plants.”
“Bellflower, or Campanula, is mostly used to convey a feeling of gratitude. There are many meanings attached to this plant. It is a symbol of affection, constancy and everlasting love, but are also known to represent support, delicacy, and humility. However, in some folklore, it is said that fairies planted these blooms to trap people, especially children, on their path.”
Gold leaned back in his chair, eying the flowers laid across his desk. In addition to the book on plant identification, he’d found another on the symbolism associated with them. Flowers had been used to convey meanings and messages for a long time. However, he had no idea if the sender of said flowers knew about those meanings, or had simply picked them because they were available.
It’s a message. You know it is. Gold growled and slammed the book shut. I know, he silently responded to himself. But what is the message?! Who is sending it? WHY?!
The benevolent meanings of the two flowers unnerved him. Assuming the sender knew the meanings behind the flowers, it meant they were sending… support? Expressions of affection or gratitude? Wishing him good fortune?
Literally no one in Storybrooke had such feelings for him. He was their landlord, the dark shadow that loomed over them each month, threatening eviction, homelessness, despair. His tenants looked at him with fear and hatred, the only smiles nervous ones. The only wishes made regarding Mr. Gold were for him to leave, to go away, to disappear.
He made his living, his fortune, by being two steps ahead of everyone else. By making the hard decisions and standing by his contracts to the letter. There was no place for kindness or mercy or… affection. Such things made you soft. Weak. Easy to take advantage of.
He didn’t like the odd feeling that came over him as he looked at the flowers. He wasn’t even sure what to call it… only that it made him uncomfortable. Like he was in someone else’s debt.
Gold swept the flowers off his desk and into the wastebasket.
***
He left a new note the following Rent Day. This one said:
Why are you leaving me flowers?
Throughout the day, he felt irritable and distracted, eager to get the rounds over with and back to his house to see the answer.
This time, there was single, dark purple hyacinth, the bottom of the stem ragged as if it had resisted being picked. But to Gold’s shock, the note was still on his door… with something written on it.
He couldn’t explain the wave of disappointment that swept over him when he read the single word scrawled on the paper in large, muddy letters:
RENT
Notes:
The purple hyacinth represents sorrow and forgiveness. It can symbolize regret for things not said or troubling issues unresolved.
Chapter 4: Meetings (Part 1)
Chapter Text
Some time before…
Ruby sighed as she dumped the burned buns into a bag and stepped outside. She tried not to let Granny’s scolding get to her. Always flippant and flighty, that was Ruby Lucas. But she wanted to be reliable, wanted to be trusted to do things right… they just always seemed to blow up in her face.
Or in this case, burn in the oven when she got too caught up watching a National Geographic documentary about wolves on her phone.
They weren’t even that burnt, at least, not by Ruby’s estimation. You could just cut off the burnt bits… but Granny had high standards for her diner, and that included not serving substandard food to customers.
As she opened the door to toss the bag into the outdoor rubbish bin, a scuffling sound caught her attention. She froze. Barely lit by the amber glow of the alley’s bulb was a dark, hunched figure reaching into the dumpster. The figure also froze, probably startled by Ruby’s sudden appearance. A pair of wide, frightened blue eyes stared at her. Then the figure turned and bolted.
“Wait!” Ruby wasn’t sure why she cried out. Chatting with a mysterious stranger lurking around the dumpster was Not a Good Idea. But Ruby knew, just knew somehow, that this person was not dangerous.
And to her astonishment, the figure paused and looked back.
Ruby slowly raised her hands to show she was unarmed… although that made the bag of burnt buns swing and an idea came to her. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
The figure hesitated, then nodded.
“Um, well… I have these buns here… Granny says they’re too burnt to serve, but if you just scrape off a few pieces, they’re fine…”
As she spoke, the figure edged slowly back towards Ruby, but once again, nothing in their posture or movements scared Ruby. In fact, she felt… protective. As they returned to the amber glow of the alley light, Ruby saw that the person was wrapped up in layers of… something. It was hard to tell in the weird light, but the texture made Ruby think of fur and feathers, leaves and sticks and moss. The person was short, although Ruby wasn’t sure if that was because they were hunched over or if that was their actual height. There weren’t any homeless people in Storybrooke, at least not that Ruby had ever seen, but there were transients who drifted from town to town… at least, that’s what people said without ever having seen one. And unlike what Ruby was expecting, they didn’t smell bad, just… odd. Like mulch, pine needles, and the salty brine of the ocean, with a hint of wood smoke.
Ruby took a step closer and the figure skittered back. “Easy,” Ruby said, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ll just… set this here, shall I?” She placed the bag down and took three steps back into the doorway of the diner.
The blue eyes flashed back up to meet hers, but the rest of their face was swathed in cloth, so Ruby couldn’t make out any features. But something about the mixture of fear and hope in those eyes and the delicate, dirt-streaked hands that reached out to take the bag made Ruby think, Woman.
The woman clutched the bag to her chest and bobbed a little bow of all things to Ruby. Then, after a moment of hesitation, the woman pulled something from underneath her layers of clothing and set it on the ground where Ruby had set the bag. It was a seashell, one of the fan-shaped ones that were common along the beach, but this one had delicate bands of red striped across it. The woman looked at Ruby, raised the bag of buns in one hand and pointed at the shell with the other.
“You’re… giving the shell to me? In… in trade?”
The woman nodded.
“Oh, well, um… thank you. But you don’t need to.”
The woman frowned and pointed again at the shell.
“All right, all right.” She scooped up the shell and put it in her apron pocket. “Thank you. I, um… accept your trade of a seashell for burnt buns.” When Ruby said it aloud, it sounded so ridiculous that she giggled.
A rough sound came from the woman and it took Ruby a moment to realize it was a laugh as well. It sounded bad, like the woman smoked or had a really bad sore throat.
“Um… are you okay?” Dumb question, Ruby. She’s homeless. Of course she’s not okay! “Do you… um, need anything?”
The woman shrugged, then shook her head.
“Okay, well, Tuesday is when we get fresh deliveries in and we get rid of the stale extras… It might not always taste the best, but it hasn’t gone bad and you won’t get sick if you eat it, so if you don’t mind the leftovers…” Ruby trailed off, not sure where she was going with this… offer. It wasn’t like Ruby could do much to actually help. Storybrooke didn’t exactly have a robust infrastructure for helping the homeless. “Um, you might be able to get some more help from the nuns?” To her surprise, the woman shrank back and shook her head in an emphatic and unmistakable, No.
“Ooookay, scratch that idea…” A thought occurred to Ruby and her eyes narrowed. “Hey, did Gold evict you?”
She could have sworn she saw surprise in those blue eyes. Then another emphatic, No.
Ruby sighed and ran her hand through her hair. I can barely take care of myself and here I am trying to help someone else, she thought ruefully.
“Thaaank… you.”
Ruby startled at the raspy sound. “Geez, sister, you sound terrible.” She clamped her hands over her mouth, blood rushing to her face with embarrassment. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, that was really mean, I didn’t mean, I meant-–”
“No… matter. Food… helps. Thank… you.” The words were slow and tortured, but firm and Ruby stopped babbling.
“Um… would you like some tea? You do sound like you could use some.”
The woman shook her head. “Can’t… stay. Danger…ous.”
Curiouser and curiouser. Then Ruby had a thought. “Wait one second! I’ll be right back!” She darted into the diner, scrabbling through the cabinets. Yes! She hurried back out, half expecting the woman to have disappeared into the night, but no, she was still there. “Here.” Ruby handed her another plastic bag. “There’s a box of tea bags, some sugar packets, um, some honey… The teapot doesn’t have a lid, but it should be okay…” She trailed off. The box was squashed, the bottle of honey was nearly gone, and Granny had been on her to throw out the damaged serving teapot for ages. “I’m sorry, it’s not much…”
“It’s… perfect.” Even with her mouth covered by the cloth, Ruby could tell the woman was smiling.
“So… yeah. Tuesdays. Don’t forget.”
The woman nodded, bowed again, and disappeared into the night.
***
She didn’t come every Tuesday. Sometimes Ruby wouldn’t see the odd little woman in her coat of fur and moss for so long she would worry that something had happened to her or that she had left Storybrooke. But inevitably she would return, always with something to “pay” for what Ruby gave her. Stones and glass polished smooth by water. Flower crowns. Charcoal sketches on bark.
The woman never gave Ruby her name, but after coaxing some old stories out of her Gran, she decided to call her visitor “Meg” after the Scottish fae “Meg Mullach,” one of the few female brownies, or house fairies, mentioned in such stories. It seemed oddly fitting, as brownies were described as being ugly and covered in brown hair, but were fiercely loyal to the families they served, asking only for an offering of bread or milk in return.
Ruby couldn’t say how long this had been going on when one evening, while out for a smoke break, she saw the dark familiar shadow of her friend creeping through the alley. Ruby smiled, but then it faded. Something seemed wrong. Meg was moving slowly and hunched, like she was utterly exhausted, or in pain. “Hey, you okay?”
Meg limped closer and pulled something out from under her furs and Ruby stared. It was a pretty little basket woven from willow branches, like something out of a fairy tale illustration. Meg extended it to Ruby.
“For me?” When Meg nodded, Ruby carefully took the basket. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”
Meg dipped her head a little, then fixed Ruby with an almost desperate gaze. “Favor,” she rasped.
“Okay… what do you need?”
“Meetings. Town… hall. You… go.”
Ruby wrinkled her nose. “A town hall meeting? Like, about zoning and stuff? But that’s super-boring. And Mayor Mills and Gold will be there. They’re, like, the only people I know of who really care about that stuff.”
“Please,” Meg begged. “Go. Open… window. So I… can… listen.”
“But… why?”
Meg shook her head, gripping at her throat. Clearly talking was difficult and this was too much to convey. “Please,” she repeated. “Im...port...ant.” She glanced around, then shuffled closer that she had ever been to Ruby before, and whispered, “Don’t… trust… Regina.”
Ruby looked closely at Meg for a long moment. No one really liked Mayor Mills. Ruby hated how she looked down on herself and Granny, as if working in food service was beneath her lofty notice. But Meg sounded… scared. Legit terrified.
Finally, not quite sure why, but thinking that annoying Regina in conjunction with reassuring Meg might be worth a lost evening once a month, Ruby nodded. “Okay. Um… how long?”
“Long… as can.”
“I mean… is it just this meeting?”
“No.”
“How many?”
Meg shrugged, clearly frustrated, although Ruby sensed that the anger was directed inward for not having the answers.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll go until you tell me otherwise. Will that work?”
Bright blue eyes met her with smile lines crinkling the corners.
Ruby sighed. “I hope you know that I’m giving up my Friday night life for this,” she grumbled.
One of Meg’s garbled laughs met her and Meg bowed low before shuffling away into the darkness.
***
Part of Regina wondered why she bothered holding these monthly meetings. Nothing changed in this town, nothing of any significance. That was exactly what she’d asked for. A place where she was in complete control.
But it was good to check in and make sure that the main potential contenders to her power stayed firmly under her thumb.
The first was Snow White, now the meek school teacher Mary Margaret. The spell had taken away Snow’s happy ending, as promised, and now Regina enjoyed crushing any of Mary Margaret’s attempts to assert herself. Any suggestion beyond the basic necessities of school maintenance and repair were co-opted by Regina and given her own signature, promised to find the funding only to explain that the money just wasn’t there and she would have to submit the paperwork all over again… or just trouncing the idea outright.
And per the terms of the curse, Mary Margaret returned month after month, year after year, to be humiliated.
The other person Regina wanted to keep an eye on was Gold. Her former mentor showed no signs of recalling his true self. But despite her confidence that the changes made to the spell would hold, Regina figured that if there was any sign of the curse fracturing, it would manifest with Gold first.
Especially since his little hussy of a maid was missing.
Regina shuffled the papers on her desk and gave her former huntsman (now Storybrooke’s sheriff) Graham a glance. When she’d first awakened in this new world, she spent time reveling in it. Eventually she remembered to check and make sure everything set up by the curse was in place… only to discover that the maid, who should have been safely ensconced in her cell (either in prison or perhaps the mental ward of the hospital), was missing.
She’d sent Graham out to scour the entirety of Storybrooke… with no success. No one had any memories of their past lives in the Enchanted Forest. No one spoke of a crazy woman babbling nonsense about curses and magic. (She did keep an eye on Jefferson Hatter, but the eccentric fashion designer kept to himself and no one paid him any attention.) No one, male or female, tried to befriend Gold. No one would even approach him unless they were desperate. In that way, his life in the Enchanted Forest and his life in Storybrooke were indistinguishable from one another.
But Belle of the Marchlands remained missing.
Regina hoped that the shock of the spell had killed the defiant slut, but had Graham regularly patrol the town and surrounding forest. Just in case.
The few other town residents who attended were either bored retirees or busybodies. Sometimes a new face would appear to make a statement or submit a plea, but Regina usually knew in advance. And she deliberately set the meetings at 5pm on a Friday night to discourage anyone from poking their noses into her business.
So it was a massive shock when Ruby Lucas of all people stalked through the meeting room’s door, all long legs, short skirts, and a glare that wanted to kill. Even though Ruby could no longer shift into a wolf, the glint in her eyes was still predatory in a way that raised Regina’s hackles.
“Did you miss the turn to The Rabbit Hole?” Regina asked in as sweet and innocent a tone as she could muster.
Ruby shot Regina a frigid look, but to Regina’s surprise, the usually mouthy girl didn’t respond. Instead, she stalked past the podium, pushed up one of the windows a crack, then plopped into the seat in front of it. She crossed her arms and glared as if daring anyone else to comment on her presence. Although Ruby looked rather like a small child being sent to a time-out, Regina wasn’t laughing. This was a change, an alteration in routine she couldn’t account for. First she learned Gold was looking into buy security cameras. Now Ruby, who showed no interest in anything outside of a boy’s bedroom or the bottom of a glass, was at a town hall meeting?
Could be a fluke , Regina told herself. Maybe Granny is punishing her for something, or she got thrown out of the bar and has no where else to sulk.
Still, Regina resolved to keep a close eye on werewolf in a waitress uniform.
Chapter Text
Now…
Gold was in a foul mood.
The townsfolk would say that he was always in a bad mood. But even they noticed he was especially sour-faced, not putting on even the veneer of civility he usually donned until someone tried to wriggle out of an agreement.
Gold himself wasn’t entirely sure why this black cloud hovered over him, except that it started the day he received that damning note.
RENT
But that couldn’t be the reason. He collected rents regularly and never felt a single qualm or darkening of his mood regarding it. In fact, Rent Day was usually an enjoyable one where he got to see his power in action. And the idea of some crackpot thinking flowers were an acceptable form of payment was ridiculous. Clearly it was some kind of prank. And Gold swore that as soon as he uncovered the culprit, they would rue the day they were born.
Even the unexpected push-back against Regina failed to lighten his mood for very long. Rudy Lucas, who inexplicably started attending the town hall meetings, usually never said anything, just sat in the back with the window open, either glaring at everyone or fiddling with her phone. One time, Regina asked Ruby to close said window to keep out the chill, but Ruby refused, saying the room reeked of privilege and she needed the fresh air to keep from gagging. He confessed to grinning at her comment; anyone who defied Regina deserved at least that much.
This time though, Ruby stepped up her game, and on a topic he actually agreed with. Regina was once again giving Mary Margaret the runaround regarding funds, but this time she claimed the money had been allocated to demolishing the old lighthouse.
At the mention of property, Gold’s attention sharpened. Storybrooke hadn’t been a port for a very long time, only maintaining the cannery and some modest fishing along the coast. Nothing that demanded the maintenance of the lighthouse, which had fallen into disrepair. While the basic structure was intact, the interior was a mess of rotting boards and rusty metal, not safe for habitation. He’d seen the rusty chain stretched across the gravel road leading to the lighthouse before, the faded “Danger! Keep Out!” sign swaying forlornly. The lighthouse was fairly isolated, but one could see the top of it in the distance, peeking above the trees. Its lamp was long extinguished, but sometimes the glass still glinted with reflected sunlight.
Before he could speak, Ruby’s voice cut through the discussion. “Wait a minute, you can’t just go around demolishing buildings!”
“It hardly counts as a building anymore,” Regina laughed, trying to brush Ruby off.
But the waitress sat up straight and crossed her arms. “The lighthouse has been falling apart for years, and it’s so far away from anything that it wouldn’t matter if it fell down tomorrow. Why is it suddenly so important to get rid of it? How is that more pressing than Mary Margaret’s proposal?”
Gold hid a smile as Regina frowned. “Miss Lucas makes a good point,” he said, giving her a slight nod, and hiding another smile as Ruby’s expression changed from righteous anger to uncertainty. Having the local beast agree with you was undoubtedly an uncomfortable position. “But a more important one is this: who owns the lighthouse? Do you actually have jurisdiction to demolish it?”
At this point, Regina’s face had gone red, and he knew he had her. “I thought as much. You bring up a non-issue without even a modicum of preparation or research beforehand.” He tsked. “Very sloppy, dearie.”
Regina cleared her throat and tried to regain control of the situation. “The lighthouse’s condition is hazardous to the community. Sheriff Graham has reports of juveniles approaching it on a dare, which could lead to injuries…” Here she paused and looked pointedly at Gold’s cane, “...or even death. And if it should catch fire in the height of summer… well, that could be devastating if it spreads.”
“All irrelevant hypotheticals to the question at hand.”
Regina’s eyebrows rose. “You consider the safety of our children irrelevant? Really, that is cold, even for you, Mr. Gold.” She paused, tapped her pursed lips with one manicured finger, then in faux surprise, added, “Actually… especially for you.”
Gold felt the blood drain from his face. Rain-slick road. Sudden green-white glow of a single headlight. “PAPA!”
He gritted his teeth and shoved the memory away, back down into the pit of his soul where such dark things were kept. “If the town does not own the lighthouse, then legally the town cannot demolish it,” he growled. “But if you wish to tangle with the wrong side of the law, Madam Mayor, then by all means, on your head be it.” He rose and limped out of the room.
Now he was finally home and able to dive headfirst into a bottle of scotch, hoping it would numb the pain in his leg and the silence the memories clawing at the inside of his skull.
Regina knew about the accident.
She knew about his son.
She knew it was his fault.
How?
That thought made him pause mid-pour. He’d never told anyone why he walked with a limp. He never told anyone about his past. As far as the town was concerned, he’d appeared, fully formed and already established in his pawnshop with half of the property deeds in his pocket. He had no friends, no confidants, and the accident occurred far enough away from Storybrooke that it was outside local police jurisdiction.
So how did she know? Or... does she know? Am I just being paranoid and jumping to conclusions?
His line of thought was interrupted by a sharp tapping on his door.
But not his front door.
The prankster.
Rage flooded Gold’s veins. He was tired, in pain, and couldn’t get a moment of peace in his own home. He grabbed his cane, hoisting it like a weapon, and stormed to the back door. Then he flicked the lights on and slammed it open.
No one was there.
For a moment, Gold stood there, panting with fury and exertion, cane raised to strike. But there was nothing. Slowly, he lowered his cane and leaned heavily on it, the pain roaring back so fiercely he closed his eyes and groaned. He took a few deep breaths, then opened his eyes.
Lying on the porch floorboards was a scrap of paper with something scrawled on it. Gold closed his eyes again with a wince. He did not want to bend down to pick up that paper. If he did, his leg would collapse.
“Don’t let her… tear down… the lighthouse.”
Gold’s eyes flew open. A raspy voice came from somewhere nearby. He tightened his grip on his cane, eyes scanning the darkness. His house butted up against the forest, and there were no fences to keep intruders out. An oversight I will rectify immediately, part of him thought.
“That’s… what it says.”
He blinked. “What?” he asked, feeling slow and stupid.
“The… note. It says… don’t let her… tear down… the lighthouse.” A pause, then: “I’m… sorry. I didn’t know… your leg… hurt so much… today.”
Gold’s lips curled back in a snarl. “I don’t need your pity,” he hissed. “Who are you? Are you the person leaving notes and… and flowers on my doorstep?”
Silence.
Gold felt his temper flare. “Answer me! Or by God, I’ll go set that damn lighthouse on fire myself!”
There was a noise that sounded like… a gasp? A sob? He couldn’t tell. “Please… don’t,” the voice said. A rustling came from the darkness. “Yes. I left notes. And flowers.”
He nodded. “There. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
“Harder… than you… know.”
Gold frowned. There was a weariness and pain in the voice. He was used to people begging. But this sounded… different. Deeper, somehow. And instead of it making him more angry, he felt… curious. “Come into the light. Where I can see you.”
“Why?”
“Because shouting into the dark is no way to have a proper conversation.”
This time there was a raspy, gargling sound, almost like someone choking. “All… right. But you… sit.”
Gold didn’t like the idea, but it was either that or wind up collapsing on the porch, so he pulled the back door shut behind him, then lurched to the rattan chair sitting next to it. He stifled the gasp of relief as the weight came off his leg. Sitting up straight with his hands clasping the top of his cane, he looked down his nose towards the general area of the voice. “Well? I don’t like to be kept waiting, dearie.”
Another gurgling sound, and then a figure stepped out of the forest shadows and approached the porch.
As they entered the light, Gold could see they wore a long, hooded robe or coat of some kind that had either once been a fur coat or was now so heavily covered in fur, feathers, leaves, moss, hair, and sticks that it might as well have been. He had to admit, it made for good camouflage, breaking up the usual outlines of a person into an indistinguishable lump. The hood, which was just as furry and matted as the rest of the ensemble, was pulled forward to shield the person’s face. Their feet weren’t bare, but he couldn’t tell if they wore shoes, or more wraps of cloth covered in hair and moss. The figure was short, and Gold thought that, even if they were both standing, he would be taller than them, which was a bit impressive, as he was not a tall man himself. They stopped at the foot of the stairs and tilted their head up a little to see him. Pale hands streaked with dirt pushed the hood back a little to reveal some of their face.
Gold still couldn’t see much of them, as a dark cloth was wrapped over their nose, mouth, and throat. But what made him freeze were the bluest pair of eyes he’d ever seen staring directly at him.
Most people shied away from looking at him, averting their gaze in fear or embarrassment. Even Regina rarely met his gaze for more than a few seconds before dismissing him. But these eyes met his without a hint of fear, disdain, or censure, despite threatening their owner only moments before.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, mesmerized, before the blue eyes softened and the raspy voice said, “Hello.”
He blinked. The voice… it didn’t seem right. It didn’t match those eyes. “Erm… hello.” Get a hold of yourself, Gold! he scolded himself, trying to shake off the strange feeling of awkwardness. “What is your name?”
The cloth over the woman’s mouth quirked up in a smile. Yes, a woman, he was sure of it . “Names… have power. You… taught me… that.”
Gold frowned. “Have we met before?”
The smile disappeared. “Not here.”
“Where then?”
“Far away.”
He drummed his fingers on the cane’s handle. “I think I would remember speaking with a homeless woman covered in fur and feathers,” he said impatiently.
The blue eyes looked away and he could feel their absence. “No. You wouldn’t.”
The grief in the woman’s voice hit him like a punch to the gut and he didn’t know why. “If you won’t tell me your name then,” he said finally, “then what should I call you?”
She looked back at him and Gold relaxed minutely. “Straggle…tag.”
“Straggletag? That’s an odd name.”
Her smile returned. “You… have no room… to talk.”
“ ‘Gold’ “ is hardly a strange name.”
“But what about… your first name?”
He opened his mouth to reply… then stopped. He was Mr. Gold, or just Gold. He always had been. But he had a first name, he was sure… but when he reached for it… there was nothing.
“You don’t… remember it… do you?”
Gold’s head snapped up, looking sharply at Straggletag. She sounded sad… but unsurprised. “I just don’t use it,” he said.
“No. Here… you don’t have one. She… took it.”
He snorted. “No one can ‘take’ someone else’s name. Or erase it, as you seem to be implying.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Then look.”
“Pardon?”
“Look for it. Your name. Tell me… if you find it.”
“I suppose you just happen to know what it is.”
“Yes.”
Her simple statement caught him by surprise. “Then why ask me?”
“Because… I wanted to know… if you remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Anything. Everything.” She looked away, and again, Gold got the impression of crushing sorrow. And he didn’t want her to be sad.
The oddly protective desire startled him. Why? I just met this woman, who won’t give me her name and seems to have been stalking me for months. He cleared his throat. “We’ve gotten off topic. Why exactly do you want to save the lighthouse?”
“I… live there.”
Gold stared. “You’re joking.”
Straggletag shook her head.
“It’s unlivable. A deathtrap.”
She raised her chin, blue eyes flashing with pride. “I fixed it.”
Gold barked a laugh. “Impossible.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Care… to wager?”
He leaned forward over his cane. “I don’t gamble, dearie. I make deals.”
“Then deal. You come… visit. Me. At lighthouse.” Straggletag took a breath and Gold noticed that her voice was getting rougher and raspier. “If good… safe place… you save. If not… tear down. Deal?”
Gold frowned. “If the town owns the lighthouse, or the land it’s on, then the mayor has final say. Even if you’ve done what you claim, I wouldn’t be able to uphold my end of the deal.”
“Then check! Look! Records! Hall!” The words burst out of her, and suddenly she doubled over, coughing and wheezing.
He rose and took a step towards her, but she waved him away. Cautious, but concerned, Gold said, “Wait here,” then retreated into the house. He grabbed a cup, filled it with water from the sink, then hurried back to the porch, wondering if Straggletag would still be there.
She was. He limped down the three steps and extended the cup to her. Blue eyes watering, she reached out with shaking hands and took it from him, but to his surprise, she turned away. He heard the cloth slip from her skin and the gulps of water. Then a pause.
“You kept it.”
There was awe and wonder in her whisper, along with a faint accent that was no longer muffled by cloth.
“What?”
A rustle, and the cloth was back over Straggletag’s mouth and nose as she turned back to him. “The cup. You kept it.”
Gold looked down and saw her cradling the cup he’d handed to her as if it was the most precious thing in the world. He hadn’t even looked at what he’d grabbed, but it seemed he’d instinctively gone for his usual: a white teacup with blue accents and a chip in the rim. “Sorry, I should have grabbed one that wouldn’t cut you by accident.”
“No!” Straggletag clutched at the cup protectively. “No, it’s… it’s perfect.” She looked down at the delicate porcelain with something like affection in her eyes, gently rubbing it with her thumb.
He frowned, wondering if this woman was in fact just a crazy homeless person. “It’s just a cup.”
Her eyes closed and to his consternation, tears started running down her face. “You… said that… last time… too.”
This time, a chill went down his spine. No one else had seen this cup before. Despite the many, many finer pieces he possessed, this was the one he used the most, but only in the privacy of his home. How long has she been watching me? “I think you should go now,” he said in as cool and professional a tone as possible.
Straggletag sighed. “Yes.” She slowly handed the cup back to him, careful not to let their fingers touch. Then she backed away a few steps before turning and walking back towards the forest. Something about it made Gold’s heart spasm painfully.
“I’ll check!” he blurted.
Straggletag paused and turned back towards him.
“I’ll check,” he repeated. “The land records. I’ll find out who owns the lighthouse. Then… then we’ll see about that deal.”
She was still for a moment. Then, to his shock, Straggletag gave a perfect curtsy, using the edges of her strange fur-leaf coat like the bell of a skirt. “Thank you.” Then she silently melted back into the trees and was gone.
Notes:
And they meet at last! I do love me some slow-burn and Gold's paranoia makes it easy to play into.
We also finally get to the piece that I lifted straight from Jim Henson's "The Storyteller." For those of you who may not get the reference, Belle's outfit of "fur and feathers" and her alias of "Straggletag" are from Episode 8 ("Sapsorrow") which you can watch in full on YouTube.
Also, shout-out to the AO3 author TheStraggleTag for their wonderful Rumbelle fics! You are part of the reason I started writing this. :-)
Chapter 6: Tea
Notes:
Trigger warning for descriptions of the aftermath of violence. (No violence happens IN this chapter.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Gold looked up at the derelict lighthouse and wondered if he had lost his mind.
He followed through with Staggletag’s request to research ownership of the lighthouse. It took longer than he would have liked, digging through dusty files in the town hall’s basement, but finally tracked down the elusive paperwork. Unsure how to alert Straggletag, Gold decided to leave a short note on his back door. At the very least, he knew she’d return the following Rent Day.
But Straggletag must have been watching, because the following morning, his note was gone, replaced by one written in a graceful hand with pencil, very unlike the previous communication traced in mud:
Please come Wednesday, 3:00pm
She didn’t need to say where.
And so, Gold found himself leaning against the door of his Cadillac, bracing against the stiff ocean breeze. The one saving grace of the location was that the ground was hard and thus did not show his tire tracks. The road also looped around the seaside bluff so that no one would see his Cadillac parked by the crumbling structure.
It was not a huge lighthouse, only four stories tall, but it was built into a promontory that gave it extra height without the need for further construction. The cottage that the lighthouse keeper would have lived in had collapsed long ago, leaving a gaping hole clogged with fallen masonry and timber that led into the base of the lighthouse itself. Once a gleaming white, the lighthouse’s outer walls were ragged and peeling, the cheap paint worn away by wind, salt, and time. One of the windows he could see was broken.
A raucous caw broke through the wind and roar of the surf. Gold looked up and, to his surprise, saw crows instead of seagulls burst from their perches on the iron railing that surrounded the lighthouse lamp. They wheeled in the sky like small vultures… except for a pair that swooped down towards him. One landed on the branch of a stunted spruce tree nearby, while the other brazenly landed on the hood of Gold’s car.
He glared at the bird. “If you… evacuate on my car, I’ll stuff you and glue you to one of Jefferson’s hats.”
The crow tilted its head at him, as if considering his words, then made a clicking noise that sounded rather like a chuckle or laugh and flew towards the tower with another “Caw!” The one on the branch remained silent, watching him with beady black eyes. The entire interaction gave him and uneasy feeling.
Get a hold of yourself, Gold, he thought. They’re just birds.
But still, he hesitated. He didn’t understand why he’d done as Straggletag asked, wasting valuable time chasing shadows. Why the sight of her walking away that night squeezed his chest with something close to pain. Her blue eyes haunted him in dreams he couldn’t remember any other details of upon waking.
Gold did not care for these sensations. He was used to being in control, of understanding desires and motivations and how to manipulate them to get the reaction he wanted. Straggletag threw the carefully calibrated gears of his life out of alignment… and he didn’t know why.
His wary musings were interrupted by the sight of a mop of weeds and hair popping up over the edge of the path that led down the lighthouse to the narrow beach. The camouflage was not as ominous or mysterious-looking in broad daylight. Gold wondered why she even bothered this far away from town.
Straggletag raised her hand in greeting, the furred and feathered cloak rippling in the wind. Gold nodded, turned back to the car and retrieved a small briefcase, then limped up the incline towards her.
As he approached, a pair of crows (the same ones?) swooped towards him, crowing aggressively. He instinctively ducked, feeling the rush of air from their wings as they passed.
“No!” Straggletag yelled. She made a sound rather like a crow herself, then distinctly said, “Friend! Friend!”
Gold looked up to see one of the crows perching on her outstretched arm. The other was on her shoulder. She murmured softly to them as Gold slowly approached, wary of another attack.
She still had the lower half of her face covered in cloth, but her eyes and body language were so expressive, he didn’t need to see her mouth to tell she was concerned and embarrassed. “Sorry,” she rasped. “They’re protective.”
His eyebrows rose. “Tame crows?” he asked. Was she calling the crows friends? Or was she telling the crows that… he was a friend? Don’t ask that.
“No. Just friendly. Familiar. Still wild… creatures. But they… listen… and understand. Like… children.”
“I see.” He didn’t quite, but standing out in the open like this with her was making him twitchy. Like it was dangerous. As if anyone else would be out here, he scoffed at himself. Gold raised the briefcase slightly. “I found out what you wanted to know.”
Straggletag nodded, then motioned for him to follow. The crow on her arm hopped to her shoulder so she was flanked by black feathers. Like one of the witches from Macbeth, he thought. Or the Norse god Odin with his ravens. What were they called? Thought and Memory? How apt, since she seems to think I should remember her.
A set of old driftwood steps led down to the narrow beach and the base of the lighthouse. Large boulders, worn smooth by the tides, broke up the waves before they could reach the lighthouse, sending spray into the air. Straggletag led him to the base of an ancient pine tree clinging to the side of the bluff. The roots twisted through rock and dirt like desperate fingers scrabbling for purchase in the face of the ocean’s relentless battering.
There was a narrow space between the contorted trunk and the side of the lighthouse. It looked barely large enough to allow the passage of Straggletag, let alone himself. The crows took flight from Straggletag’s shoulders as she approached the gap, then paused and turned to look back at him. “Dark inside. Narrow. Trust me?” And she held out her hand.
Last time, even with the light from his back porch, Gold hadn’t seen Straggletag very clearly. She was a bit of a muddle in his memory from that night, more of an impression than a proper picture. He remembered her hands as small and stained with dirt or soot. But even if that had been the case then, now her hand was bare and clean, pale skin standing out in stark contrast to the mossy sleeve it extended from.
Gold didn’t answer her question, but became aware that he’d been staring at her hand for far too long. He glanced up to look at her face, but she said nothing, expressed nothing but patience. Like she was willing to stand there forever, waiting for him.
He mentally berated himself for such nonsensical thoughts and started to reach out… but realized he had to juggle the briefcase and his cane. Trying to hold both with one hand would be awkward, but there was nothing for it.
“May I?” Straggletag asked.
Gold’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, a biting retort on the tip of his tongue. But it died when she smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners and she wiggled her fingers. “Free hand,” she said, a tease in her voice.
With a huff, Gold begrudgingly held out the briefcase. Straggletag took it, then wrapped the fingers of her free hand around his own and he startled. “You’re cold,” he blurted.
Straggletag blinked. “I…” She stopped and shook her head. “Inside. Warm.” She gently tugged and Gold found himself following her into the gap.
It was a tight fit. For once in his life, Gold was glad he was not a tall or broad-shouldered man. He’d never have made it otherwise. And while he didn’t have an issue with small spaces, the darkness was all-encompassing. What little light had filtered in before was now blocked by his own body, and he instinctively tightened his grip on Straggletag’s hand. To his surprise, she squeezed back. It felt… reassuring. Her hand was slowly warming up in his, and he noticed that they were calloused and rough from exposure to the outdoors. Like her raspy voice, something about that roughness seemed wrong… but her hand still fit perfectly in his.
The darkness was disorienting, so he wasn’t entirely sure how long it took before Straggletag stopped, he knew it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two. There was a rustling and a slight thump, then some scrabbling against metal and wood. He wondered if he should let go of Straggletag so she would have both hands free.
Before he could, the air changed and he heard the thump of a door as it swung back, but no creaking of ancient hinges like he’d expected. Straggletag tugged his hand, and the change of angle suggested she bent down. The briefcase. She set it down to open the door. It was still dark and the continuation of it was starting to get to him.
The sand and dirt beneath his feet gave way to the click of stone under his cane and the cool ocean air stilled into something slightly warmer.
“Stay still. One moment,” Straggletag murmured, giving his hand another squeeze before she let go.
The loss of contact almost made him stagger. What is wrong with me? Gold thought. “Afraid of the dark, you coward?” his father’s voice sneered in his mind. “Little baby needs his hand held?” Gold grit his teeth and gripped the handle of his cane.
Light flared, and the sudden change made his eyes water. Straggletag held an oil lamp in one hand and his briefcase in the other. She was looked at him. “All right?” she asked.
Gold schooled his face back into the cool, professional mask he always wore. “Of course.” He glanced around the room to evade her gaze.
They were clearly in the base of the lighthouse. Large, rusted tanks that must have once held oil or other fuel, or perhaps even fresh water filled much of the space. The light from Straggletag’s lamp did not reach the far corners, but he noticed the door they must have come through had freshly oiled hinges. An empty hook must have held the lamp in readiness. He turned and saw the steps of a staircase spiraling into the darkness above.
“Steps,” Straggletag said. “Sorry.”
Gold snorted. “No one designed lighthouses to be staffed by cripples,” he said, aiming for disinterest, but it sounded bitter to his ears. He held out his hand for the briefcase, but Straggletag shook her head. “Railing,” she said. “Use. Go slow.”
“Are you going to be monosyllabic this entire time?” Gold asked sharply. He took a breath, trying to calm his unexpectedly jangled nerves.
“Saving words,” she replied, appearing unaffected by his temper. Then she started to climb and, having little choice, Gold followed.
He soon saw that Straggletag’s admonition to go slow was not just for his benefit, but for the sake of the staircase as well. Although it was in far better shape than it had any right to be, the metal still creaked and some of the steps felt like they might give way. At least the spiral staircase was bolted to the wall of the lighthouse rather than freestanding, and that gave it more stability that it otherwise might have.
Still, his leg felt like it was on fire by the time they reached a landing with a door.
The stairs continued farther, but this was apparently their destination. Straggletag opened the unremarkable-looking grey door and stepped inside. Gold followed… and found himself once more taken aback.
Instead of the ratty nest he expected a homeless woman to be living in, he stepped into a perfectly neat, clean, and tidy space. The small cast-iron stove in the middle of the room was undoubtedly original to the lighthouse, but it was scoured clear of any grime it may have accumulated. The small table, two chairs, and various shelves were clearly salvaged from dumpsters, considering none of them matched, but each were clean and had been repaired in some fashion or another. He was a little surprised to see two of everything, always mismatched: two plates, two bowls, two mugs, two sets of silverware. An unbroken window overlooking the ocean let light stream into the room, making it bright and cheerful. There was a bench set in front of the window with patched cushions and threadbare blankets scattered across it.
“Please sit,” Straggletag said, motioning to the chairs, and set his briefcase on the table. The oil lamp was hung on a hook by the stove and she stepped behind a curtain stretched across a portion of the room.
Despite the pain in his leg, Gold hobbled towards the window, drawn to the pair of bookcases that flanked it. One had been pressed into service as a makeshift kitchen cupboard. But the other still fulfilled its original purpose… and it was stuffed with books. Many were scuffed and worn, some were falling apart, and one or two looked to be in decent condition. But the most interesting aspect was the eclectic subject matter and age range. A guide to astronomy. A selection of detective stories. An encyclopedia of edible herbs and mushrooms. A children’s book called How Things Work. A collection of fairy tales. A book on soap-making. Mother Goose rhymes. A science fiction novel.
Curious, Gold plucked the How Things Work book from the shelf flipped through. It seemed that it was meant to introduce children to technology, explaining things like plumbing and electricity. To his surprise, the book was full of notes scribbled on the margins. On a page about cars and internal combustion engines, there was a large note circled several times that read: “Cars are horseless carriages. DO NOT BE AFRAID! THIS IS NORMAL HERE!”
He heard the curtain rustle behind him and Gold quickly slipped the book back into place before turning around.
Straggletag had removed her cloak of fur and feathers and now stood clad in a long, simple T-shirt dress that seemed constructed of fabric patches. Gold guessed that Straggletag must have made it herself. While she apparently had little grasp of how to handle more than a simple pattern, the stitches holding the pieces together were small and neat, although the weave and weft of them suggested she was more familiar with embroidery than regular sewing. A belt clinched the waist of the dress and Gold realized that Straggletag was too thin, even for her short height. The baggy dress, the extra notches pierced in the old belt, and the pallor of her skin all spoke to too little food for too long a time.
Without the hood of the cloak, he could see that Straggletag’s hair was a pretty deep auburn color, pulled back in a loose ponytail. But her lower face and neck were still swathed in black cloth.
“Tea?” she asked.
“Ah… yes. Please.” Gold hobbled back to the table and tried not to let his relief show at finally taking the weight off his leg. He rubbed at it surreptitiously as Straggletag busied herself at the little iron stove, placing a dented kettle on to boil. A few minutes later, a pair of mismatched teacups chipped saucers were on the table, along with some sugar packets, teabags, a pair of spoons, a knife, a plate with half a loaf of hard bread, and a suspiciously familiar (albeit lidless) teapot. “Did you take this from Granny’s Diner?”
“Was being thrown out,” Straggletag said, pouring hot water into the teapot, setting the kettle aside, then using a scallop seashell as an impromptu lid. With practiced ease, she unwrapped two teabags, one for each cup, two scoops of sugar into his and three into hers, then poured the hot water. “Sorry, no milk. Creamer?” She offered a powdered creamer cup (probably also from Granny’s) but Gold shook his head. “Black is fine. Powdered creamer tastes rather akin to sawdust.”
Straggletag made a cough-like sound as she stirred the tea, and it took Gold a moment to realize she was laughing. Or trying to. “How are you going to drink tea wearing that?” he asked.
She froze, eyes flicking between the cups and him, then down to the tabletop. “Can face away,” she said.
“That isn’t necessary.”
Straggletag’ looked at him. “Are you certain?” she whispered. “It’s not a pretty sight.”
“I promise I won’t run away,” he said with a slight smirk, raising the handle of his cane a little.
Another cough-laugh, then Straggletag nodded in agreement. Then she turned away and slowly unwrapped the black cloth. With a sigh, she tossed it towards the bench at the window, then turned back around and sank into her seat, her eyes fixed on him as she awaited his reaction.
Gold suspected that she kept her face covered to hide her identity, or perhaps protect her face from the elements. He’d wondered about her voice, if she was suffering from some illness that made speech rough and difficult. But he wasn’t prepared for the rage that swept through him at the sight of her face.
Someone had seen fit to disfigure the young woman and then cut her throat.
Several deep cuts, long healed, but still starkly visible stood out against her pale skin. One cheek looked like something had dug its claws in furrows across the tender flesh. The other side was more like the crude lines of a knife trying to carve a letter but gave up partway through. Another scar curled down the side of her mouth and across her chin.
But the worst was the ragged knot of scarring across her neck. Someone had tried to slit her throat, but hadn’t quite managed it. Straggletag had clearly survived the attack… but the weapon must have nicked her larynx or vocal cords in some way that robbed her of her voice.
Gold didn’t realize he’d moved until his fingers brushed Straggletag’s cheek. He froze, horrified at what he’d done, but she didn’t pull away. In fact, she didn’t seem afraid at all. Her expression held surprise and… a little desperation. He forced himself to slowly lower his hand and return to his seat. “Who did this to you?” he growled, and was surprised at how his voice shook. A part of his mind was yelling at him to calm down, why are you overreacting so badly?
Someone hurt her, he growled to that part.
Yes, clearly, it responded, but why do you care?
Straggletag looked away. “I don’t think you’re ready for that answer yet,” she whispered.
“What the bloody hell does that mean?!”
This time she looked at him, her gaze calm. “If I told you now, you wouldn’t believe me.”
He glared at her, hands clenched into fists. “Try me.”
She shook her head firmly. “I promise I will tell you. But not right now. Please?”
Gold took a deep breath and let it out slowly with a nod. What happened to Straggletag was clearly traumatic. If she wasn’t ready to talk, he had no right to continue prying. Besides, she had no real reason to trust him.
Then why are you trusting her? the suspicious voice asked. Gold ignored it, and took a sip of his tea. He blinked in surprise, then took another sip. “The tea… it’s good.”
Straggletag smiled and, even scarred as it was, her entire face lit up. “You sound surprised,” she whispered. “Didn’t think I could make a good cup of tea?”
“It’s not that, it’s just–-” He stopped. How did you know how I like my tea? It was exactly right. But he couldn’t ask that. So he changed the topic and said, “I honestly wasn’t expecting you to have a… a home here. Stairs and the exterior notwithstanding.”
Her face fell a little. “It’s not home. Not really. It’s… just a place to stay. But I’m glad you approve.”
“How did you manage it?”
“A lot of time, a lot of patience… and a little help from my friends.” She waved her hand towards the books on their shelves with a fond smile.
“You found a book on lighthouse repair?”
“Something close. The library has everything.”
Gold’s eyebrows rose. “The library? You mean, the one in Storybrooke?” When she nodded, he shook his head in denial. “That place has been closed for years. Maybe decades.”
Straggletag’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “But the books are still there. And I am very, very good with locks.”
“You picked the lock on the library.”
“Yes.”
“And stole books.”
She frowned. “Borrowed.”
“Excuse me, borrowed books from the library, to repair a floor in a derelict lighthouse.”
“Yes.”
Gold stared at her a moment and, to his own surprise, he laughed. How long had it been since he’d laughed in genuine amusement? The smile on her face made his own warm, and he self-consciously cleared his throat. “Well, it seems that you held up your end of the deal, and so I must do the same.”
She leaned forward. “You said you found something?” she said in an eager whisper.
“Yes.” Gold paused, noticing how she wasn’t pausing between words. “I’m guessing whispering is easier for you than speaking at regular volume?”
“Yes. I’ll have to stop eventually. But it’s easier. I can’t whisper through the cloth.”
“Well, for now, all you need to do is drink your tea and listen. This will take a while.” He raised an eyebrow. “If you want all the boring details, that is.”
She smiled, eyes sparkling. “Oh, yes. Please.”
So Gold settled in and, between sips of tea, relayed what he had uncovered to his unconventional hostess.
While operational lighthouses were under jurisdiction of the Coast Guard, they could be transferred to state or local governments, nonprofit, historical, or educational organizations, or even to private citizens. Apparently, Storybrooke’s lighthouse was once privately owned by a man named Solomon Blue, but he died without heirs or a will stipulating what was to be done with it. In such cases, the state normally would take possession, but for some reason the state of Maine had never laid claim to what it rightfully owned.
“The good news is, the mayor doesn’t have jurisdiction over the lighthouse, and thus can’t knock it down,” Gold concluded. “The bad news is, I don’t own it either and unless you’ve been living here for twenty years, you can’t claim adverse possession, or ‘squatter’s rights,’ over the property.”
Straggletag’s bright expression dimmed and she fiddled with her teacup. “It might be twenty years at this point,” she whispered. “I can’t tell. Time doesn’t move here.”
Gold shifted uncomfortably. He was suddenly very aware of how young she was… and by comparison, how old he was. “Well, if you arrived here twenty years ago, you would have been… what? Ten? Younger, perhaps?” When were you attacked? Have you been alone and in pain all this time?
She shook her head, distress etched into her features. “No, no, you don’t understand. You don’t see. No one does. They don’t change. They don’t age. Every year, a mirror of the last. And no one notices! ”
With that, Straggletag sharply pushed away from the table, chair clattering to the floor, and retreated to the far side of the room. She wrapped tightly around herself and trembled.
Gold froze, unsure of what to do. Straggletag had seemed so… normal, up until that point. He’d almost forgotten that she was probably suffering from some kind of mental illness, a common ailment of the homeless. It made sense.
What didn’t make sense was how much her distress affected him.
He cautiously got to his feet and limped over to her. As he approached, Gold could hear Straggletag muttering to herself: “Do the brave thing. Bravery will follow. Do the brave thing. Bravery will follow. Do the brave thing…”
Not wanting to scare her further, he said softly, “Straggletag?”
The muttering stopped, but she didn’t turn around.
“I’m… sorry. For upsetting you.” It sounded inadequate to his ears, but he wasn’t sure what else to offer.
Straggletag straightened her shoulders, quickly wiped at her face, then turned back to him with a faint smile. “Not your fault. I’ve… been on my own a while. Sometimes I’m too much in my own head.” She reached out and took his hand. “Thank you. For looking. And for talking. I… I appreciate it. A lot.” Her fingers tightened around his for a moment, then let go.
“Ah… you’re welcome.”
For a moment they stood there awkwardly. Then Straggletag whispered, “So… what now? Should I look for another place to live?”
Gold had no idea where else would provide as cozy a shelter (although how did she manage to not freeze in the winter?) and the thought of her being forced out made anger curl in his gut. “I wouldn’t put it past Regina to still try to knock this place down if she really puts her mind to it. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Still, I might be able to hold her off if I petition to have the site preserved as a historic landmark.”
Straggletag flinched at the mention of Regina, but her blue eyes sparked with interest at his proposal. “A delay would help… but someone would be out here eventually, yes? To restore it if your petition works.”
“Yes, but it would give you time to… find new accommodations. I’m sure a job could be found in town…” He trailed off at the look of stark terror that came over Straggletag’s face.
“I can’t. I can’t go into town.”
“Are you… afraid of what they may say?” Gold asked as gently as possible. While his opinion of the inhabitants of Storybrooke was low, he didn’t think they would be cruel enough to shun a young woman in need, scars or no scars.
But Straggletag shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself again, shaking harder than before. “The queen.”
Gold thought he must have misheard. “The… queen?”
“Regina.”
Rather apt title, if anachronistic, he thought, but the faint amusement at the description of the mayor was doused by the rage roiling back into his gut. “Does Regina have something to do with what happened to you?”
Tears filled Straggletag’s eyes. “Don’t ask. Please don’t ask. Not now. You don’t… you don’t know.” She covered her face and sank to her haunches, trying to muffle the sobs. “I miss you.”
By this point, Gold wasn’t sure what she was talking about anymore. But she was crying and that was unacceptable. He righted Straggletag’s fallen chair and sat down next to her. Not the most gentlemanly move, but he didn’t think his leg would allow him to kneel down, let alone get back up again. So he sat and gently rubbed Straggletag’s back in soothing circles. His aunties did the same for him when he was upset as a boy, and he hoped it would bring a little comfort.
It seemed to work. The tense muscles in her back slowly relaxed and her sobs eased. For a few minutes they remained quietly like that, Straggletag on the floor, Gold rubbing her back even though she was no longer crying. Finally, a little reluctantly, he asked, “Better?”
She let out a deep sigh. “Yes. Thank you.”
Gold removed his hand, then glanced towards the window. The sun was starting to set. “I should go,” he said.
Straggletag nodded and stood, brushing her skirt and not looking at him. “Thank you for coming. I hope you liked the tea.”
“It was perfect,” he said honestly, and was rewarded with a quick, shy smile. Funny how she seemed more embarrassed by him seeing her tears than her scars. “I’ll keep you updated on my progress with the petition.” And if I find a place for you, he added silently.
She nodded and silently led him back down the lighthouse stairs and through the hidden passage to the beach. He gritted his teeth going back up the steps to where his Cadillac was parked. His leg hurt like hell; the rest in Straggletag’s room wasn’t enough to let it recover.
Gold paused at the top of the steps to catch his breath, and revel in the sight of his car only a short distance away. He would make it. But a thought stopped him and he turned to look at Straggletag. “Why?” he asked.
Her head tilted to one side, a look of confusion on her face.
He wet his lips. “Why were you leaving flowers?” Gold clarified. “You didn’t know if I owned the lighthouse or not. So why leave the note saying it was rent?”
Straggletag opened her mouth to answer, but a sudden gust of wind tore her words away. So she stepped close to him, standing on tiptoes to place her lips close to his ear so he could hear her whispered reply: “Would you have believed it if the note said I left the flowers because I wanted to be your friend?”
Gold blinked, stunned into silence. All he could do was stare at Straggletag as she stepped away from him. She smiled sadly, then dipped into another curtsy before vanishing back down the steps to the shore.
Notes:
Sorry for the delay; this chapter really wanted to fight me. Some parts flowed quickly while others had to marinate for a bit before joining the rest. Hope you folks enjoy the first real, proper conversation between Rumple and Belle in this fic! (You can see part of him still recognizes Belle, even if it isn't on a conscious level.)
All medical and legal inaccuracies are my own. I did try to do some research, especially on vocal injuries, but this is a fantasy fanfic so... meh. Close enough and magic/luck can excuse the rest.
The description of Belle's facial scars is based on those suffered by Cathy Chandler (played by Linda Hamilton) in the first episode of the 1987 "Beauty and the Beast" TV show.
Chapter Text
Collecting rent was Gold’s bread and butter, but what he excelled at was making deals. While his tenants lamented when he would not grant exceptions to his contracts (which they signed, by the way), Gold prided himself on being fair. His expectations were clear, the benefits received by the undersigned made obvious, and the consequences for failure to comply clearly stated. Gold did not believe in concealing devious clauses with fancy language no one could understand. Not with his usual clientele anyway.
But now he found himself essentially bribing Storybrooke to stand up against Mayor Mills.
Gold knew that if he brought a petition to save the lighthouse directly himself, Regina would want to know why and the rest of the town would probably support her. No one would ever accuse him of trying to preserve the building because of sentimentality or altruism, and the townsfolk had no stake it in at all. But if their landlord wanted it, they would be happy to deny him another piece of their town.
All this meant Gold had to find proxies to bring the petition on his behalf and to support it in order to mask his own involvement.
He started with Ruby.
Since she was the one who initially objected to Regina’s plan, it made sense to have her be the public head of the enterprise. Mary Margaret was more respectable, but anything she proposed was doomed to failure thanks to Regina’s singular and targeted dislike for the school teacher. So Ruby it had to be.
It was rare for Gold to actually eat in at Granny’s Diner, although he was fond enough of the burgers to get carryout now and then. He picked a slow time of day so Ruby would have no excuse to dodge him.
“Join me a moment, Miss Lucas?” he asked when she came back with his order of double hamburgers with fries.
Her eyes darted around the diner for a moment, looking for a way out, and Gold smirked, knowing he had her. With a glare, Ruby plopped into the seat across from him… although her eyes widened a bit in surprise when he handed her the second burger and half the fries.
“What do you want, Mr. Gold?” she asked, not touching the food, as if it had been poisoned by his mere presence.
“Your continued defense of Storybrooke’s lighthouse,” Gold replied.
Ruby stared, then narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s it to you?”
Gold took a leisurely bite of his burger before replying. “I abhor petty quarrels and waste, Miss Lucas, and Mayor Mills’ proposition to demolish the lighthouse contains both. First, she only made it to block Miss Blanchard’s request. Whatever personal vendetta lies between them, the town’s funds should not be involved. Second, while the lighthouse may no longer be required for Storybrooke to survive, it still serves as a both a historical landmark and a business opportunity.”
“What kind of business?”
“A tourist attraction, a vacation home, a luxury apartment, a home for the Storybrooke Historical Society…” Gold hid a smile when Ruby’s eyes sharpened. Granny Lucas was part of the historical society, which had petitioned for space in Storybrooke before to house its records and donated paraphernalia. Attempts to reopen or repurpose the library hadn’t gone anywhere, so the items were stuck in storage, the rental payments eating into the diner’s earnings, or piled up in the small home shared by the Lucas women.
Ruby absently nibbled on a fry. “The lighthouse is too far out of town. There wouldn’t be enough foot traffic.”
Gold’s estimation of Ruby’s intelligent went up a few notches. She had the reputation of a ditzy, boy-crazy girl, but there was a shrewdness about her. Perhaps her experience working so closely with her grandmother at the diner had imparted some business sense. “If the area was developed into a beach-side park, I think people who want a break from the town’s confines would enjoy the change in scenery,” Gold said. “A small playground, a few food vendors, seasonal activities… It might be a mostly seasonal endeavor, but with far greater chance of succeeding in a unique historical building on the outskirts than in the center of Regina’s influence.”
She considered it, then shook her head with a frown. “The Society is totally voluntary. They don’t even collect dues. Even if the petition passed, they have no money to renovate or maintain it. Have you been to look at it?”
“Yes, and I’ll grant you, it needs work. That’s where I come in.”
“Mr. Gold, I thought you were a landlord and a pawnbroker, not a handyman.”
Her dry response made Gold think of Straggletag and he smiled. “No, but I certainly have the funds to hire them.”
Ruby sat back in the booth, arms crossed, and nodded as if a suspicion had been confirmed. “So you’re going to buy the lighthouse.”
“Not quite. The petition I have in mind will place the lighthouse in a trust as a historical landmark, beyond the reach of political whims. I provide the seed money for the trust, funds for local contractors to do the repairs, and receive a place on the board of trustees, along with whomever the Historical Society elects to those positions. I receive a small return on my investment–”
“In other words, rent money.”
“--and Storybrooke retains a piece of its history. Your grandmother and her fellow philanthropists gain a place for their relics, you regain a significant portion of your floor space,” (Ruby winced, and Gold smothered another smirk), “several local businesses gain job opportunities, and Regina has her ill-thought plans thwarted.” He spread his hands wide. “Everyone benefits.”
He expected Ruby to agree with the idea, even if it wasn’t finalized right there. But she remained thoughtful, fiddling with another fry. “That’s an awful lot of money, even for you.” She dropped the fry and leaned closer, hands folded under her chin as she studied him with glittering eyes and flared nostrils, like she was trying to sniff out any lies. “Especially just to piss off the mayor. Didn’t you say earlier that you hated petty quarrels and waste?”
Gold leaned closer as well and gave her a smile, this one full of teeth. “Never said I wasn’t petty, now did I, dearie? And if I get what I want, then it’s hardly a waste.”
Ruby pulled back like he’d just bit her and eyed him warily. For a second, he wondered if he’d just ruined his chance.
“Let me talk to Granny about it.”
He nodded, then withdrew a manila envelope from the briefcase sitting beside him in the booth. “Inside is a preliminary draft of the petition, plus a proposed charter for the trust and Historical Society and my card should you have any questions.”
It was a dismissal and Ruby took it as such. She stood and took a step away, then paused when he gestured at the untouched burger and fries. “Don’t forget your lunch, dearie.”
“Thanks, Mr. Gold, but I’ve got enough food for thought at the moment,” she replied, and hurried away.
***
The rest of the week was spent on similar deals, making arrangements with various members of the community. None of them refused him, but none committed without seeing a draft of the petition and proposed contract first. This wasn’t a surprise to Gold and for once he was glad for the general store’s copy machine; his own modest printer would have given up the ghost if pressed to print out so much paper.
By the time the next town meeting arrived, Regina didn’t stand a chance.
***
The town hall meeting was the biggest in Storybrooke’s history and Regina was incensed. It felt like the entire town had shown up to protect the demolition of the lighthouse and to support a petition (brought by Ruby Lucas of all people!) that would make it a protected historical site. Regina hadn’t even known there was a Historical Society for Storybrooke.
After all, how could a town created by a curse have a history?
But thanks to the memories and lives provided by the curse, the people thought there was, and Regina could not protest. If she did, she would either sound mad, or worse, risk unraveling the spell. What the consequences of that would be, she wasn’t sure. Would breaking the curse transport them all back to the Enchanted Forest? Or would they remain here in the Land Without Magic?
Regina scowled into her wineglass as she mulled over the possibilities. It didn’t really matter if the lighthouse was demolished or not. She had no real attachment to the plan. It had simply been the first excuse she could think of to thwart Mary Margaret. But that hasty comment took on a life of its own, growing out of her control before she even realized it was a problem.
You’re getting soft, Regina. Soft and slow. And that won’t do at all.
With a final gulp, Regina set aside the glass and reached for the phone to dial a familiar number. “Graham, it’s me. I have a little job for you…”
Notes:
Just a short chapter this time, but a necessary one, I think. Next one will feature more Rumple and Belle! (Or in this case, Gold and Straggletag.)
Chapter Text
Gold unlocked the door to his house and scowled over his shoulder at the gathering storm clouds. Before his acquaintance (friendship? no, surely not) with Straggletag, the weather merely informed his choice of wardrobe and needed accessories. Something to take note of, but otherwise unimportant.
But now, each change brought to mind her small room in the lighthouse (how does she heat it in the winter?), her short-sleeved dress (hardly suitable for cold weather), her skinny frame (does she go out to find food when it rains?) and with it an accompanying pang of… worry? Concern? Gold couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it was persistent. He’d be working through inventory at the shop, only to find himself staring out the window, wondering if she had shoes or a scarf.
It was distracting beyond measure.
Part of him hoped that Straggletag would visit or leave a note in response to his news about the petition. But another part hoped she wouldn’t risk the bad weather and stay home until the storm cleared.
“It’s not home. Not really. It’s… just a place to stay.”
Gold glanced around as he removed his coat. His house was a grand, rambling Victorian on the edge of town, close enough for convenience but far enough for privacy. It was large, too large for one person, really. He rarely spent much time here. So little, in fact, that it was more of a place to store various treasures he did not care to part with. A private museum.
Not a home. Barely even a place to stay.
He could picture the reactions of the townspeople if any of them could hear his maudlin thoughts. Look at the richest man in Storybrooke complaining about living in a mansion while a woman digs through dumpsters and takes refuge in a condemned building to survive. Pathetic. Gold shook the thoughts away and stepped into the kitchen to prepare some tea. He took the chipped white cup from the shelf, but simply set it to the side to look at periodically as the water boiled. For some reason, it didn’t feel quite right to use it. Not since Straggletag’s intense reaction to seeing it.
“You kept it.”
Gold groaned and dug his fingers into his hair. She says she knows me. But I don’t remember her. Do I? Try as he might, Gold could not think of anyone who looked even remotely like Straggletag from his past. The only people in his life back then were—
Don’t think about it.
The first patters of rain spattered against the windows. There. She wouldn’t be coming now. Gold tried not to feel disappointed. Focus. Think. Maybe… maybe if I did meet her, it was before she was… injured? Pushing aside the anger that came with that thought, Gold tried to picture Straggletag without her scars. Skin rosy with health, her cheeks smooth and clear, hair down in shining ringlets around her smiling face, her lips plump from kiss—
TAP! TAP! TAP!
Gold jolted out of his chair and flushed furiously at the direction of his thoughts. What the hell…?! Having those kinds of thoughts, even in passing, about a veritable stranger, one who was very young and very vulnerable… God, I am a monster. As he struggled to gather his wits, the sound came again: TAP! TAP! TAP!
Back door.
Straggletag.
That got him moving. Hoping his blush had receded enough for him to appear presentable, Gold opened the door.
It was indeed Straggletag, albeit rather soggy. Once again she was dressed in her cloak of fur and moss, mouth and nose covered, yet her expression seemed a bit… sheepish?
“Sorry,” she rasped. “Thought storm… would take longer… to arrive. May I… stay on… porch… after your… news?” She gestured and water dripped from her attire onto the wooden floorboards.
Still a little scattered, it took Gold a moment to piece her words together. “Certainly not!”
“Oh.” Her shoulders sank a little. “Can go… if bad time.”
“What? That’s not— No, I didn’t mean—” Gold took a deep breath, then stepped aside and gestured to the door. “What I meant to say was… you don’t have to stay on the porch. Please come inside.”
Straggletag stared, then fluttered her hands a little. “I’ll… get your floor… wet,” she said, sounding a little miserable and more water droplets spattered the porch.
“No matter. That’s what mudrooms and mops are for. Come along, dearie.” He smiled slightly. “I promise I don’t bite.”
“All bark?” Straggletag said, clearly amused and relaxing enough to finally step inside.
With an awkward shrug (and an internal sigh of relief), Gold shut the back door and turned, hands extended to take Straggletag’s cloak. She looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then lowered the hood and unclasped it. With utmost gentleness, Gold hung it on the coat rack.
Her clothes underneath the cloak were nearly as wet, a ragged ensemble of clashing layers, styles, and colors. Gold frowned. “How long were you out in the rain?”
“Caught me halfway,” she rasped. She started to unwrap her face, then paused. “Okay?”
“Of course. If you’re comfortable, that is.”
With a nod, Straggletag finished unwrapping and took a deep breath. “Thanks.”
Gold nodded, a little baffled by the thanks (he hadn’t done anything after all), then said, “This may be presumptuous on my part but… if you want them… I do have spare clothes you could wear. So you could be more comfortable. Only if you’d like though.” He stumbled through the words. What would the townsfolk think, seeing their quicksilver landlord so tongue-tied? And offering charity, no less?
Straggletag blinked, then smiled shyly. “I would like that, thank you,” she whispered. “Do you… have a place I could… dry off in? I don’t want your clothes to get wet.”
Not wanting to risk another round of disjointed babble, Gold nodded and led her out of the mudroom into the house proper. He heard a faint gasp behind him and winced. What would she think of him now, seeing him living in such opulence while she managed in squalor? Not that her little abode wasn’t cozy… but he hadn’t even tried to help her. Not even made the offer.
Why do you care why do you care whydoyoucare?! screamed the voices.
I don’t know, he responded helplessly. I just do.
The Victorian had the blessing of a full bathroom on the first floor. He’d made use of more than once when his leg couldn’t stand the further strain of ascending yet another flight of stairs, so it was clean and fully stocked. “You’re welcome to make use of the shower if you’d like.” Realizing it might have sounded insulting, Gold stammered, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, you don’t need to, but—” He clamped his jaw shut to cut off the babble and started to turn away. “I’ll get those clothes.”
The gentle touch on his arm made him freeze in place. He carefully looked at Straggletag… who was smiling at him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “A shower sounds lovely. I… I do miss hot running water.” Her smile turned rueful, tugging at the scars on her cheeks. “A sponge bath heated on the stove isn’t quite the same.”
Gold couldn’t help but stare. “Why aren’t you afraid?” he blurted out.
Straggletag tilted her head to the side. “Should I be?”
“You’re… you’re in a strange man’s house. Alone. At night. In the middle of a storm.”
“You’ve given me no reason to be afraid of you,” Straggletag whispered gently, as if she was the one reassuring him. “You’ve been a perfect gentleman… well, except for that time you came bursting out of the back door, ready to thrash me with your cane.” Her eyes danced with amusement and Gold groaned at the memory.
“In all fairness, you weren’t exactly forthcoming,” he grumbled. “Still aren’t.”
Her expression grew somber. “I have my reasons. One day you’ll understand. I hope.” She bit her bottom lip, her eyes growing distant.
Gold didn’t like seeing that expression on her face. “Well, I’m glad you feel comfortable, odd as you are for being so.”
The distance vanished and Straggletag barked out a raspy laugh. “You don’t strike me as a person who would suddenly murder their guest. An intruder on the other hand…” The teasing tone vanished and her blue eyes bored into him. “Which am I? To you? Guest? Or intruder?”
The intensity of her gaze as she asked the question stole his breath. “Guest,” he whispered. Then he cleared his throat and, with an approximation of a courtly bow, said in a louder and clearer voice, “I would like you to be my guest this evening, Miss Straggletag.”
She smiled and curtsied, which managed to look both graceful and silly in her damp, mismatched clothing. “Then I accept your invitation and hospitality, Mr. Gold.”
***
While Straggletag showered and changed clothes, Gold set himself to the task of preparing a meal. He was a good but indifferent cook, seeing little point in creating fancy or even hearty meals for just one person. Thankfully, he had just restocked the kitchen so there was a little more available than the usual fare of ramen noodles, microwave meals, and uninspired sandwiches.
The end result wasn’t fancy, but he hoped it would be filling: grilled chicken fillets, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans and corn from a can, buttered rolls, and a vegetarian version of haggis he’d found very filling, which consisted of carrots, lentils, mushrooms, and pinhead oats alongside the traditional spices.
He was just finishing that final dish when Straggletag entered the kitchen.
The sight of her wearing his clothes (an old dark green sweater and grey jogging pants) made him stop and stare for a moment. She looked… normal. Aside from the scars on her face and the fact that the clothes were still too large for her tiny frame, she could have been any other forgettable resident of Storybrooke.
Until she smiled, at least. That alone made her stand out against any crowd. Even when it was slightly nervous.
“Thank you for the clothes,” she whispered. “And the shower. It was lovely. And something smells divine.”
Gold shrugged and ducked his head. “It isn’t fancy, but I hope you like it.”
“Got to be fancier than a hard loaf of bread and some borrowed tea.”
Her tone was amused, but he didn’t like the self-deprecation that laced it. “It was the best cup of tea I ever had,” Gold said as he scooped generous portions onto her plate.
“Truly?”
“Truly.” Gold raised an eyebrow and looked directly at her. “I may be the town’s monster, Miss Straggletag, but I don’t lie.”
Her expression turned fierce. “You’re not a monster,” she said, forcing the words out at a regular volume, which must have irritated her throat, because she turned her head and started coughing into the crook of her arm. Gold hurried to fill a glass of water, which she took with a grateful nod between coughs. When she finally caught her breath, Straggletag whispered, “You’re not a monster, Mr. Gold. Please don’t call yourself that.”
“Fine, but only to keep you from having an asthma attack in my kitchen.”
Straggletag sighed. “I guess that will have to do. For now.”
“You’re a stubborn lass.”
“And you’re a stubborn man.”
He couldn’t help but grin at her spirit. “Well, this stubborn man thinks the stubborn lass ought to tuck in before dinner gets cold.” Lord knows when you last had the luxury of a hot meal, he thought.
***
Belle couldn’t remember when she’d last had the luxury of a hot bath. At the Dark Castle, probably.
She felt tears well up and held them back, not wanting to start crying in Rumple— Mr. Gold’s bathroom. Once she started, she doubted she would be able to stop… and then he’d want to know why.
She wasn’t sure if she was ready to answer that question yet.
After all, Mr. Gold wasn’t Rumplestiltskin.
And yet, at the same time, he was.
Belle wondered if Mr. Gold was how Rumple had looked before he became the Dark One. The brief glimpse of his human face before the Dark One’s curse came rushing back suggested it might be. Brown hair that was wavy instead of curly, cut slightly longer than fashionable with some grey threading his temples. Smooth, human skin rather than the glittering green-gold shade that looked like dragonhide. Same height, though, same build. Same affinity for fine clothes, although Mr. Gold favored an understated elegance rather than the flamboyant attire of Rumplestiltskin.
The biggest difference to her though, was his voice. No longer the high-pitched tittering of an imp, but a deep, accented rumble that made her want to sink to the floor, shut her eyes, and just listen for hours. Part of the reason she’d asked him to tell her all the boring details of his findings while they had tea at the lighthouse was because she loved listening to his new voice. She liked Rumple’s voice well enough, but it always felt a little… off. Like it was part of an act, like the garish outfits and theatrics. Maybe this was his true voice. The voice he had before the Dark One’s curse.
But… Rumplestiltskin didn’t have a limp.
Did Regina hurt you too? Belle wondered. Did she catch you and hurt you like she did to me? Or were you hurt… here? Her heart ached at the thought of Rumple suffering sure an injury. Alone, in pain… I should have been there for you. I should have stayed, even though you told me to leave.
That made the tears flow and Belle tried to stifle her sobs beneath the sound of the running water.
She wanted to ask, but didn’t dare. Mr. Gold didn’t know her, didn’t trust her. Rumplestiltskin hadn’t either. Not when it mattered. Not when he sent her away, accusing her of being an agent of Regina there to steal his magic.
“No one could ever love me!”
I do! she wanted to shout back. But it was too late. Too late for them in the Enchanted Forest... but maybe not here in Storybrooke.
Until Rumplestiltskin remembered her, he would have to remain Mr. Gold.
But maybe he was starting to remember her? Unconsciously? Belle had watched Mr. Gold for some time (how long? meaningless time is meaningless), and she saw how he interacted with the people of Storybrooke. They did not hide their disdain for him, so he did not hide his disdain for them. He wasn’t cruel per se, but there was no softness in his conversations with them, no yielding. A deal was a deal, a bargain was a bargain, and a contract was a contract.
Yet he showed her a tenderness and generosity of spirit not bestowed on anyone else. He allowed himself to be shy or awkward around her. Instead of only receiving biting sarcasm, he joked around and teased her, rather like he had before. With each interaction, Mr. Gold opened up to her a little more.
Should I risk it? Belle worried at her lip. Should I tell him now? Or wait?
Sweet merciful mother, she was so tired of waiting. And yet after all this time, what did she actually know? That there was a curse. That the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest had lost their memories of who they once were… except her.
She was no closer to understanding the nature of the curse than she was at the start, let alone how to break it.
“True Love can break any curse,” the Evil Queen whispered, and Belle shuddered at the memory. Following the Queen’s advice had cost her dearly; she dared not try it again. Maybe this curse wasn’t vulnerable to something like that.
Besides, how would Mr. Gold react if she suddenly kissed him?
Her face warmed from more than just the heat of the shower, Belle shut off the water and toweled off. As promised, Mr. Gold had left a selection of clothes for her, all of them made of soft, warm fabrics. Belle buried her face in a dark green sweater and breathed in the scent of clean laundry. There was another scent mixed in, a subtle cologne of muted spice. She remembered her laundry duties at the Dark Castle, remembered his silk shirts smelling like this…
Belle hastily pulled on the sweater and a pair of soft grey pants before she started crying again. It was too big for her, but she didn’t mind. It felt rather like being wrapped in a blanket… or a hug. For the first time in a long while, Belle felt safe.
Should I tell him?
Let’s see how the evening goes.
With a firm nod at her steam-blurred reflection in the mirror, Belle stepped out of the bathroom and followed the smell of something wonderful cooking into the kitchen.
Notes:
The calm before the storm...
Sorry for taking so long to update! I'm in the process of moving, so most of my spare time and mental energy has been eaten by boxes. The chapter also turned out to be longer than I thought, so I decided to split it in half. Enjoy the angst!
Chapter 9: Storm
Notes:
CONTENT WARNING: domestic violence (yelling, accusations, grabbing arms, equivalent to events in the episode "Skin Deep.")
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“That. Was. Amazing.”
They had retired to the living room after dinner and Straggletag was curled up in one of the chairs, patting her stomach with a broad grin on her face. Gold was in a chair across from her with a warm feeling in his chest. He felt… It took him a moment to place the emotion: pride. He felt proud that he’d been able to provide a good meal. But it wasn’t the same sensation from completing a successful deal or navigating a tricky negotiation. There was no sense of “winning” or “victory,” but a satisfaction from providing rather than taking. And Straggletag looked so… content as she smiled at him. The thought of her going back out into the rain and cold made him feel nauseated.
Ask her to stay.
The thought made Gold freeze as it crossed his mind. Impossible, part of him said.
Why? asked another. The house is big enough.
He had no reply for it, only a deep sense of conflict over the prospect.
“Mr. Gold?”
He looked up and saw Straggletag’s expression was now worried. Realizing he’d been silent too long and may have missed something, he said. “My apologies, I’m afraid I was wool-gathering. A common occurrence for me after a good meal, I’m afraid.”
“No need to apologize,” she whispered, “and I understand what you mean. I’m so full, I can’t come up with words to do the food justice.”
He smiled at her effusive praise. “Glad you approve.”
“You should be a chef. World class. So good.”
That made him laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far… but I’m glad my aunties’ lessons haven’t gone to waste.”
Straggletag straightened up, expression alert and interested. “You never told me anything about your family before.”
A frown flickered across Gold’s face at the reference to their nonexistent past, but he decided to let it slide. “Not much to tell.”
Now it was Straggletag’s turn to frown. “You said that before too. But… not about your aunts.”
Unease prickled down Gold’s spine. “I don’t really talk about family. They’re all gone anyway.”
“I’m sorry.”
Gold shrugged off her sympathy. The turn of conversation threatened to unearth old memories, and that was not a path he wanted to walk down. But at the same time, he was curious. Straggletag was a mystery. He had no idea where she came from, how long she’d been here, or even what her real name was. Perhaps this was an opportunity to find out. “How about we make a deal?”
Straggletag tilted her head. “A deal?”
“I tell you something about me and you tell me something about you.”
She went very still. “Something true?”
“Wouldn’t be much point if it wasn’t.”
“Do you promise to listen? I mean, really listen?”
The sudden desperation in her voice gave him pause. What exactly are you afraid of? he wondered. “Yes, I promise I will listen.”
Straggletag let out a deep breath. “Okay. We have a deal.”
Gold nodded and mentally braced himself. “Very well. Ladies first?”
She gave a faint smile and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Would you tell me a little about your aunties?”
Relieved she’d picked one of the few happy memories, Gold smiled. “Aye. Auntie Flora and Auntie Louisa. They took me in when I was still a lad, taught me how to weave, spin, knit… They ran a small fabric business, you see, and they wanted me to know a trade. But they also taught me how to cook. They believed it was important for everyone, regardless of gender, to know their way around the kitchen.” He chuckled. “Alas, I never did get the hang of pie crusts.”
“They sound lovely,” Straggletag whispered.
“Aye. They were. I—” He bit back his words. “I miss them.” “I wish you could have met them.”
But he couldn’t say that.
Gold cleared his throat and said, “Well, I hope that answered your question.”
Straggletag nodded, but tightened her grip around her knees, evidently bracing herself.
Gold wondered if he should ask something easier, something more gentle… or if he should go straight for the one that burned constantly in his mind. “Tell me about your family,” he found himself asking.
Despite his attempt, Straggletag’s expression remained guarded. “I’m… an only child,” she whispered. “My mother died some time ago. My father is… was a busy man. He loved me very much, but we didn’t have much in common. He never quite understood me, what I wanted. I… we haven’t spoken in a while.”
He could tell she was hedging, holding something back. “And what did you want?”
She smiled and waggled a finger at him. “Ah, ah, that’s a separate question. My turn! Hmm…” She bit her lip, thinking for a moment. “Why are you a pawnbroker?”
Gold blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I mean… you own many properties in the town. You collect the rents, enough to live well on. So why are you also ‘Mr. Gold: Pawnbroker and Antiques’?”
He hadn’t really thought about it before and it took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I like… collecting things,” he finally said. “Sometimes it’s because something is objectively valuable. Sometimes because I think it might be valuable to someone else. Sometimes it’s just because the item is unique or interesting. You probably don’t know this, but I actually restore items as well. Repair watches and such.”
Straggletag’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Gold felt himself smile, encouraged by her enthusiasm, and decided not to call out the second question. “Aye. There’s a certain satisfaction in taking something broken, something that others thought was worthless, and making it whole and useful again.”
He didn’t think her expression could become more brilliant, and yet it did. “That’s wonderful,” she whispered.
Gold felt his face warm and wished he still had a drink in hand to hide behind. He’d been on the receiving end of flattery and compliments before; sometimes tenants or would-be business partners would try to charm him before they learned better. He was immune to such things, recognizing them for the empty platitudes they were.
But from this odd little woman, they rang absolutely genuine. Like she really thought tinkering with broken watches and old books with snapped spines was something worthwhile.
Like he was worthwhile.
Gold cleared his throat, casting for his next question. “So, back to what you wanted that your father didn’t understand…?”
Her open expression closed off again, and Gold wished he hadn’t asked. She didn’t speak for a moment, staring off into the middle distance. Just as Gold was about to apologize and rescind the question, she spoke: “Adventure. Papa could partially understand my love of books and reading. It was something my mother and I shared. But I didn’t want to just read about distant lands and foreign cultures. I wanted to travel. To see them with my own eyes.” As Straggletag spoke, she grew more animated again, and eagerness in her voice and a wistful yearning in her eyes. Then she sighed and looked down at her knees. “But that wasn’t in the cards for me.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, Why? But he managed to swallow it down. It must have something to do with her current condition, he thought. “I’m sorry.”
Straggletag shook her head and smiled slightly, her gaze returning from whatever memories she’d been exploring. “It’s all right.” She nibbled her lower lip again as she considered her next question.
Gold found the sight both endearing… and distracting. “I’m a little parched,” he said. “Cup of tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Happy to put a little distance between himself and Straggletag, Gold retreated to the kitchen to compose himself. Another question or two, then I’ll ask if she would like to stay the night, Gold told himself. I have plenty of spare rooms and the storm doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.
When he returned with the tea, Straggletag took the cup (not the chipped one) and smiled her thanks before asking, “Have you… ever tried to leave Storybrooke?”
Gold frowned at the odd wording as he sat down and sipped at his own cup (also not the chipped one; it remained safely ensconced in the cupboard). “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever had any business outside the town. I have plenty to keep me busy here.”
Straggletag shook her head. “That isn’t quite what I meant.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh? Do enlighten me then.”
“I mean… have you ever actually tried to leave Storybrooke? Not for business or anything. Just… driving past the town line.”
“I don’t understand what you’re getting at. If I don’t have any business outside of town, why would I waste valuable time and petrol leaving? I’m not exactly a sociable person, so there’s really nothing outside of Storybrooke that interests me.”
“But surely you go to auctions or art houses for some of your antiques.”
“That’s what online stores are for. Plus, I have outside agents who can inspect the wares for me before I commit to a purchase.”
Straggletag did not seem convinced. “But you’ve never seen anyone cross the line into town, have you? No delivery trucks, no visitors… nothing from the outside.”
Something about her questions made Gold uncomfortable. He didn’t give much thought to places outside Storybrooke. There was simply no need. Everything he needed… was right here. “Deliveries usually arrive late at night or early in the morning, dearie, when most folk are in bed. Although you have probably seen some if you sneak into town to deliver flowers.” This last was said in a teasing tone as he tried to lighten the mood, but Straggletag looked very serious.
“No,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen a delivery to Storybrooke. Not a single one.”
Gold snorted. “Don’t be silly. The mail has to come through, the grocer’s restocked…”
“And it’s always there, right in shipping area, or in the bags and bins at the post office. But trucks and vans don’t deliver them.”
“Then what does?” Gold asked, incredulous. He wiggled the fingers of his free hand. “Magic?”
“Yes.”
Straggletag’s deadpan response brought Gold to halt. He looked closely at Straggletag. Really looked at her. There was nothing wild or crazy-looking about her. With a shower and clean, normal clothes, it was hard to believe that something so crazy had come from the lips of someone who looked so sane. She was staring back at him, her posture tense, but her expression was… hopeful.
She really thinks I’ll believe what she says, Gold thought. “Straggletag…” he said very gently, “Magic… magic isn’t real. You know that, right?”
The hope evaporated and she shrank in on herself. “You haven’t remembered.”
“Remember what?” When she didn’t answer, Gold ran his hand through his hair, trying to curb his frustration. “Our deal stated that we would be honest with each other. A truth for a truth.” He leaned forward, catching her eye. “So tell me the truth, Straggletag. How do you know me? Why are you here?” Who are you? a desperate voice inside him cried.
“You’ll listen? Really listen?” Her voice, already quiet, lowered further. But he could still see her desperation.
“Yes. I said I would, didn’t I?”
Straggletag took a deep breath. “Then please believe me when I tell you that we met before. We lived together. We were… friends. You see… my father… he is the king of the Marchlands. We were under attack by ogres. Nothing we did could stop them. We were about to be overrun. So we turned to the only person who could help us. You.”
Gold stared at her, mouth slightly agape. She continued:
“You don’t remember this, but you were a sorcerer, the most powerful one in the world. The Dark One, the maker of deals. You came to our aide and agreed to drive away the ogres with your magic. But all magic comes with a price. And that price was me.
“My father didn’t want to agree to such terms, but I knew it was the only way. I agreed to come with you, to be caretaker for your estate forever. My old life as a Princess of the Marchlands ended… and my new life at the Dark Castle with you began.
“I don’t regret my decision, not for an instant. You were a bit difficult to get along with at first… You’d been alone for so many centuries you’d forgotten how to really interact with people. But over time… I’d like to think we became friends. Maybe even—”
Straggletag stopped, a blush rising to her cheeks as she glanced away. “Anyway, we started getting along, and you started to open up a little. But then you sent me out to fetch straw and promised to tell me about your son when I returned—”
Porcelain shattered, and Straggletag gasped, staring. But Gold barely heard it over the roaring in his ears.
“—Gold! Mr. Gold, are you all right?! Please, you’re bleeding!”
She was no longer in her chair, but kneeling in front of him with a napkin in her hand. He glanced down and saw that the teacup in his hand was now in pieces. He was bleeding. But there was no pain. Not yet.
“How do you know about my son?” Gold rasped.
Straggletag stared up at him. “You told me about him. Not much, I admit, but you… you said you… lost him.”
Gold stared down at her. He could feel his entire body shaking, his heart pounding as rage flooded his veins. “Lost him? Lost him ? How dare—” He was standing and she was sprawled back on the floor, staring up at him in shock and dawning fear.
Good.
She hurt you.
Hurt her back.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Gold snarled. She scrambled backwards as he advanced “How dare you speak of my son?! How dare you say I ‘lost’ him… as-as if he were a pair of misplaced shoes!”
He didn’t feel any pain in his hand or his leg as he grabbed her and hauled her to her feet. “I don’t know you,” he hissed in her face, digging his fingers into her arms. “How could you about Bae? I’ve never told anyone about what happened, no one! And I’ve sure as hell never seen you before in my life! How long have you been watching me? Stalking me? Trying to learn my secrets, my weaknesses? What did you hope to gain, hm? Money? Blackmail? What? ANSWER ME !”
“R-R-Rumple… p-please, you’re hurting me!”
The utter terror in her voice threw cold water on Gold’s fury. He released her and stepped back, breathing heavily. There was a bloody hand print on her shirtsleeve were he’d grabbed her. For a second they stood there, staring at one another and shaking.
“Get out,” Gold said, his voice cold and hard and once more in control. “Get out of my house and out of this town. If you’re not gone by tomorrow, I can assure you I won’t check to see if you’re still inside when I demolish that lighthouse.”
Tears streamed down Straggletag’s face. She covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a sob, then turned and ran from the room. Gold waited until he heard the sound of the back door open and slam shut before sinking into the nearest chair and staring blankly at his blood-smeared hands.
Notes:
Please don't hurt me...
I PROMISE it will get better. Gold's reaction might seem extreme here, but please remember A) he does have a temper and paranoia, B) we've seen him do this before, and C) I do attribute some of this to the curse trying to protect itself from being unraveled.
Also, apologies for the long wait for this chapter. Moving and prepping a house for sale is eating up my free time, energy, and inspiration, so please bear with me.
The names for Rumple's aunts, Flora and Louisa, are a reference to a pair of Scottish lesbian doctors, Flora Murray and Louisa Garrett Anderson, who were medical pioneers and suffragettes that founded the Women's Hospital for Children to serve the working class, and headed the Women's Hospital Corps in France during World War I. Their tombstone in Penn, Buckinghamshire says, in part, "We have been gloriously happy."
Chapter 10: Hunted
Chapter Text
Graham hated his job.
Not the one where he was the sheriff. That was something he was actually (usually) proud of, a position that allowed him to serve and protect the people of Storybrooke.
What he hated was his other job.
He didn’t understand why he couldn’t say no to Regina. Yes, she was the mayor and therefore technically his boss, and yes, they were lovers… but other people disagreed with their lovers sometimes, right? Sometimes they even said no.
Didn’t they?
But no matter how much he initially disagreed, Graham always found himself doing whatever it was Regina asked of him.
Which was why he was out here in the pouring rain watching Gold’s house.
Even though Ruby Lucas was the one who brought forth the petition to save the lighthouse, Regina was sure that Gold was behind it. Graham objected when she sent him to spy on Gold rather than Ruby. It wasn’t that the sheriff didn’t think Gold capable of manipulating the town into rejecting Regina’s plan to demolish the lighthouse. The pawnbroker landlord was definitely cunning enough to pull off something like that. What Graham didn’t get was why.
“That’s what I want you to find out. And you will find out for me… won’t you, love?”
A shiver went down Graham’s spine, like he could feel Regina’s nails digging in along his back. He told himself that the lack of arousal from the sensation was due to how blasted cold and wet he was.
Sitting outside Gold’s house in his squad car was too obvious. Gold had a sharp eye and would immediately pick out any anomaly on his street. Graham had opted for taking his own car, but still parked a few blocks away, well out of sight of the pink Victorian house. After donning his waterproof and insulated hunting gear, he came up through the forest to find a place at the side of the house where he could see both the front and back doors. Regina was convinced that Gold was plotting with someone regarding the lighthouse and wanted to know who (if anyone) visited the old man. Fortunately, Gold didn’t have any close neighbors, so there was no one else around to complain or snoop on him snooping on Gold.
Graham had plenty of practice sitting still for long hours in uncomfortable conditions thanks to years spent hunting, first with his dad and then on his own. Didn’t mean he enjoyed it though. At least the storm will mask any sound I make, Graham thought, trying to put a positive spin on the situation.
He wondered what Regina’s punishment would be if he came back empty-handed.
Movement.
Graham tensed, every sense honing in on that slight flicker.
A lumpy figure hurried out of the woods and onto Gold’s back porch.
What the…?
Even in the light from the back porch, it was difficult for Graham to understand what he was seeing. It was like part of the forest decided to take a vaguely human shape and knock on Gold’s back door. It had to be a person, one of the townsfolk… but who?
The door opened, and although Gold didn’t enter Graham’s line of sight, the sheriff knew it had to be the old man. No one else had entered the house all day, not even Gold’s henchman, Dove. After a quick back-and-forth (which Graham couldn’t hear due to his distance from the house and the sound of the rain), the figure stepped inside and Gold shut the door behind them.
It seemed Regina’s suspicions were correct. But he still had no idea who it was.
So, Graham began the slow, careful process of getting close to Gold’s house. Even though it was storming, Graham knew better than to rush. A hasty move at the wrong moment could lead to discovery and he had no desire to spend the next few weeks pretending to search for a Peeping Tom should Gold see or hear him.
Finally, Graham attained his goal: a kitchen window. It wasn’t ideal, being higher off the ground than most other house windows, but he didn’t want to waste more time trying to circumnavigate the house unless he had no other choice. Fortunately he was tall enough that if he stretched a little, he should be able to see into the kitchen. Graham double-checked his full-face mask, took a deep breath, and very carefully peeked in.
Only to see the Quarry having dinner with the Beast of Storybrooke.
* * *
The door to the sheriff’s office slams open to reveal a whirlwind of black.
He leaps to his feet. “Regina! What’s—?”
“WHERE IS SHE?!”
Confusion. Fear. “Who?”
“She’s supposed to be here! She’s not in the hospital so she must—”
But one glance at the single cell shows it’s empty.
He tries to calm her. “Regina, love, please, what’s—”
“SILENCE!”
His jaw snaps shut and he waits, frozen.
She paces back and forth, chest heaving, eyes flashing dark fire. He waits.
Finally, she banks the fire of her rage, contains it, and turns to him.
“There is a woman, Graham. A very dangerous woman. I thought she was safely contained, but… it seems I was mistaken.”
Her red lips twist into a snarl. Even though it is not aimed at him, he flinches.
“Find her, Graham. Find her and bring her to me.”
* * *
Graham had lost count of the hours spent patrolling the streets and combing the surrounding woods for any sign of her. Everyone, no matter how clever or careful, left signs of their passing. She had to have a home base to take refuge in from the elements. A shelter.
A den.
As time passed with no results, he slowly stopped thinking of her as a person and she simply became, “the Quarry.”
Regina gave him a description before sending him on his hunt. A very detailed one.
And the woman sitting at the table with Gold matched.
Has Gold been hiding her this whole time? Has she been concealed in this house among Gold’s other treasures?
Irrelevant, Graham reminded himself. Gold’s exact connection to the Quarry would be uncovered later. What mattered was Graham had found what Regina was looking for.
He watched as they ate. The rain was too loud and they were too far from the window for him to hear their conversation, and Graham had no skill at reading lips. But he could read body language, and what he saw made his skin crawl.
The Beast and the Quarry liked each other.
But they also seemed to be trying to hide it from one another, the flashes of desire only appearing when the other wasn’t looking. They seemed intent on just being near each other. It made Graham feel…. Well, he and Regina never really just sat and talked or had dinner together. She summoned him, they had sex… and that was it.
Get a grip, Graham told himself. Gold just uses people to get what he wants, and no matter how harmless the Quarry looks, she’s unstable and dangerous. Don’t let your guard down.
When their dinner was finished and the pair retired to the living room, Graham decided to retreat to a better view of the back door. While it was possible the Quarry would remain through the night, Graham was prepared to wait her out. She had to have a lair somewhere in the woods, and he was determined to find it.
He thought he’d be in for a long night, but he’d barely settled into his new position when the back door flew open. The woman was clutching a bundle of something in one hand and covering her mouth with the other as tears streamed down her face. She paused long enough to wrap the leafy bundle around herself (camouflage!) before hurrying into the woods.
Knowing he would never have a better chance, Graham followed his Quarry.
Chapter 11: Caught
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Stupid stupid stupid STUPID!
The chant rang in time with Belle’s feet as she ran through the storm. Only instinct guided her back to the lighthouse; she couldn’t see anything between the dark, the rain, and her tears.
Stupid, foolish, Belle! What possessed you to say all of that?!
I thought he might remember. I thought… maybe he would love me enough to remember.
But Regina’s curse was stronger and now Rumple hated her. Again.
Why didn't you think?! Why couldn't you wait?!
Because I don't want to be alone anymore.
Her feet slipped on the driftwood steps. She careened sideways and tumbled, feeling the hard crack of her body against a stone as she tumbled down them and onto the sand below.
For a moment, Belle lay there, face turned up to the sky, feeling the rain pelt against her face and wondered if it was worth getting up again. Maybe I should let the water take me, she thought, dazed as pain throbbed through her bones. Let the rain fill my lungs and the tide drag my body out to sea. Would that count as leaving Storybrooke?
Rumple’s face flashed in her mind’s eye, filled with rage and pain as his fingers dug into her arms. He flickered between the imp and the man, memory and reality blurring.
“I don’t know you.”
“I don’t want you anymore, dearie.”
“How could you know about Bae?”
“Who told you that?! Who knows that?!”
“I’ve never told anyone about what happened!”
“My power means more to me than you.”
“Get out.”
Belle groaned and closed her eyes, her thoughts hammering against the inside of her skull in time with the pelting rain.
Bae.
He has—or had—a son. Named Bae.
Who is lost.
What happened?
Is he dead?
Is he… here? Dragged along by the curse?
A mystery. Could never resist a mystery.
Belle opened her eyes and pushed herself up off the sand with a grimace.
I haven’t lost him.
I refuse to lose him.
I’ll find out what happened. To you. To Bae.
I’m not giving up on you, Rumplestiltskin.
I’m not giving up on us.
***
Several hours later, the rain stopped and dawn started to peek through the oppressive grey. Belle looked around her room in the lighthouse and sighed. Unsure if Mr. Gold would follow through on his threat to demolish the lighthouse, Belle focused on packing the necessities… which, of course included the books.
Well, I needed to return them anyway, she thought. There were many things here she would have to leave behind to meet Mr. Gold’s deadline. Her new residence at the long-closed library would not be as safe, but it would be easier to replace what she had to abandon.
Satisfied that she had not forgotten any essentials, Belle turned to her last task. Taking a deep breath, she opened the window and gave a raspy call.
A moment later, the crows of the lighthouse fluttered in, cawing back and watching her with bright, intelligent black eyes. She smiled and cooed, rubbing each one across their crest, under their chins, down their backs, or along their beaks, as they each liked. She smiled sadly. “I have to go away now,” she whispered to the main pair, the mother and father of the small flock. “You may need to find a new home. I hope not, but you might. Before I go, will you do me one last favor?” She laid out the plants she’d chosen in front of them, enough for each member of the flock to take one.
The crows regarded her for a moment, considering, then bobbed their heads in unison.
“Thank you,” Belle whispered. “You are good friends.”
To her surprise, the mated pair hopped up on her shoulders, one on each side, and ran their beaks through her hair, crooning and clucking softly, like she’d heard them do to their chicks. Then they hopped back down and grasped the offerings in their talons. One by one, the rest followed suite and flapped out of the open window into the slowly-lightening sky.
Belle watched them go, then gently closed and locked the window. She hoisted the heavy rucksack onto her back, wincing as the straps dug into still-tender bruises. Making this move during the day wasn’t ideal, but she had little choice. Her chances of being seen this far outside of town before she reached the woods was slim… but she wore her new disguise anyway. From a distance, she would look like a solitary hiker, hardly worth a second look.
She brushed her fingers across the dark green sweater. Her coat of fur and feathers had protected it from the worst of the storm, although the grey pants were still damp around the bottom of the legs. Maybe I should find a way to return these, Belle thought.
But she really didn’t want to. They were all she had of him now.
Belle descended the steps of the lighthouse for the last time, her steps dragging from more than just the weight of her pack. This place had been the closest thing to a home to her for (years and years and years how many it’s forever dearie) a long time. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she would miss it.
She closed and locked the metal door at the base behind her and placed the key in its hiding place by feel. Then she turned towards the light of the exit. Just as she pushed back the dangling roots, the clouds parted and the early morning sun beamed through. Momentarily blinded by the rays, Belle started to lift her arm to shield her eyes.
Something small and pointed struck her upraised arm. Then agony swept through her as her exhausted and abused muscles locked up. She couldn’t even scream. The heavy pack overbalanced and she fell face-first into the sand. It went into her eyes and nose and mouth.
The bright blaze of pain stopped, and her muscles went limp. Before Belle could even think about trying to get up, a hand grabbed her by the shoulder and roughly rolled her on her side. Blind and trying to spit out the sand, Belle tried to swat the hand away. But she missed and something cold and damp wiped across her face, like someone was trying to clean it. When she managed to inhale, she smelled something sweet…
Then nothingness.
Notes:
Belle's line about the water taking her comes from the song "What the Water Gave Me" by Florence + the Machine.
Chapter 12: Hollow
Chapter Text
At last.
Regina couldn’t keep the satisfied smile off her face, ignoring the looks the hospital staff gave her as she marched towards the isolation ward. But none of them tried to stop or question her.
Because she was the mayor and, thanks to the curse, her word here was law.
The niggling, taunting whisper, “All is for naught”, would finally be silenced.
Storybrooke Hospital was not large and rarely had any real medical crises to deal with, so the isolation ward was limited to four rooms. It was primarily used for patients with severe injuries who needed quiet to recuperate or for patients with a mental health issue that required separation. The latter happened far more than one would expect in a small town… It seemed having one’s memories overwritten, replaced, or repressed caused recurring nervous breakdowns for some of the populace.
At the moment, however, the ward only held one very special guest.
Graham stood guard outside, and her smile faded at the sight of her pet huntsman. Receiving a call from him in the middle of the night nearly sent her into a rage… until he said, “I found the woman you’ve been looking for. She’s in the lighthouse.”
He’d followed her instructions… but instead of bringing the little runaway directly to Regina, he’d brought her to the hospital.
Despite her power as the mayor, Regina couldn’t simply start disposing of witnesses. It simply Wasn’t Done in this Land Without Magic.
“You’d better have a good explanation for this,” Regina said, hands on her hips.
Graham looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you bring her here?”
“She wasn’t waking up from the chloroform,” Graham said nervously. “She’s really malnourished too, so maybe between the drug and the taser… I didn’t want to risk her dying on your doorstep.”
Regina narrowed her eyes, wondering if she should punish him for his disobedience or applaud his quick thinking. Opting not to comment on it either way (for the moment), she waved her hand at the door. “Well, where is she?”
Graham gave a tiny bow, and opened the door. “Room 3. Dr. Whale’s assessing her condition.”
Her lip curled. So the corpse-loving quack is attending her. If she wasn’t dying before, she will be soon. “No one else enters,” she ordered, and stalked to the indicated room. The smell of antiseptic washing over her as she stepped inside.
Regina walked over to the bed and smirked. “Hello, Belle. It’s been a while.”
***
Dawn crept in through the torn curtains. A stray beam reflected off a piece of broken glass, making Gold blink.
He was on the floor, leaning against a kitchen cabinet, with a small, chipped teacup cradled in his hands.
Broken plates. Shattered cups. Splintered wood. A dented metal pot.
His cane lay a few feet away.
Gold blinked again and realized his hand hurt.
His leg hurt too.
Everything hurt.
Groaning, Gold managed to get to his feet, still clutching the teacup. Using the kitchen island to steady himself, he staggered towards the living room.
Destruction met him. Priceless antiques shattered. Glass-fronted cases smashed in. Furniture overturned. Cushions tossed, fabric torn.
There was blood. Not much, but it was here and there in small spatters and smears.
He didn’t remember doing it.
Didn’t remember anything.
Only pain and the need to destroy something, anything to make it go away.
But it wasn’t enough. He still hurt.
“R-R-Rumple… p-please, you’re hurting me!”
A spike of pain went through his skull and Gold sank to the floor again with a groan.
He’d yelled at Straggletag. Scared her.
Hurt her.
She mentioned Bae, mentioned his son … and he… he lost it.
No excuse. No excuse for what you did, what you said to her.
Monster. Beast.
Like father, like son.
Gold gritted his teeth and tried to breathe through the pain in his skull, in his leg, in his hand…
His hand.
He looked down and saw his right hand had a stained napkin wrapped around it.
The cup. The cup shattered. When she mentioned his son, his grip tightened so hard that—
She tried to help you. She tried to stop the bleeding.
With his left hand, Gold lifted up the teacup he held. It was the blue-and-white one, the one with the chip.
Her cup. When did he start thinking of it as hers?
There was blood on it.
She didn’t know. She didn’t know Bae was— She didn’t mean to hit a nerve. How could she have known? She was trying to open up, trying to tell me something important…
Gold pressed the cool porcelain to his forehead.
What have I done?
You threw her out, the voices hissed. Threw her out into the storm.
Oh God.
***
The last time Regina had seen Belle, the little maid was a heap of gibbering, sobbing, bloody flesh crumpled at her feet. There was no blood now, no noise, only an eerie silence as sunken, red-rimmed eyes glared at her. The girl was practically swimming in her blue hospital gown, except where her arms and legs were clasped with restraints. The scars on her face and throat stood out against the girl’s unhealthy pallor.
“You look like death warmed over,” Regina said, casually sitting on the edge of the bed as if she were a visiting family member.
Belle said nothing, but Whale took the opportunity to interject. “Considering the amount of dehydration and overall undernourishment, that’s not surprising. Although, she seems to have had at least one good meal recently.” He glanced at Regina. “You know who this woman is?”
“We’re acquainted,” Regina said shortly, her eyes never leaving Belle’s. “She suffers from paranoid delusions. Hallucinations and the like. Isolation and sedation are the only possible treatment.”
Whale cleared his throat. “There have been advances—”
Regina whipped her head to glare at him. “Isolation and sedation. Believe me, Doctor, it is the only way to protect the public—and herself—from her madness. She might even make a good… test subject for some of your more… delicate projects.”
“I-I see.” Whale looked away, his expression flickering between eager interest and disgust. “Well, I’ll just go make arrangements for her long-term care then…” He added something to the IV drip running into Belle’s arm, then ambled out of the room, mumbling to himself. Regina watched him go and smiled when the door swung shut.
“You’re a monster.”
The harsh whisper brought Regina’s attention back to the patient. No. The prisoner. Her smile widened. “Takes one to know one, dearie. Or, in your case, to fall in love with one.”
Belle’s hands curled into fists. “He’s not a monster. Not then. Not now.”
Regina rolled her eyes. “The fact that you’re still defending him is as hilarious as it is misguided.” She leaned in and grabbed Belle’s chin when she tried to pull away, turning her face this way and that to look at the scars. “Looks like coming here undid my healing spell. No wonder he didn’t want you.”
“You did just enough to ensure I didn’t die,” Belle hissed. “The rest was glamour.” She blinked and shook her head as the drug in the IV started to take affect. “And Rumplestiltskin doesn’t care what I look like.”
“He doesn’t care about you, dearie.” Deciding it was time to dig the knife in, Regina stood and walked slowly around the bed, trailing her fingers along the restraints. “This is the second time he’s thrown you out and the second time he’s left you to me.”
“You lie.”
Regina raised an eyebrow. “Do I? He threw you out of the Dark Castle. He’s now thrown you out of his house, the Storybrooke equivalent. Am I wrong about that?”
Belle bit her lip, eyes going glassy as she shook her head.
Start twisting.
“As the Dark One, do you really think I could have kept you hidden if he wanted to find you?”
Dig deeper…
“He knew where you were the entire time, Belle. He chose to leave you with me.”
“No. Rumple… Rumple wouldn’t do that. He…he loves me.”
“What Rumplestiltskin loves is power. He doesn’t love you. He doesn’t care about you.”
Deeper…
Regina was next to Belle now and bent towards her. “You want to know how I know that? You want to know why you were caught, after evading me for so long?”
Belle whimpered and tried to shrink away, but Regina leaned closer to whisper in her ear.
Now.
“Because your dear Rumple told me where to find you.”
***
Gold forced himself back onto his feet and stumbled back into the kitchen. With trembling fingers, he wrapped the cup in a hand towel and placed it in a drawer. Only when it was safely closed did he left out a sigh of relief.
One less thing to break.
He managed to retrieve his cane and lever one of the stools back into a standing position before he sat, finally relieving some of the agony in his leg. The minor relief of one pain brought greater attention to another.
No no no I can’t lose my hands I can’t spin without my hands!
…Spin?
Another agonizing spike drove into his skull and Gold doubled over. After a moment, it subsided, but he still felt weak and shaky.
Pain killers.
Gold got to his feet and limped to the bathroom to find the medicine and properly dress the wounds in his hand. Fortunately, he didn’t find any shards of porcelain in the wounds, but that didn’t mean some hadn’t worked their way deeper.
Should go to the hospital. Blood loss. Possible nerve damage.
Gold hated hospitals. Hated the sense of vulnerability, of putting his life in the hands of someone else. No one could be trusted.
You trusted Straggletag. You let her in.
A tap sounded on the glass.
Gold’s head snapped up and he hurried as fast as he could to the back door, hoping against hope she would be there, that he could apologize—
A white tulip lay on the back porch and a crow perched on the railing.
Gold blinked, trying to regain his equilibrium. The crow tilted its head to one side, watching him. The movement was familiar… “You… You’re one of her crows. From the lighthouse.”
To his astonishment, the bird bobbed its head as if in affirmation and gave a sharp, “CAW!”
Another crow swooped out of the trees and deposited a white tulip at his feet on the porch, then joined its fellow on the railing. Followed by a third. And a fourth. Each had another white tulip clutched in their talons.
So that’s how she did it, Gold realized. The crows left the flowers for her. Some of them, at least.
Eight white tulips now lay on the back porch and eight crows sat on the railing watching him with their sharp, intelligent eyes. Then a ninth crow fluttered onto the porch, but instead of dropping the flower it carried with the others, it flew right towards Gold and released what it held. Reflexively, Gold reached out, caught it… and froze when he saw what it was.
Gold dropped the flower as if it burned him, then limped back through the house and out the front door, grabbing his keys as he went.
White tulips.
I’m sorry. Forgive me.
A single red rose.
I love you.
The Cadillac roared to life and Gold sped down the road towards the lighthouse.
***
It was very much like watching someone die.
Regina had seen death before. Watched the light leave their eyes as the soul departed the body.
In the same way, Regina watched the hope leave Belle. Watched it drain out of her entire body like blood from a corpse at the mortuary. Watched her eyes grow dull, her limbs go limp, her lungs utterly deflate. The monitors continued to beep steadily and in a moment, Belle’s chest rose with another breath… but the spark was gone.
Regina smiled, stood up, and left the room to give Whale his instructions and ensure that no one besides the doctor and herself would ever see Belle of the Marchlands again.
Chapter 13: Realization
Chapter Text
No matter how fast he drove, Gold somehow knew he would be too late. The sight of fresh tire tracks in the mud and gravel made his chest tight and his hands shake. The Cadillac was barely in park when he flung the door open and hobbled as fast as he could towards the lighthouse.
Gold was no tracker, but the churned sand near the hidden entrance suggested some kind of disturbance.
And drag marks showed that something had been dragged into the space among the roots.
No she can’t be dead she can’t she can’t—
Part of Gold’s mind gibbered with terror. Another part felt cold and detached as he struggled through the wet sand towards the opening and pushed aside the hanging roots.
A shape lay on the ground. Gold dropped to his knees and reaching out a trembling hand.
No no no no—
He nearly wept when his fingers met lumpy, hard-angled canvas instead of yielding flesh.
A rucksack. Not a body. Not her.
She was leaving, the voices hissed. You told her to leave and she did.
Gold didn’t understand why terror filled him at the thought. Only a few hours ago, he wanted nothing more than to have her out of his sight. He’d driven her away, but now couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing her again. The conflicting thoughts and emotions made his head throb with renewed agony.
I must be insane, he thought dimly as he grabbed the straps of the rucksack and began dragging it across the sand towards the driftwood steps. I’ve actually lost my mind. There’s no other explanation for… this.
Whatever “this” is.
While he wasn’t sure about his sanity, Gold was certain of one thing: Straggletag was planning to leave, but something interrupted. Maybe Gold wasn’t the only person she spoke to in Storybrooke. Maybe they had driven out to meet her and she stashed her belongings temporarily. Maybe they were helping her get supplies or arranging a ride out of town.
Or maybe someone had found her and took her away.
The thought made Gold bare his teeth as rage swept through him. No one steals from me, dearie. A wave of nausea followed and he tried to shake the thought away. What the hell is wrong with me? Straggletag is a person, not an object.
Yet he couldn’t shake the sense of outrage… and dread. I need to know if she’s safe, Gold told himself. Maybe the rucksack held a clue. If there was someone else in Storybrooke who communicated with Straggletag, maybe she would have a note, a phone number, something to indicate her whereabouts.
He couldn’t face the idea of returning to his house and, without Straggletag, he had no idea how to enter the lighthouse. So Gold headed for the only other place in Storybrooke he felt relatively secure.
The pawnshop.
***
Gold had never been so glad for the side entrance to his shop. It shielded him from the prying eyes of any early morning residents as he parked the Cadillac and painfully hauled the rucksack inside. Then again, Gold thought, if anyone does see me, they’ll probably think I’m hauling the body of someone who defaulted on a deal. Normally, such a passing thought would bring him a sense of satisfaction at the power of his reputation. Now it just made him wonder if that same reputation would help or hinder his search for Straggletag.
With his leg and hand on fire with agony at the mistreatment they’d suffered the past few hours, Gold didn’t bother trying to move the rucksack any farther. The front door was locked and the shades drawn, so it wouldn’t matter if he emptied it right here in the middle of the floor. He pulled up a stool to give his leg some relief, then opened the bag… and wasn’t sure if he was going to laugh or cry.
Books. The first thing that spilled out were books. He recognized the titles from the shelf in the lighthouse. Did you leave any room for food? Gold wondered with a bemused smile as he set them aside. It was baffling, and yet so like her. Of course she would prioritize the books. Of course she would try to save them.
He didn’t know why he was so sure of that. He didn’t know her well enough to think such a thing.
“I agreed to come with you… I’d like to think we became friends… we started getting along, and you started to open up a little…”
Gold rubbed at his temples, trying to ease the spike of pain. I’ll need to have a word with Mr. Clark about the lack of potency in his pain killers, Gold thought. When the latest surge receded, he continued his search.
Finally, some practical gear: A battered mess kit. A bar of soap. A wrapped loaf of bread, a few tins of canned fruit cocktail, peas, and baked beans. The little teapot missing a lid. A half-empty box of tea.
It was small and sad and he wanted to break something, but was too exhausted to make the effort. The only items within reach were hers and he wouldn’t cause her more harm than he already had.
Too late to apologize. Too late…
His fingers brushed against soft cloth. The shape felt rather like a book, but when he drew it out, the cloth was just the wrapping. It once had been a cream or tan color, but was discolored from old stains. Grass, mud… blood?
Before he could unwrap the cloth, Gold heard the side door open.
Damn! In his haste to get the rucksack inside, he must have neglected to lock it behind him. Gold struggled to his feet to confront the intruder.
“Hey, Mr. Gold, I wanted to say—” Ruby Lucas’s word faded as she stepped into the room and saw him standing protectively in front of the pile of items, disheveled with his teeth bared in a snarl. “What the hell, Gold?”
“Can’t you read, dearie? We’re closed.”
“Yeah, but I figured you were here with your car outside and all.”
“Here, but busy. Get out.”
Ruby glared and crossed her arms. “Sheesh, chill, will you? I just wanted to say thanks.”
It was so unexpected that Gold stopped snarling and blinked. “What?”
She huffed. “Thank. You. For, like, getting the ball rolling with the lighthouse. Getting the rest of the town to go along with it. And yeah, I know you had to be behind the support. No one else in Storybrooke would dare stand up to Regina. But you did, and for a worthy cause, for once. You’re still a bastard, but at least you can be a helpful bastard when you put your mind to it.”
“That is the most bizarre compliment I’ve ever heard.”
The waitress rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’ll let you get back to—”
For a second time, Ruby’s words trailed off. She was looking at the pile of items on the floor.
Gold shifted, trying to block her view. “Miss Lucas—”
But Ruby pushed past and grabbed something. “Where did you get this?” she demanded.
It was the teapot. Gold narrowed his eyes. “It was being thrown out,” he said, repeating Straggletag’s words.
“Bullshit,” Ruby snarled. She stepped closer, towering over him, and shoved the teapot in his face. “I gave this to a friend. Where is she, Gold? Did you do something to her? I swear, if you've hurt Meg, I’ll—”
Gold held up his hand. “Wait, who?”
Ruby huffed. “Meg. Well, that’s what I call her. She never told me her name. But she’s a homeless woman who comes to the diner sometimes. Short, blue eyes, wears a weird cloak made of—”
“—Fur and feathers and leaves,” Gold finished, the blood draining from his face.
“You know her? You know Meg?”
“Straggletag,” he whispered. “She called herself Straggletag.”
“Strag-a-what now?” Ruby shook her head in frustration. “Whatever, point is, how the hell do you know her and why do you have her stuff? Where is she?”
Gold shook his head. “I… I don’t know where she is. We…” He swallowed, unable to bring himself to explain the details. “We… had a fight. She… I think she was leaving Storybrooke.”
“What ?!”
“But I think something happened. She wouldn’t leave this behind. There was sand disturbed at the lighthouse. I think someone took her—”
“Waitwaitwait, the lighthouse? Meg was staying… at the lighthouse?!”
“Yes.”
“How the blazes do you know that?”
Gold looked away. “She invited me over for tea,” he muttered.
Ruby stared. Then she turned away from Gold, grabbed another stool and sat down on the other side of the rucksack from him. “Okay, tell me what the bloody hell is going on. From the top.”
He glared at Ruby and tapped his cane on the floor. “This is a waste of time. Straggletag—Meg—she may be in trouble…”
“And we’re not moving an inch until I’m convinced that you’re not that trouble.”
Gold’s glare had cowed many an unruly tenant, but Ruby refused to back down, daring him to try to move her.
He did not want to do this. He wanted to walk (or rather, limp) out of the shop and away from her accusations. Or over to the phone to call Dove and tell him to remove the trespasser. He did not want to explain this, to open up in any way, to this stranger. He had never explained himself to anyone before. Why should he start now?
But as Gold glared at Ruby, he didn’t just see bravado and defiance. He also saw fear. Not fear of him, but fear for her friend.
Wasn’t this the very link he had been hoping to find?
You have to. For Straggletag.
He sighed and painfully settled back down onto the stool. “Very well. It started with some flowers…”
Chapter 14: Allies
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby could count on one hand the number of times she’d been rendered speechless. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever think that one day she’d be sitting in the pawnshop at the crack of dawn on a Saturday morning listening to the Beast of Storybrooke explain how he made his first friend.
Gold didn’t put it like that, of course, but Ruby could read between the lines. It was a combination of sweet, sad, and mortifying watching him flinch and stumble his way through the story of how he met Meg.
He also wasn’t telling the whole truth. Not lying, just… omitting some details. Probably something emotional because god damn the man needed to learn how to admit he even had feelings, let alone process them. But he was definitely worried sick and at a loss on what to do about it.
Funny how, when talking about Meg, he seemed a whole lot less like evil incarnate and more like just an awkward, lonely man.
Still can be a right bastard though.
“Am I boring you, Miss Lucas?”
Speaking of which… Ruby rolled her eyes. “Just pondering if I should pat your head and tell you everything will be okay or slap you silly for being such a dolt.”
Gold looked horrified. “The latter, please.”
“Nah, I think I’ll let Meg, er, Straggletag, do that when we find her.” Ruby tried to project as much confidence as she could into her voice.
“We?”
“Of course. She’s my friend too. Did you think I was gonna make you spill the story and then just… what? Walk away? Try to blackmail you or something?”
The expression on his face told her he was expecting just that.
“Good grief, you really are bad at this,” Ruby muttered.
Gold glared at her. “At what, exactly, dearie?”
“Trusting people.”
“Less opportunities for betrayal that way.”
“And yet you made friends with Meg. I mean, Straggletag.” She made a face. “Can we just call her Meg for now? I know that isn’t her name, but the other one is a mouthful and kinda conspicuous.”
When he nodded his acquiescence, albeit a bit dazedly, Ruby jumped to her feet and started pacing. Movement always helped her think. Gold looked back down at Meg’s things, brow furrowed.
“So we’re in agreement that someone found Meg and took her somewhere,” Ruby said.
“Your ability to state the obvious is breathtaking, Miss Lucas.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s call thinking out loud. Establishing the facts. Making sure we haven’t missed anything obvious or taking anything for granted. For example… did Meg ever mention knowing anyone else in town?”
Gold shook his head… then froze. “The only person she mentioned was Mayor Mills. But not in a good way. She was… scared.”
Ruby nodded slowly. “She told me once that it was dangerous to be in town and to not trust Regina.”
“No one in their right mind should,” Gold said with a dark look on his face.
“So, are we thinking Regina had something to do with this?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out.”
“Which means Sheriff Graham must be involved.”
Gold gave a thin smile. “Yes, I doubt our immaculate Mayor would go out and wrestle a homeless woman into submission herself.”
Ruby tapped her chin. “When we first met, I asked Meg if she’d gone to the nuns, and she also seemed scared of them. So they’re a possibility as well. I’m sure they’ve got crypts and dungeons running all underneath the convent.”
“You’ve been watching too many bad horror movies, Miss Lucas.”
“Hey, I’m just saying, it’s possible! Old building have all kinds of secret places like that! And who would suspect nuns of doing anything wrong?”
“Anyone who’s spent time under their tutelage.”
Ruby grimaced. “Touché. Okay, so the Mayor and Sheriff, plus the nuns.” She paused and rubbed her face with her hands. “Shit, we can’t just come out and accuse them of kidnapping.”
“Not without proof,” Gold said grimly.
“I’d try to sweet-talk Graham, but he’s sleeping with the mayor.”
For once, Gold looked surprised. “Really? And how do you know that?”
Ruby grinned. “You aren’t the only person who knows things around here. When you’re pretty and a woman working a menial job, folks tend to think you’re stupid. Comes in handy for collecting gossip.”
“Well then, for now, keep your ears open for any more of this gossip, Miss Lucas. I’ll handle the Sheriff. Oh, don’t look so skeptical, dearie,” he added, seeing her raised eyebrows. “My house seems to have… been broken into. The intruder left quite a mess. As a citizen of this town, it’s the sheriff’s duty to look into the matter.”
Relieved that Gold’s demeanor had shifted now that he had a goal, Ruby nodded and held out her hand. “Partners then, Mr. Gold?”
Gold eyed her hand for a moment, then grasped it firmly. “Allies, Miss Lucas,” he replied.
Ruby gave a feral smile. “Good enough.”
***
It was very strange having another person in his corner. There was Dove, but he was an employee. He was paid to be loyal. Currently, Gold had him discreetly reconnoitering the convent. Despite his size, Dove was very good at his job. While Gold wasn’t entirely sure if Ruby would learn anything just listening to chatter at Granny’s Diner or The Rabbit Hole, having her out of the way gave him time to think and acclimate to the idea that someone else also knew about Straggletag and cared enough to look for her.
Cared enough to overlook the fact that they were working with him.
Gold wasn’t sure why Ruby had decided he wasn’t a threat to Straggletag, but he was grateful all the same.
Considering how I behaved… I am a threat to her. As soon as she’s safe, I will make sure she won’t have to see me again.
Clad in a fresh suit (thanks to keeping spares at the pawnshop), Gold felt suitably armed for battle as he entered the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department.
Being such a small town, Graham Hunter was the only full-time police officer. There were a pair of part-time deputies, Trigger and Nutley (usually called “Nutsy”) who split time at the station to take calls when Graham was out. Gold counted himself fortunate that Nutsy was the one on duty. Neither deputy was very smart, but while Trigger was close-mouthed and suspicious of everyone, Nutsy was unable to keep his mouth shut, even when expressly told to withhold information.
As a result, by the time Gold was done making his report about the alleged break-in, he’d learned that the sheriff had been out all night (“patrolling, gotta keep the streets safe at night!”) and had briefly come back from the hospital early that morning to relieve Trigger and call Nutsy in for duty (“an all-nighter with only station coffee, now that’s a crime!) before heading home for some rest. One glance told Gold that no one was in the single cell and Nutsy confirmed that no one had been brought in for over a week (“not since Keith Nottingham and Robin Locksley got in a fistfight on the docks and needed a cool-down”).
When he left, Gold was certain that Graham, and therefore Regina, were behind Straggletag’s disappearance. But that still left him with two questions: Why did they do it? and Where did they put her?
The latter was far more important, but he was determined to uncover the former in due course.
Unwilling to return to the house, Gold retreated to the pawnshop, repacked the scattered contents of the rucksack, and put in the trunk of the Cadillac, along with some supplies. If—when—he found Straggletag, he would take her to safety immediately.
Regina would not get a second chance to take her.
***
“You’re cancelling on me?” Ruby said, astounded.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“But we were going to have sex. You love sex. Especially with me.”
Victor sounded truly remorseful. “I do, Ruby. I really do. Believe me, I wouldn’t cancel our date unless it was very, very important.”
Ruby smiled in spite of her disappointment. A lot of people found Victor stiff and standoffish, arrogant even. Granted, he certainly could be that and his bedside manner was terrible. But he was passionate about his work, to the point of obsession, and was equally attentive as a lover and willing to experiment in the bedroom when others weren’t. Ruby wasn’t sure if he was long-term-relationship material, but it certainly was fun. Heck, maybe some of his ability to focus would rub off on her.
“My dear Doctor Whale,” she purred, “are you running a new experiment without me? You know how important an extra pair of hands can be. You need just the right pressure, the right temperature, the right about of moisture…” Her smile widened at his sharp intake of breath.
“N-No. It’s… a patient I have to monitor. Nothing glamorous, but…” He trailed off.
Ruby understood that, as a doctor, Victor had to protect the privacy of his patients. But staying to monitor a patient was really unusual for him to do; there were overnight nurses who took care of such things. While he often stayed late to do research and lab work, the only time Ruby could remember Victor staying to monitor a patient was when Ariel Havet had a mental breakdown and tried rolling her wheelchair off the pier.
But as far as Ruby knew, no one had suffered from anything so drastic. No accidents, no breakdowns… It was the blessing and curse of a small town that everyone knew everyone else’s business in short order.
And the timing… “Are they going to be okay?” she asked, now concerned.
“Yes, yes, I think everything will be fine. It’s just… I have to be here. I hope you can understand.”
“Of course I do.” She paused, then decided to push a little. “Will it be a long stay?”
“Ruby…”
“Hey, I know, patient privacy and all… What I meant was, are you gonna have to monitor them every night? If so, for how long?”
Victor sighed. “Honestly… I don’t know.”
Ruby thought quickly. “Tell you what. How about I…”
***
When she was sure Victor was on board, Ruby told him goodnight, hung up, then quickly dialed another number.
A crisp Scottish voice answered her. “Miss Lucas?”
“Hey… I think I know where Meg is.”
Notes:
HEY! IT'S ANOTHER CHAPTER! I got to have a three-day weekend and wanted to make the most of it, so here you are! (Plus, I REALLY want to get to the next chapter...)
As you can see, Ruby and Gold are on the case! I enjoy watching the social butterfly and the hermit interact; they can both be so cutting and sarcastic, but also really, deeply loyal, so I feel like they work well together.
Trigger and Nutsy are references to the two vultures in Disney's animated "Robin Hood" movie from 1973 (one of the underrated masterpieces of their collection).
Also, please forgive my TERRIBLE attempt at writing a line of phone sex. I swear, trying to write something that sounded halfway decent took longer than writing the rest of this chapter. UGH.
I know I'm breaking canon a bit (canon? what canon? This is AU!) by mentioning Ariel and putting her in a wheelchair, but the thought popped into my head that if Ariel had gotten caught up in the curse, she may have manifested being unable to walk since she's supposed to have a fish tail instead of legs and the incongruity of her existence would make her really susceptible to mental breakdowns. (Because really do think that the stress of the curse, especially trying to operate in a Land Without Magic would cause issues for the residents. Not that Regina would care...) Ariel's last name here, "Havet" is the Danish word for "ocean" since "The Little Mermaid" story came from Denmark.
Chapter 15: Rescue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Numb.
Cold drips
through the needle
seeps into her veins
into her heart
Her heart—
“He doesn’t care about you”
Don’t think.
Don’t remember.
tired
so tired
of fighting
of thinking
of fearing
of feeling
Alone.
Alone for so long.
Right there but can’t reach can’t touch can’t—
“Your dearest Rumple told me where to find you”
Don’t think.
Don’t remember.
Hold on
I’m coming
so tired
Why am I still here
Why am I still
Why do I still
“He doesn’t love you”
Don’t think.
Don’t remember.
But the grey numb only muffles the screams
that come out as groans
as tears
as—
“Rumplestiltskin!”
***
The plan was madness and Gold pointed out that fact. Repeatedly, loudly, and at length with vocabulary to match.
But when Ruby finally lost patience, threw up her hands, and shouted, “Well, do you have a better idea, Mr. Know-It-All?!” Gold’s mouth snapped shut with a click. Because she was right. He didn’t have a better idea, none that would ensure Straggletag/Meg wouldn’t be moved (or worse) before they could reach her.
Gold wasn’t used to feeling powerless. Usually his reputation was enough of a deterrent to mischief or encouragement to comply with his wishes. And what fear didn’t accomplish, money could.
He could neither cow nor bribe Regina Mills and that infuriated him.
Especially since it meant that Straggletag had to spend even more time imprisoned while he and Ruby plotted and planned.
“Did you really have to involve the town drunk?” Gold muttered as he sat in his car, glaring balefully at Storybrooke Hospital.
“That town drunk is your ticket inside, since you insist on getting Meg yourself.” He grimaced remembering how the conversation played out with Ruby. “Leroy is the night janitor, he always takes a smoke break at 11pm at the side door when he takes out the trash, and he owes me a favor.” She had crossed her arms and looked at him with a mixture of frustration and something that could have been worry. “Are you sure you don’t want Leroy to get her? Or I could just tie up Victor and do it. Nothing wrong with you staying as the getaway driver.”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, recalling his reply. “She might not being willing to go with a stranger. You have to keep Dr. Whale busy so he doesn’t notice his key card is missing. And all of you need plausible deniability when Regina finds out her victim is missing.”
But the timing was key, and so much could go wrong.
So very, very wrong.
He stared at the door and waited.
***
“Rumplestiltskin!”
***
“This is very, very wrong, you know.”
Ruby grinned and kissed Victor as they stumbled back into a supply closet. “Is that your official diagnosis, Doctor?” she purred between caresses.
“Hmm, on second thought, I might need to conduct a more thorough examination.”
“Very thorough,” she agreed, wrapping her hand around Victor’s lanyard and dragging him in for another kiss. When they came up for air, she yanked it off and tossed it to the floor before doing the same to his jacket.
Victor was too busy lavishing kisses on her throat and running his hands over her breasts to noticed her kick the lanyard (along with the attached ID and security key card) under the door.
***
Leroy shuffled through the halls of the hospital with a scowl on his face. This wasn’t an unusual sight; Leroy was always scowling at or because of something.
Tonight was not much different, although the reasons were very unusual.
Brawling, disorderly conduct, public urination… now I can add burglary to my list of crimes! he thought sourly, sweeping another few bits of dust and dirt into his pan with a violent rattle. Ruby Lucas hadn’t said why she wanted him to secure the lanyard, but it wasn’t hard to guess. Scoop it up in his pan, take it outside when he took his break and leave the door slightly ajar… She ultimately wanted him to let someone in.
Why wasn’t any of his business. But it had to do with the isolation ward, because she asked him to take as long as possible on his rounds before going there. Not that he could go inside, even if he wanted to. Dr. High-and-Mighty Whale had decreed it was off-limits to all personnel except himself until further notice.
Fine with me. One less space to clean , Leroy thought. Not my problem if everyone dies of dysentery because they wouldn’t let me scrub the toilets.
He was now in the hall Ruby told him to be at… and there were some very… loud noises coming from the supply closet on the far left. Leroy’s face reddened as he realized what exactly he was hearing. Jesus, Mary, and fucking Joseph , he thought, ducking his head and wishing he had earplugs.
Right on cue, something skidded out into the hallway.
Without missing a beat, Leroy swept it up into his dustbin and walked past, trying to ignore the thumps and cries beside him.
Gonna need a smoke after this , he thought. A few stiff drinks .
And a very, very cold shower.
***
“ RUMPLESTILTSKIN! ”
***
Gold cursed himself for leaving the relative warmth of the car. The cold night air was doing his leg no favors, but he couldn’t stand to wait there any longer. He felt like he’d entered an alternate reality where time reversed whenever he looked at his watch and hoped a change of hiding place would speed it along a little.
Now he was in the bushes near the side door, watching an eon pass as it finally, finally opened. Gold glanced down. 11pm on the dot, and the janitor was there with a trash bag and broom in hand.
But the man didn’t drop the bag and go back inside like Gold expected. To Gold’s shock and horror, Leroy leaned against the wall, lit a cigar, and started puffing away like nothing was out of the ordinary.
Rage, anxiety, and dread clawed at Gold’s insides. Every day, every hour, every minute spent knowing where Straggletag was but unable to do anything about it made the feeling intensify. He couldn’t explain why , only that it was eroding his normally vast reserves of patience. Instead of being careful and deliberate, he itched to move .
He must have made some sound, because the janitor suddenly said, “I thought I smelled a rat.”
Gold stilled. Dammit! He eyed the space between himself and the door, wondering if he could be fast enough, even with his bad leg, to knock the man down and get inside…
“You Ruby’s friend then?” Leroy continued to puff away on his cigar. When Gold didn’t answer, he added, “Yeah, guess I don’t need to know. Done my part, haven’t I? But I don’t wanna get caught on this and I don’t think you want to neither. So this has all gotta look natural. If I came back in too soon, folks wonder why.” He took a deep pull from the cigar and let out a billow of smoke. “Security cams focus inside the doors on the patient and public side. Keep up the stairwell to your right to the third floor and you should be outta sight.” He paused and snuffed out his cigar. “Picked a good night for a burglary. Miss Dawn’s on duty and by this point she’ll be noddin’ off. Why they insist on puttin’ her on night shift I’ll never know…”
Leroy shifted, and the bag beside him spilled dust and crumpled paper everywhere. “Well darn it, now look what I’ve done,” he drawled. “Better get the broom and clean this mess up.” Then he turned and stumped back inside.
Gold never heard the door click shut.
He limped out from behind the bushes, wincing as he did, and headed for the open bag. Lying there in the pile was the gleam of plastic. With a grimace, Gold scooped up the key card, brushed off the worst of the dust, and tucked into his pocket.
Just as Ruby said he would, Leroy had left the side door ajar. Gold slipped inside and through the doors of the stairwell just as he heard Leroy’s stomping footsteps return. He waited until the janitor passed, then, gritting his teeth, began to climb.
***
The drugs made her hazy around the edges, made her eyes unfocused, made her thoughts skitter away like windblown leaves. Thoughts began, broke apart, reformed in new jumbled shapes. Insubstantial like bubbles and mist, disconnected from her body as she waited to fade.
A warm hand on her cheek pulled her back from the edge of the grey, edge of the nothing abyss she teetered over.
Someone there. Looking at her with warm, frightened eyes. Saying words she couldn’t quite grasp.
This. I know this.
Hand.
Voice.
Face.
Name.
She had nothing left. So she scraped and clawed and tore at the void to form her own face, her own voice, for a single, raspy word:
“Rumple?”
***
She doesn’t know who I am.
The thought hurt, but was drowned out by the sheer relief that she was still here, still breathing.
He also wanted to strap Regina to a bed of hot nails and slowly skin her alive.
Straggletag’s already underweight frame was now emaciated. She looked sickly, unkempt, and bruises surrounded her wrists and ankles where restraints held her in place. Her blue eyes, once bright and lively were now dull and wandering, glazed over from whatever cocktail of drugs she’d been injected with.
But she was able to focus on him for a second, a whisper drifting through cracked lips.
“Rumple?”
She called me that the night—
The night you scared her and shook her and drove her out.
Gold pushed the voices of recrimination aside. There was time enough for that when Straggletag was safe.
“Hey,” he said, trying to give a reassuring smile. “Sorry I’m late. Let’s get out of here, eh?”
Her head lolled and she didn’t reply, but Gold kept up a soft, running commentary of what he was doing as he removed the IV drips, the various monitors, and the restraints. She didn’t fight him, but she seemed unable to assist either, and that worried Gold. If Straggletag was unable to walk, or even support her a little of her own weight…
You should have listened to Miss Lucas. She’s tall and strong and whole and could carry Meg. But no, you had to be a big damn hero. Had to put your pride before Straggletag’s life. You’ll be lucky to get out of this room before security arrives.
Shut up! Gold silently growled.
He gently rubbed her wrists to encourage circulation and bit back a curse when he saw the reddening skin on her ankles where bedsores were starting to form. Gold made a mental note to check her more thoroughly and treat any other wounds that might have developed once they were away and safe.
Safe. Will Straggletag ever feel safe again?
Gold helped her into a sitting position and, seeing that she only wore a thin hospital gown with no sign of any other clothes, he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you a bath and fresh clothes soon,” he murmured.
Feeling each second tick by, Gold draped one of her arms across his shoulders, then wrapped the other around her waist and levered her upright. Her bare feet twitched, and he could feel her muscles tense as she tried to gain purchase on the slippery floor. But she was so very weak…
“That’s it,” he encouraged. “One step at a time.”
***
He’s here.
The realization made Belle boneless with relief rather than despair.
She struggled to make her limbs obey, but everything was slow, sluggish, blocked. The only points of existence were where his hands brushed her skin, flares of red and gold in the grey. She latched onto his voice, catching meaning in snatches.
He was here.
He was going to get her out.
***
We’re not going to make it.
They moved at a snail’s pace. Through no fault of her own, Straggletag was a dead weight against his side, and his leg, already abused by the cold and the trip up, threatened to collapse at any moment. The only saving grace was they were moving down rather than up. Still, he was terrified of dropping her, of causing even more harm than he already had.
If either of them fell, Gold wasn’t sure if they would get back up again.
They were almost at the second floor landing when the door swung open.
Mary Margaret Blanchard gave a gasp of surprise and startlement when she saw them, but thankfully did not make any louder exclamations. Her shock quickly changed to wary confusion. “Mr. Gold? What… what are you doing?”
Gold glared at her. “What are you doing? Visiting hours are long over.”
“I-I sometimes come give Dawn a hand,” she stammered. “She’s always so nice, and has to work such late nights that I try to help out.” She frowned and crossed her arms. “You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Gold.”
“None of your concern,” he snapped. His mind whirred, trying to come up with something, anything that sounded even vaguely plausible, but all he knew was panic.
Mary Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “I think it is my concern. What are you doing moving an obviously incapacitated woman around the back stairs in the middle of the night?”
He winced. Put that way, it did sound rather nefarious… and Straggletag did not have time for an argument. So he opted for the unvarnished truth. “Regina had her pet sheriff kidnap this woman and confined her here against her will. I’m… rescuing her.” The last sentence made him wince again. He was no hero.
“What on earth? Why would Mayor Mills—”
“I don’t have time to argue with you, Miss Blanchard,” Gold growled, forcing himself and Straggletag down another step. If he could reach the landing and gently set her down, he could take care of this unexpected obstacle more easily…
Mary Margaret reached for the door.
“No!”
The raspy exclamation made Mary Margaret freeze, and Gold look sharply at Straggletag. She was still heavily sedated, but was trying to raise her head to look at Mary Margaret. When she managed it, the other woman gasped at the sight of Straggletag’s scars.
“Reg…in…a… hurt…me. Caught…me. Help…help…us…please…Snow.” The words sounded like they were being pulled out of Straggletag’s throat with barbed wire and tears started dripping down her face.
Gold got them down the last step and helped her sit. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her face and cursed himself for not thinking to bring a bottle of water. All the supplies were in his car. “Easy, dear, don’t hurt yourself.”
Something sloshed and Gold glanced beside him to see Mary Margaret holding out a half-filled water bottle. She wasn’t looking at him, but at Straggletag, but with a small frown on her face, like she was trying to puzzle something out. Gold took the bottle and helped Straggletag take a few sips. When she was done, he handed the bottle back to Mary Margaret, who tucked it back into her shoulder bag.
Straggletag leaned heavily against him, and Gold bit back a cry as pain stabbed through his leg. Can I get her on her feet again? he wondered.
Then Mary Margaret was on her other side, draping Straggletag’s left arm over her shoulders and levering her to her feet. She didn’t say a word. Gold blinked, then hastened to do the same on Straggletag’s right side.
Between the two of them, they made it down the remaining flight of stairs, out the side door, and to Gold’s parked Cadillac. The entire way, neither said a word to the other.
Mary Margaret supported Straggletag while Gold unlocked and opened the passenger side door and then helped ease the barely conscious young woman inside. As Mary Margaret buckled the seat belt for her, Straggletag reached out to her. “Thank…you…Snow…”
Snow . Rather than a random word, it seemed that Straggletag was using it like a name. “Have you met before?” Gold asked Mary Margaret.
Giving Straggletag’s hand a reassuring squeeze, Mary Margaret stepped back and gently closed the door. “No,” she said, but her tone was uncertain. She blinked, then looked at Gold, her expression hardening. “You’d better take good care of her, Mr. Gold. Don’t make me regret helping you.”
Curiosity forced him to ask, “And why did you help?”
She looked away. “Because… as much as I don’t want to believe that one human being could do something like this to another… if anyone could… it would be Regina. That… that woman… There’s something dark about her. Something…cold and empty and filled with malice.” She glanced back at him. “I’m surprised you don’t get along.”
Gold stiffened, the comparison making him feel both anger… and something rather like shame. “Unlike Regina, I don’t cause harm with no purpose. Good evening, Miss Blanchard.”
She didn’t reply, merely watched as he limped around to the driver side of the Cadillac and drove off into the night.
Notes:
Aaaaaand they're out! I'm not super-great with scenarios like this, but I hope the escape plan had the right amount of sense, tension, and pay-off. (Plus, a guest appearances by Leroy, a.k.a. Dreamy/Grumpy and Mary Margaret, a.k.a. Snow White!)
I hope you'll forgive me if Gold isn't on top of everything in this chapter. I wanted him to be forced to rely on others and relinquish control here, which put him on edge. Plus, Belle keeps trying to summon him, and even with the curse in place, it's wearing thin and he can subconsciously FEEL it, which is only increasing his anxiety and making it harder for him to concentrate.
Next chapter or two will be lots of comfort. ^_^
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