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a-monthly-rumbelling · 7 years

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Regina’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Submitted by @darcyfarrow2005.

Not for a single day in the past year had Regina slid out of her queen-sized bed before nine a.m. Along with weekly mani-pedis and monthly shopping excursions in New York, sleeping in was one of the rewards she’d gifted to herself after the mess the Black Fairy had made had been cleaned up and no new destroyers had emerged. So it was that when her phone rang insistently and she elevated one eyelid just enough to see that the light edging in through her window blinds was still a product of the moon, she rolled onto her stomach and wrapped one of her pillows around her head. Three dim thoughts flitted through her mind, granting her permission to sleep on: 1) the ring tone wasn’t “I’m a Believer”; thus, the caller wasn’t Henry; 2) last month she and the City Council had signed the new budget, granting Emma (or, in her absence, Acting Sheriff Nolan) permission to hire a night dispatcher and a second deputy; thus, any city emergencies were well covered by law enforcement; and 3) no one in her extended family was ill, injured, pregnant or even likely to be awake at this hour; thus, the call had to be a wrong number. The call went into voice mail and Regina went back to sleep.

Only to be immediately aroused by a hand roughly shaking her shoulder. “Regina! Regina, wake up!”

She shot a defensive fireball into the darkness as she scrambled to sit up, her blankets yanked to her chin. “What? What? Step back, whoever you are, or I’ll incinerate you.”

The lamp on her nightstand snapped on and yellow light gave her unwelcome visitor a halo. She was about to ask how he’d gotten past her security system, but as her eyes adjusted to the blare of light, she had her answer, from the long, elegant lines of the fine cloth draping the young man’s chest. “Armani,” she mumbled, then, “Gideon. I won’t ask how”—the smell of magic lingered in the air—”so why are you here?”

“It’s May 11.”

“It’s also 5 a.m. Are you telling me that among all that junk in your father’s shop, you couldn’t find a single wrist watch?”

“Evil doesn’t sleep in.” Gideon magically slid her closet doors open. “It’s a chilly morning but sunshine is predicted, so I recommend dressing in layers.” He was quite pleased with his advice; he’d learned about layers from his mom. “I have breakfast waiting for you in your kitchen.”

In frustration she magically slammed the closet doors closed. “Gideon, what are your parents doing right now?”

“Huh?”

“I’ll make a deal with you.” This, Regina suspected, would only be the first of several deals she’d be making with young Master Gold, now that she was on his radar, so she’d might as well get out ahead of him. “If your parents are awake and starting their day, I’ll get up. If not, I’m going back to bed.”

“But this is their wedding day–”

“Just what I thought.” Regina snapped her fingers, shutting the lamp off.

——————————-

At eight-thirty, Regina awoke gently to robins chirping outside her window and pale sunlight easing its way past her blinds. She sat up, stretched, scratched her head, yawned, ran a hot bath, as she did every morning, as she checked her email and phone messages. A calendar reminder of a one o’clock meeting with the head of Sanitation, a four o’clock conference call with the Chamber of Commerce’s Adult Education Committee, a report she needed to submit by five, and the Golds’ wedding at ten: the ordinariness of it all made her smile. She’d come to appreciate routine.

She’d just lowered herself into her sunken tub when her phone rang. “Shut up,” she commanded it, sliding into the bubbles, but the disobedient thing demanded her immediate attention. “Gideon, if that’s you–” Then she focused on the ringtone: “The Theme from The Lone Ranger”—a tune she hadn’t heard in almost a year. David’s ringtone. She shot up out of the tub and snatched the phone. “Yes?”

“Regina, there’s been a break-in at the library.”

She forced herself to sound annoyed, but her hands shook a little. “Let me guess: you caught some teens making off with Fifty Shades of Grey.”

“I wish that was all it was,” David’s tone was clipped. “Whoever it was, they jimmied the front door lock—the flimsy one Belle put in a requisition to replace three months ago.”

Regina squirmed. Since she’d reformed, she’d been beleaguered too frequently by bouts of guilt over matters both big and small; it created a discomfort she’d never had to deal with before. “Yes, well, after all the monster damage the City has had to clean up in the past six years, our Maintenance Fund and Rainy Day Fund are depleted.”

“Can’t cough up twenty bucks for a lock?” David growled.

“May I remind you, Sheriff Nolan, the leadership of this town—including the former mayor, your wife—has had more urgent matters to attend to. Besides, who would want to break into a building full of books?”

“Someone did, obviously. May I remind you, Madame Mayor, about a month ago you asked Belle to translate an old book.

Regina groaned, suddenly needing an aspirin. “The one written in Old Middle Fairy.”

“The very same.”

“The one she thinks is a spell book.”

“Right. The thief jimmied the lock on her desk, took the book and her notes.”

Regina hissed, a string of modern-day curse words carried on her breath. “Any witnesses, fingerprints, what-have-you?”

“Nope.”

“Wait a minute: isn’t there a squatter living in the apartment over the library, a runaway?”

“Emma chased her out. Sent her back home.”

“Just our luck: the one time she listens to me about enforcing vagrancy laws, it’s the one time I wish she’d listened to her bleeding heart instead. Remind me again why we don’t have any security cameras on our public buildings?”

“Budget cuts.”

“Riiiight. All right, David, I authorize you to deputize the dwarfs. Send them out on the streets. Meet me at the library in five. If the intruder is a mage, maybe I can a handle on his magic marker.” She disconnected without a farewell and with a press of a button had Zelena on the phone.

“What do you expect me to do about it, without my magic?” the former witch moaned.

“You’ve got as many connections in the Storybrooke Underground as I do. Ask around. Spread the word: there’ll be a reward, no questions asked, for the return of the book and those notes.”

“Sis, just out of curiosity, how far along did Belle get in her translations?”

“I don’t know, but however far she got, it was too far.”

Regina hated to admit when someone else was right; she hated even more to admit when she was wrong. But in this case, she had to find out just what they were up against, so as she slid into her car, she swallowed her pride and phoned Gideon. “Listen, Junior”—she’d taken to calling him that as a small insult, but the funny thing was, he liked it. The more the town teased him about his similarities with his father, the prouder he acted.

“Yes, ma’am?” Well, at least the boy’s mom had been teaching him manners.

“How far along has your mother gotten in translating that fairy book I gave her?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Gideon admitted, “I’m not sure. Seems like she mentioned something about it a couple of days ago, at breakfast, but I kinda busy texting… .”

“Try to remember. It’s important. Someone broke into the library and took her notes.”

A heavy groan filled the ether. “I’ll go over to the library and have a look.”

“No need. I’m on my way. In fact, it’s better if you keep an eye on your parents instead. No sense in them getting unnecessarily upset. But, ah, perhaps you could worm the information out of your mother. You know, kind of sneak up on it?”

“She’s gone already. Ruby’s treating her to a spa day. But I can ask someone there to bring up the subject.”

“Well, don’t go through the wolf girl. She couldn’t keep a secret if her diner depended on it. But we have to find out what spells we might be subjected to. If I have to, I’ll threaten to yank Mama Behar’s permits unless she gets the information—”

“Don’t go to those extremes. Look, the manicurist and I have kind of a—never mind. I’ll get the manicurist to find out. Call you back when I have an answer.” A click ended the conversation before Regina could come up with some snarky remark about Junior Gold and his nail-painting girlfriend.

A scowling Acting Sheriff was standing, arms folded, outside the open door of the library as Regina parked her Mercedes along Main Street (ignoring the fire hydrant she was blocking). Marcos, his tool kit at his feet, was kneeling on the sidewalk and poking at the dangling back plate. “I can fix it, but it should be replaced. Immediately,” Marco advised, and Nolan’s scowl deepened as Regina, her heels clacking fiercely on the concrete, approached.

“How much for a new lock—a better lock?” Nolan glared at Regina.

“Seventy, eighty, plus thirty for labor.”

“Fix it, right away. Send me the bill and I’ll take it to the pawnshop. I’m sure Mr. Gold would be happy to contribute such a small amount, for his wife’s safety,” David ordered.

“No, no, let’s not disturb him today,” Regina interrupted. “Send the bill to me. I’ll find some money somewhere.” The City’s Employee Christmas Card Fund, the Department Directors’ Coffee Fund… . Regina tightened her mouth at Nolan. During the brief time that Snow had been mayor, there had been no shortage of volunteers willing to do stuff for the town for free. They claimed to have forgiven Regina, but they weren’t above nickel-and-diming their grievances against her. She tossed her head, tossing the annoyance aside. “What can you tell from the break in, Sheriff?”

David pointed to the various pieces of the lock now strewn about the sidewalk. “They strong-armed it. No lock pick, so they were probably amateurs.”

“I’m going in.”

With a sigh, Marco shoved the door open to admit the mayor and the sheriff. Regina surveyed the library itself but found nothing out of order, at least, as far as she could tell; she hadn’t set foot in this building since the September Readathon, where she’d been a celebrity reader (Fractured Fairy Tales had been her selection).

“They didn’t take any of the computers,” David pointed out. “They knew what they were after and where to find it.” He led the way into Belle’s office. Tiny as it was (Belle didn’t mind; she spent most of her time out on the main floor) the two of them could barely fit in together. Nolan showed her the open desk drawer with its smashed lock. “Look at that.” He indicated a little leather coin purse in the desk, mixed in with packages of cough drops, pens and Kleenex. “There’s four dollars and five cents in the purse. They weren’t after money.”

“Humph. The wife of the richest man in the state keeps less than five bucks in her desk. I suppose she brown-bags her lunch,” Regina remarked.

Nolan curled his lip. “She keeps that change to help out kids that can’t afford to pay their library fines, so they can keep checking out books. Snow told me.”

Regina swallowed in embarrassment. “Speaking of fines, I didn’t see a cash register out there.”

“She uses a cash box. But it’s usually empty, filled only with IOU’s.” He pointed to a locked drawer on the other side of the desk.

“IOU’s. I see. City policy makes no provision for accepting IOU’s in lieu of payment.”

“They didn’t tamper with the cash box. They weren’t after money.”

“Magic users, then,” Regina surmised. “Give me a minute.” She closed her eyes and raised her hands, sending out pale pink tendrils of magic across the desk, into the broken lock and across the wooden floor. Her magic sniffed deeply and behind her closed lids she watched for flashes of light and color, but her magic-sonar returned no response. “Nothing.” She lowered her hands and opened her eyes.

“So, not a magic user, then. But maybe a would-be magic user.”

“Maybe so. Whoever they are, they’re not garden variety thieves.”

“If they were, the library would’ve been the last place they’d’ve broken into.”

“All right. Keep investigating. Call me when you have something.” She walked back to her car and sat down behind the steering wheel, trying to think of a next step. Regina was about to dial Blue when the phone rang again. “They’re heeeere!”

“Calm down, Dwarf, and tell me who’s here.” Regina dared hope that Leroy’s perpetual state of panic had merely kicked in and he was overreacting as usual, but no such luck; the dwarf shrieked into the phone “MONSTERS!” before hanging up (or being hung up).

Regina banged her head against the steering wheel.

And so it began: Regina’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Before she’d even had her morning coffee.

————————————-

“I don’t see anything. Show me,” she demanded, examining the alley behind Dark Star Pharmacy.

“There!” Sneeze. “In the can.”

Regina pushed past the dwarf/pharmacist for a better look at the dented garbage can, now lying on its side. Behind it a burst garbage bag dribbled its contents across the dust. Sneeze. Snuffle. “I lifted the lid to put the garbage inside and”—he threw his arms into the air, accompanied by a whoosh and a shriek. “This thing—I don’t know what—I couldn’t see it; it moved so fast. It came shooting out like a cannon ball from a cannon, you know, and took off down the alley. It busted through the fence and after that I lost track of it. It was small, like”—he slashed his hand across his waist. “That high. And scaly. Green and orange stripes. Sharp teeth. Red eyes.”

“That’s a pretty good description,” Regina assessed as she examined the shattered fence. “Not a gnome; they don’t have stripes. Not an imp; they’re much bigger. Strong little critter, apparently.” She knelt to search the dust for footprints, but she’d no sooner singled out the intruder’s from the dwarf’s when her phone rang again.

“MONSTERS at Miss Ginger’s!”

“Well, call the Sheriff—”

Click.

Regina glared at her phone. “Who do you people think I am, Sherlock Holmes?” She glanced at Tom Clark, whose face was partially hidden behind a handkerchief. “We didn’t bring Holmes over in one of the curses, did we?”

“Not—” Achoo. “Sorry. Allergic to dust.”

She straightened and slid her phone back into her jacket pocket. “All right, call the Sheriff and make a report. If you can get through to him.” With a flick of her fingers she caught a wave of traveling magic and reappeared on Miss Ginger’s lawn, where a crowd had gathered around an oak tree: three dwarfs bearing pickaxes, the Sprats, he with a garden hoe and she with a handheld mixer, and Miss Ginger, with a squirming cat under each arm. All of them were shouting and/or shrieking, except Ginger, who alternated between pleas to her “precious baby” to “come down, come down now to Mama” and threats to “tear the arms off” some unseen person and “stuff ‘em down your throat with nuts and sliced apples ‘fore I shove you in my oven.”

Regina’s stomach twisted as Miss Ginger’s threats became more graphic. Maybe it was just as well she hadn’t had time for her morning coffee after all. Subtly fishing in her pocket for a Tums, Regina edged up to the frantic property owner. “Now, now, Miss Ginger, no need for violence. I can settle this with no fuss, if you’ll just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s what’s going on! Can’t you see it? It’s got my Elsie!” Miss Ginger awkwardly attempted to point, with one of her cats, into the leafy branches. “There!”

Regina squinted. Leaves fluttered and a branch rattled, and she thought she saw a flash of orange. “Where?”

All five spectators filled for Miss Ginger as official pointers. “THERE!”

“It’s a lemur!” Sprat volunteered.

“No it isn’t, you dummy; it’s an armadillo,” Mrs. Sprat spat.

“Nope, a oversized gopher. Look at the stripes,” Happy suggested.

“You fools, it’s a Monster from the Enchanted Forest!” Leroy growled. “And if we don’t catch it, it’s gonna eat that cat and then it’s gonna to ravage this town!” He swung on Regina. “You’re the mayor: DO SOMETHING!”

“Calm down, calm down,” Regina walked around the tree for a better look. “I’ve got this under control.” She shot some magic into the tree, burning away a few of the leaves and causing Miss Ginger to cry, “My precious Elsie, you’re killing her!”

“Oh, hush up.” Regina pointed a glowing finger at Miss Ginger, intending to conjure a gag, then she remembered that heroes are patient with victims and she returned her attention and her magic to the tree. With the leaves burnt away, she now had a clear view of the yellow cat, clinging to the highest branch: she made a hammock of her magic and lifted the animal down into Sprat’s arms. Ginger ran forward, transferring a cat from her left underarm to her right; the cat under the right arm squalled in protest at the jostling. As Ginger swept Elsie from Sprat’s hold, the two prisoners under her right arm broke loose and made a beeline for the garage. Regina tossed a magic seal across the open garage door. Safe behind the invisible barrier, the two cats sat down and soothed themselves by licking their fur. “You stay where you are, babies,” Miss Ginger urged unnecessarily. With a free hand now, she jabbed a finger at the tree. “Get that son of a—”

“It’s all right, Miss Ginger; I’m taking care of it,” Regina interrupted. She burned away some more leaves so she could make out the green-and-orange being clinging by its clawed feet to a lower branch. “What is that thing?” With great precision, she aimed magic at the creature—and then her phone rang. Automatically, and foolishly, she started to reach into her jacket; as she was looking down, she heard a rustling overhead and a crash, and the tree branch landed at her feet and something skittered off into the bush line that separated Miss Ginger’s lawn from the Sprats’.

Five groans brought Regina’s attention back to the scene. “You let it go!” Leroy announced. “It’s gonna terrorize the whole town!”

“C’mon, bros, after it!” Happy raised his pickax in the air and galloped off through the bushes, followed closely by Dopey, the Sprats and Leroy.

Her phone still ringing, Regina pressed the answer button as she watched the vigilantes give pursuit across the Sprats’ lawn, into the street, behind the parked cars and finally, into a jewelry store. Even from the distance and over the ringing phone, she could hear glass shattering.

“Regina! I’ve been trying to call David but I can’t get—” On the other end of the line she heard a heavy thud. “Through. I need your help. There’s something, some sort of thing, sort of like a cross between Zelena’s flying monkeys and an okapi, but with fish scales. It’s in the school cafeteria, gobbing up the spaghetti and throwing meatballs at the cooks. Help!”

“Don’t try to catch it yourself. I’m on my way.”

“I wouldn’t try. I’m not in the habit of carrying my bow and quiver to school.”

Regina pocketed her phone and summoned a traveling cloud. Miss Ginger shrieked at her, “What are you doing? Where are you going? The monster’s that way!”

“There’s another one that way.” Regina pointed in the opposite direction. “And this one’s threatening the kids. A sorceress can only be in one place at a time.” She hied herself off to the hallway outside the cafeteria and elbowed her way through a crowd of giggling, chattering elementary school kids and their giggling, chattering teachers. “Quiet, you,” she warned, “you might scare the creature into doing something drastic.” She flashed a sneer at the loudest giggler: “Mr. Shoeman! I expected better from you.”

“Sorry, Madame Mayor.” The principal ducked his head.

“Sheesh.” Gingerly she eased the swinging doors open and slid into the cafeteria. Her booted foot slipped in a pool of marinara sauce and she had to grab one of the cooks to save herself from falling. The cook smiled at her in admiration. “Going in, Madame Mayor? You’ll need some protection.” He offered her the pot lid he’d been using as a shield. A second cook offered a serving fork. “Go get ‘em, Ms. Mills. We’re rootin’ for you.”

Regina accepted the makeshift weapons. She didn’t remind the cooks that her magic would handle the enemy more effectively; the admiration they were showing her meant so much more than being correct right now. At times like these, she felt the rewards of her conversion to heroism.

She returned their encouragement with authoritative confidence. “All right. So tell me what you know about this—” she waved the fork at the creature dancing a jig in a tray of Jello. “Thing.”

“Well, it’s not a vegetarian,” said one of the cooks. “It’s eaten as many meatballs as it’s thrown.”

“He’s allergic to garlic. He started off by throwing garlic bread at us, but that caused him a sneezing fit.”

“How do you know it’s a he?” Cook #1 asked.

“Just a guess.”

“It came in through the back door as I was taking out the garbage,” another cook offered.

“Leaped onto the serving counter, then onto my shoulder,” Cook #2 rubbed at a trio of blood stains on her white jacket. “Dug its claws in, until Mert whacked it off with a frying pan.”

“It fell into the marinara sauce and it’s been eating and throwing ever since,” Cook #1 supplied.

“Has it exhibited any signs of magic?”

“Nope. Tried to bite me, but I smashed him again with my frying pan. If he had magic, he would’ve used it then, I bet.”

“Very well.” Regina nodded at her supporters, squared her shoulders, raised her tin shield and her fork, and inched forward. “You! Whatever you are, put down that meatball this instant!”

This one was similar in appearance to the one that had harassed Elsie, but larger, about two-thirds the size of a flying monkey. As Clark has described it (or its brother—at this point Regina had no idea how many of these creatures might be gallivanting about), its scaly body was striped with horizontal bands of phosphorescent green and tangerine orange. Its red eyes blinked at her; it displayed its pointed teeth at her.

“You have celery stuck between your teeth,” Regina observed dryly.

The creature poked at claw at its teeth, and while it was thus distracted, she channeled a stream of magic through the serving fork. The magic splatted across the creature’s face, dribbled down, and engulfed the creature in liquid, which Regina instantly froze into a prison of ice. With a flick of her wrist she transported the creature to Cell B in Emma’s jail, slammed and locked the iron door.

Applause and hoots of congratulation filled the cafeteria as the students and teachers poured in. Cooks slapped her shoulders. “’Gina, y’er awright!” “Three cheers for the Hero Queen!”

Regina curtsied. “Pardon me. I have a jewelry store to save.”

——————————-

“Regina, help! A green gnome is riding Pongo and beating him with my umbrella!”

————————-

“Regina, my manicurist friend got the intel from Mom: she’d finished translating two spells, one for conjuring an imp, one for conjuring a gremlin. If anyone cast the spells, no big deal, right? It’s not like they can summon ogres.”

——————————-

“Regina! One of them orange things jumped onto the hood of my car and stuck his face against the windshield. Scared me so bad I ran off the road and knocked down your mailbox. Do something!”

————————————–

“Madame Mayor! Three gremlins—I don’t know how they got here; must’ve found an open portal—they invaded choir practice, put on choir robes and now they’re singing from the rafters!”

——————————–

David, Snow and Regina stood with folded arms and scowls, staring into Cells A and B, where nine creatures were pushing and shoving each other to gain possession of the blankets that had formerly covered the cots. David looked as fresh and clean as ever—that was his own magic talent, Regina supposed: even after a day of chasing monsters, not a hair was out of place. Regina, however, was dusty, sweaty and limp, her three-hundred dollar hairdo matted to her makeup-less cheeks, and her thousand-dollar pantsuit torn and stained with grass and marinara sauce. Of course she could clean herself up with a wave of her hand, but she was too tired to care. She accepted a cup of coffee (store brand, but after the day she’d had, she’d have welcomed swamp water for refreshment) from Snow and sank down on the Naugahyde couch, the cracks in the faux leather poking at her legs.

“I’ll put funds for a new couch in the sheriff’s budget for next year,” she murmured. “And some decent coffee.” The room was growing dark as the last of daylight leaked weakly through the windows. Exhausted, Regina yawned.

“Thank you.” David glanced up at the wall clock as he flipped on the florescent lights. “Well, I missed Gold’s bachelor’s party.”

“Snow and I missed the bridal shower.” Regina drooped back against the couch. “And Gold gave Ruby unlimited access to his wine cellar for it.”

“What do think they are, Regina?” Snow studied the prisoners closely. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Neither have I. They’ve got the temperament of a gnome, but the stripes—”

“They’re grimps.” Clattering heels in the hallway followed the angry voice. In a moment, Zelena swept in. Beneath her pinch on his ear struggled a squealing teenage boy, and after him trod his red-faced parents.

Snow’s mouth formed a long line. “Dick Whittington. I should’ve known you were behind this. What did you do?”

Zelena released him so the boy could stand straight, but the kid merely snorted his reply. Zelena grabbed him by the nose this time and squeezed until he yelped. “Answer her properly and respectfully or I’ll yank this snozola of yours right off.”

“Don’t punish him too hard,” Dick Senior begged David. “It was just a prank. You know, a kid’s prank. Like we used to do.”

“David was too busy trying to save his farm to play pranks,” Snow snapped. “As for you, young Master Whittington,” she walked up to the boy and flashed her teeth at him, though he stood a full head taller than she. “You were a spoiled brat in my fifth grade science class and these six years haven’t made you any better.”

“This might answer some questions.” Zelena snapped her fingers. “Give it up, brat.”

“Make me, witch,” the kid sneered.

His mother groaned and reached into Dick Junior’s T-Birds jacket. What she found in the inner pockets, she lay carefully onto the deputy’s desk. David stared down at the haul.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff. Mayor.” She swallowed hard. “You too, Mrs. Nolan. I—we—should’ve been stricter with him. He was an only child, so we thought we were being lenient. We let him run wild.”

“Showing up for parent-teacher conferences would’ve been a good start,” Snow commented.

David held up the contents of Dick Junior’s jacket. “A book, in some unrecognizable language, and some notes, in some recognizable handwriting. Belle’s.”

Awakened, Regina leaped to her feet and took the book. “This is it.” She shook a finger into Dick’s face. “What were you doing with–”

Suddenly the air filled with a bright light and the scent of sulfur. “Magic!” Regina spun around, seeking the caster; Zelena shrugged and shook her head, while the non-mages stared in bewilderment. “Look!” Mrs. Whittington pointed to the cells.

One by one, the creatures faded from view.

“Where did they go?” David rushed to the cells to examine the locks. “Are they loose?”

Regina set the book aside and flipped through the pages of Belle’s notebook. “Back where they came from, which is to say, nothing.” She summoned a fireball and bounced it from hand to hand. “Start talking, brat.”

With each toss, the fireball grew bigger and Regina took a step closer to Dick Junior. “You know, sis, I bet we could start a new fashion trend at the high school if you singe off his eyebrows.”

Beads of sweat formed on the teen’s forehead. “It wasn’t my idea. I just went along for the ride. It was Elmo Zucko’s idea. He said he knew where we could get a hold of a book of spells. I said yeah, there’s a whole bunch of them in Gold’s shop, but he’s got a blood lock on it; nobody can get into that shop unless he lets them. Mo said he saw a spell book on Mrs. Gold’s desk, when he went in to pay a fine. He knew it was a spell book because he saw her notes. She put it in a drawer and locked it before she took his money. That’s how we knew where it was.”

“How did you go from this,” David pointed to the book, “to this?” He pointed to the jail cells, where the only remaining evidence of the creatures was the shredded blankets.

“I think I see.” Regina held up the notebook, so that all could see a smudge of something purple that was causing some of the pages to stick together. “Grape jelly,” she explained. “On page 1, the beginning of a set of instructions for conjuring an imp. Stuck to the back of page 1, the instructions for conjuring a gremlin.”

“Hence, a grimp,” Zelena concluded. “Didn’t it occur to you it’s stupid to cast a jelly-smudged spell?”

Dick Junior shrugged. “I was hungry. Anyway, the instructions said the spell wouldn’t last past sundown. So what’s the big deal? We had some fun, they’re gone, no harm done.”

Mrs. Whittington climbed on tiptoe to smack the back of her son’s head. “Stupid, stupid kids.”

“They tore up a school cafeteria and a jewelry shop. They scared half the population of this town,” Regina growled.

“One of them swallowed five thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds and sapphires.” David added.

“So what? She’s got insurance, right?”

“You and your friends are under arrest.” David swung open the door to Cell A and gestured inside.

“You’re kidding.” Dick Junior smirked. “You can’t jail me. I’m seventeen.”

“Just watch.” David grabbed the kid’s arm and directed him into the cell, over the boy’s howls and the father’s protests.

Dick Senior rushed to the cell, trying to prevent David from closing the door. “Now, come on, Nolan, it was just a joke. You can’t put him in jail for that. He’s just a kid; you want to ruin a boy’s entire life over a joke?”

“You want to join him?” David flashed a warning finger at the father. “The penalty for obstructing justice is even worse than what the judge is likely to give him.” Dick Senior backed off.

“He’s right, Richard,” Mrs. Whittington snapped. “Stay out of it. I won’t bail either one of you out.” She turned to Snow. “Mrs. Nolan, I understand Gold is a family attorney. Does he do divorce cases?”

“I don’t know, but I think he’d make an exception for you.”

As David fished into his jeans for his phone, he suggested, “Regina, you should take possession of the evidence for the time being. I’m calling Leroy to round up the other kids involved.”

Snow glanced up at the clock. “And if we hurry, we’ll have just enough time to get out to the wedding. Though I hate to go like this.” She indicated the skirt-and-sweater combo she’d worn to school that day.

Regina volunteered, “I can take care of the attire problem, along with the transportation, if you’ll babysit the brat, sis?”

“Glad to,” Zelena winked at her sister before seating herself on the couch. “Master Whittington, you and I are going to have a long, long chat about wickedness and what it gets you in this world.” She leaned forward to sneer at the kid. “And you’re going to hang onto my every word. And so are you, aren’t you, Mama and Papa?” She patted the space beside her, inviting Mr. and Mrs. Whittington to be seated.

“When she says ‘a long, long chat,’ she’s not exaggerating. Expect to remain here until daylight.” With a flash of magic, Regina traded the Charmings’ everyday clothes for formal wear, then exchanged her stained J. Crew pantsuit for an Altuzarra silk dress. “Now, Snow, if you’ll tell me where you left your wedding present, I’ll transport that too.”

———————————-

She’d dropped down onto one of the folding chairs at the banquet table just as soon as the ceremony—thankfully brief but beautiful and emotional just the same—had concluded. Henry brought her a filled plate and gave her a quick kiss before scampering off to fulfill his role in the wedding: he was the official DJ, providing music that he’d selected himself as his gift to Grandpa and Grandma Gold. Of course he started off with “The Theme from Beauty and the Beast,” to which the Golds danced alone, then he segued into a waltz that the other couples could join in. Regina noted among the dancers the surprise pairing of the night: Granny Lucas and Moe French. She watched the couples lean into each other, sharing whispers and sly kisses, and she thought she would be willing to trade every jewel and every dress in her collection for just one dance with Robin.

Half-asleep, Regina didn’t hear the approaching footsteps over the soft grass. She was startled out her reverie when a glass of wine was set down in front of her and the empty seat to her left was suddenly occupied.

“Thank you, Regina. I understand you had quite a day, saving the town from teenage delinquents.”

“I suppose I’m getting too old to be chasing grimps around town.” She sipped the wine. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks to you, Mom and Dad had a wonderful day with their friends.” He clinked his glass with hers. “And this beautiful, peaceful celebration tonight.”

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” As Henry moved the music along to “Wild Thing,” setting off a burst of laughter in the audience, she tilted her head toward Granny and Moe, who were teaching the others how to Swim. “One of these days, you’re going to have to tell me that story. Your grandfather and Granny Lucas, how they got together.”

“I’ll be glad to. Like all the other stories here, it’s an original.”

The music segued into a song that Regina had heard many times blaring from Henry’s bedroom and she couldn’t help but tap her foot. Gideon rose, bowed and offered his hand. “Madame Mayor, I know you’ve had a hard day and you’re tired, but just one dance?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Gideon; I’m not sure I can dance to this.”

“You already are.” He indicated her tapping foot. “Come on, Regina, it’s ‘Uptown Funk’; who can resist? Let’s make those dragons want to retire.” He pointed to Maleficent and the Dragon, who was now going by his true name, Wu Yang. Their movements had nothing to do with the rhythm of the song, but it didn’t matter to them or anyone else.

“You know, I think I can manage one dance.” As Regina let Gideon lead her onto the dance space, she glanced across the meadow, where the Golds, still in a tight embrace, had moved apart from the crowd. They waved to her, then as Belle rested her head against her husband’s shoulder, his magic swirled around them, blocking them from view. The magic dissipated and the couple was gone.

Regina didn’t feel quite so tired now. In fact, she felt rather heroic.

#a monthly rumbelling #june #darcyfarrow2005 #submission

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a-monthly-rumbelling · 7 years

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The Invitation

Submitted by @darcyfarrow2005

Resisting the lure of evil is just half the final battle, Rumple learns. Now comes the hard part: making amends. For June prompt: bad day, drink, cuddling. Rated K.

—————————–

“Insomnia. Maybe you could prescribe something?”

Hopper invited his guest to sit down on the couch. Rumple knew what that meant: if he accepted the invitation, he’d become Hopper’s patient.

For Belle’s sake. For Gideon’s sake. Hesitantly he lowered himself onto the plaid couch.

“Those midnight feedings with a newborn aren’t what’s keeping you awake, are they, Mr. Gold?”

After a long pause, Rumple took the plunge. “No.”

“Let’s talk about what happens when you try to sleep.” Archie opened his notebook. “Let’s talk about the nightmares and how to fix them.”

For himself. “Yes.”

“Let’s talk about guilt and making amends.”

Rumple cocked his head. “But Doctor, how do you make amends when most of your victims are dead?”

_________________________________

“I don’t need to tell you, there’s always a price.”

Rumple finished Arthur’s thought in a murmur: “Equivalent to the value of the trade.” He peered down at Belle, whose hand was clutched in his, her fingers massaging his knuckles soothingly. She’d expected this moment; they’d discussed it thoroughly until at last she’d accepted the conclusion he’d come to and the deal he’d decided to propose. She’d fought it for days, but in the end she’d had to admit that he was right: there was only one path to follow. Their only hope was to delay walking it.

“I was—we were—hoping to make a deal.” He could feel Belle’s heartbeat through the inside of her wrist; he could feel her body stiffen alongside his.

“Of course.” Arthur leaned against the edge of his conference table. He’d made this space in the Underworld his own since moving in, filling the dank and empty spaces with modern office furniture and carpeting and electronics. When he’d first ushered them in, the Golds had both had to stop and stare in amusement; from the décor, they would have sworn they’d walked into the office of a bank president. Though he’d spent rather little time there, Arthur had been quite taken with the Land Without Magic and all its toys, and with plenty of time on his hands here, he’d made himself and his staff (that was Arthur’s term; Hades had referred to the demons as his “minions”) comfortable as well as comparable to any professional “team.” He himself deserved a long second look, with his manicured nails, Italian loafers, Armani tie, Cartier wristwatch and Givenchy three-piece. Rumple felt like a slacker standing next to him. But as any good professional would, Arthur had made them welcome with Brasilian coffee (“imported,” he chuckled, “but that’s not saying much. Here, everything’s imported.”), invited them to sit and asked about their trip before getting down to business.

“What sort of deal did you have in mind?”

Rumple listened closely for sarcasm or irony but found only sincerity in Arthur’s tone. And perhaps there was a touch of something else, gratitude or admiration—Rumple knew that the Lord of the Underworld kept close tabs on the goings on “up above,” particularly the activities in the few centers of magic in the Land Without, and especially those happenings that could affect the balance of Good and Evil. No doubt Arthur knew everything that had gone down of late… including the fact that Rumple had, once again, killed a parent. Perhaps the reason didn’t matter; just days ago, Rumple had killed; that was all that mattered.

Reddening, Rumple lowered his gaze to the polished table. Belle filled in for him: “We know that the price for a soul is a soul. We were hoping, though…considering that time is irrelevant here, well, despite–” she motioned to Arthur’s watch.

“Just for show,” the king winked. “It goes so well with the suit.”

Rumple found his tongue. “We were hoping that payment could be delayed.”

“I see.” Arthur swung around the table and seated himself, not at its head as a superior would, not across from them, as an opponent would, but beside them, as an equal, on Rumple’s left. “I assume you intend to pay the price yourself, Mr. Gold.”

It was Belle’s turn to lower her head, her free hand sliding up to her cheek to brush away a tear. Rumple merely nodded. “No one else could, considering I was the… .” He sucked in a breath before blurting, “I was her murderer. Twice. Up there and down here.”

“Yes, you were,” Arthur agreed. “She’d done some reprehensible things, but nothing that warranted her death. As for your other recent killings—Malcolm and Fiona—let me assure you, the Tribunal has exonerated you. Lauded you, in fact. No telling what condition humanity would be in now, if you hadn’t stopped those two. Let me also assure you—and this for public consumption, by the way; we’d like you to carry this message to Storybrooke: the Black Fairy and Peter Pan will never again threaten anyone. They no longer exist, in any capacity.”

Belle nodded thoughtfully, her forehead smoothing in relief, but the news seemed only to add to the weight on her husband’s shoulders. They’d talked about this extensively already, with Archie as well as between themselves, yet Belle had had to accept that it would be a long time, if ever, before Rumple let go of the guilt. He’d done what was necessary to protect his family; he’d done what was right to save the community; he’d done what justice demanded, to reset the balance. But none of that negated the fact that Rumplestiltskin had killed his own family.

“Back to the deal,” Arthur urged. “If it was anyone else, I’d assume you mean to delay payment until your natural death.”

“In all honesty, you’d be getting a raw deal if you accepted those terms. I don’t know if a natural death is possible for me.” Rumple shrugged. “Before, when I was just one in a long line of Dark Ones, I knew I could die, but the Dark One couldn’t. Now, with the powers of all the Dark Ones… .”

“We honestly don’t know either. The Tribunal’s talked about it.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Endlessly. Everybody’s got an opinion on the subject. But this is a first, so who knows? Not that it wasn’t planned; the Fates had worked it out eons ago, that there would come One in whom Light and Dark would be united, and that he would serve humanity as an example that anyone could could conquer the evil within themselves. The Fates had the broad strokes painted, but the specifics… .” He spread his hands. “We’re not sure where things go from here. Mankind’s free will, you know, always throws a monkey wrench into the works.”

“In the past, I would’ve jumped all over that loophole.” Rumple smiled wryly. “But I’ve learned better than to try to screw with the gods.” He sat up straighter. “So I’m offering a fair, transparent deal: If you’ll free Milah from the River of Lost Souls, I’ll take her place.” His shoulders drooped. “I’ve lived a long time. I’ve had my share of its pleasures and pains. But there’s a baby now, and though Belle will raise him with all the love and instruction he needs, he also needs a man to guide him. There are other men who could fill that role, probably better than I could, but—”

“No,” Belle interrupted. “No one but you can be a father to Gideon. He needs you. And so do I, and so does Storybrooke. Please, Arthur, if you’ll consider this offer—take it to the Tribunal if you have to—it’s a fair and honest deal.”

“To everyone but you, maybe,” Arthur suggested.

“Gideon will graduate high school on June 1, 2035. On June 2, 6 a. m. I’ll appear here to pay my end of the deal,” Rumple proposed. “But I’d like for you to release Milah today.”

“Rumplestiltskin never breaks a deal,” Belle reminded Arthur.

“Yes, I know.” Arthur stood and paced the length of the table. “You’re right, time is meaningless here. We’re fully aware what it means to the living. What a father means to a child. What it means to a community when a cycle of damaged parenting can be broken. I think it’s a good deal and I would accept it, but—”

The Golds’ faces fell. “But?”

“It’s unnecessary.” With a big grin, Arthur crossed back around and crouched beside Rumple’s chair, setting his hand on the Dark One’s shoulder. “The Tribunal guessed that you’d make this offer. We’ve already deliberated—the Fates were the most vocal—and we’ve decided that we need you to live out the natural course of your existence. Only the Fates know what that might be, and they’re not sharing the plan with the rest of us, but they say, and we all agree, that you’re more important to us as the Last Savior than as payment on some deal. You’ve got a big job to do, Rumplestiltskin; raising Gideon and supporting your family and your town are just small parts of it. So this once, we’re suspending the Laws of Magic.” Arthur rose and snapped his fingers. “Look around, you two, to the river.”

Eyes wide, the Golds clambered to their feet and spun around to face the eternally churning River of Lost Souls. A beam of white light, reminding Rumple of lighthouse searchlights, broke through the water and burst into the air, catching water drops and making them shine like diamonds. The Golds had to shield their eyes from the bright light. Gradually it faded, the water drops splashing back down into the river, and when their eyes had readjusted, they saw standing before them a bewildered and wet Milah. She cocked her head, staring at them in disbelief, and water sluiced off her hair and shoulders.

Arthur walked over to her, his arm outstretched. “Welcome back, Milah.”

She gaped at his open palm before daring to accept it. Finding his touch solid, she chose to accept that what she was seeing must be real, and she tested her rusty voice. “What? What?”

“What happened?” Arthur prompted. “You’ve been released. They did it.” He waved the Golds forward.

“Hello, Milah. I’m Belle.” She offered her hand; automatically, Milah released Arthur’s to shake Belle’s. The latter kept her tone even but cool. “I’m Rumplestiltskin’s wife.”

“Hello, Milah.” Rumple didn’t offer his hand; she probably wouldn’t have taken it. “I came to make an apology, for everything… the times I refused to listen to you, the times I didn’t give you what you needed… .” He raised his chin bravely. “For killing you. I can’t make amends for what I did, and I don’t imagine you’ll ever forgive me, but I came to fix this, at least.” He nodded toward the river.

Milah collected her scattered thoughts. “Something happens, when you die, Rumple: you gain a second sight. You see only what’s ahead and where you want to go. I let go of my anger, years ago. All I want is to move on and be with Bae.” She turned to Arthur. “Is that possible?”

“It always was. All you have to do is to choose it.” Arthur directed their attention to a long and winding stone walkway that led into a hazy distant light.

Stunned, she exchanged a glance with each of them, then turned toward the walkway, but Rumple grasped her arm. “Milah, please, I need to know: can you forgive me?”

“I’ve had centuries to forget you. I never quite did, because of Bae. But there,” she pointed to the river, “where regret and guilt grab your ankles and drag you down, and anger and disappointment push your head under so you can’t breathe, every minute as you’re dying you’re reliving your life. Just now, though, when I emerged and could breathe again, I realized the only way to survive is to reach out in forgiveness and cling to the hand of love, because that’s the only power that lasts.” She pressed her hand into his. “For the son we brought into the world, I love you, Rumple, and I’ll pray for happiness for you and for Belle. When you see Killian, tell him I wish the best for him.” Slowly, she walked over to the path and set one unsteady foot on the stones. “I’ll tell Bae you’ve found peace, Rumple.” She set the other foot onto the walkway, straightened her shoulders and looked off into the distance.

“Thank you, Milah,” Rumple started to breathe again.

“Safe journey, Milah,” Belle wished.

“Goodbye.” She took a step forward. “I’m sure we’ll meet each—” she broke off with a gasp, clasping her hand over her mouth briefly before she started to wave wildly at something they couldn’t see. “It’s him!” She spared Rumple a quick, joyous shout. “Rumple, it’s Bae! He’s waiting for me!” Disregarding the stones, she began to run. They watched her, waving and calling to her son as she slipped, stumbled and kept running, until she faded into the haze and they couldn’t make out her form any longer.

“It’s good,” Belle grinned. “I just—I can’t think of any other words for it. Good.”

“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “As many times as I’ve witnessed the transition, it never grows old. It will be that way for you too, Belle, when the time comes. Which, I’m hopeful, will be many years from now. After all, you have a job we need you to do.”

She linked her arm through her husband’s. “I promise I’ll never again forget that.”

“Thank you, Arthur. And them.” Rumple nodded toward the ceiling, suggesting the heavens. “My thanks to them. I promise to stay the course too.”

“Now that you have some idea where you’re supposed to go,” Belle added.

“For now, your path heads to Storybrooke,” Arthur nudged them toward his lobby. “I’ll walk you back to the boat.” As they left the office, he asked, “So who’s minding the baby while you’re here?”

“He’s in good hands,” Belle replied. “With our friend Mr. Dove.”

“Dove. Yes. I have a little secret I’m at liberty to share: your Mr. Dove is one of ours. Or more correctly, one of Aphrodite’s.”

Rumple raised his eyebrows. “Dove has been with me for years. Since I first moved into the Dark Castle.”

“He was sort of a promise that eventually, Aphrodite would be sending True Love your way.”

“Aphrodite put us together?” Belle practically shouted. “Rumple, did you hear that? The goddess of love wants us together!”

“Oh, more than her,” Arthur assured them as they walked out onto the street. “Zeus, Hera, they’re all behind this.” He waggled a finger between them to indicate he meant their relationship. “And behind them, the Fates. Fixing what the Black Fairy did. If she’d left well enough alone, you would’ve been the Lone Savior, Rumple. But since she didn’t and you followed the Darkness instead, the Fates knew you’d need a helpmate.” He grinned down at Belle. “A brave and very stubborn one.”

At the edge of the Styx, the silent Charon waited, standing in his boat. Arthur helped them board, then waved them off. “I look forward to seeing what you two do next. Goodbye, Golds, good luck and remember, if things get cloudy again, you can always pray.”

“Goodbye, Arthur.” They waved. “Thank you.”

——————————————

Dove was waiting for them on the porch, where he’d lulled Gideon to sleep in the swing. He glanced from one to the other, uncertain to whom to offer the baby as both parents were extending their arms; Belle won, but she offered to share her cuddling privileges. Rumple squeezed in close beside her and slipped one arm under hers under the baby. They took turns kissing pudgy cheeks.

“Safe journey?” Dove asked, hovering over them.

“It was,” Belle said. “Thank you for taking care of Gideon for us.”

“My pleasure. Always. I have a pot roast in the oven. I thought you might be too tired to cook. I have a 2009 Bordeaux to go with it. Would either of you like a glass now?”

“2009, a good year for Bordeaux,” Rumple mused. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Dove, I’d welcome a glass right now.” He rested his forehead against Belle’s. “2017, a good year for us. I hope.”

“I’m sure it will be,” she assured him as Dove went into the house. “We have lots of help now.”

“And a purpose,” he said thoughtfully. “I have a new—” He broke off as the familiar yellow Bug pulled into the driveway behind Dove’s Dodge. Reluctantly, he got to his feet to greet the new arrivals, with a small smile for the sheriff and a small frown for the man now wearing the deputy’s badge. “Sheriff Jones. Captain Jones.” He pointedly stared at the badge on Hook’s belt. “Is there trouble in town, Sheriff? Assembling a posse?”

Belle snickered, knowing that her Westerns-loving husband had always wanted to say a line like that.

“Just hiring a replacement for my dad.” Leaving the driver’s door open, Emma rested against the trunk of her car. “You might’ve heard, he and Mom bought a farm. We just finished helping them move.” She ran a hand through her sweaty ponytail. “Tiring day.”

“You look like you had a rough day too.” Hook mounted the stairs to dutifully admire the baby.

“We… just came back from a long trip,” Belle explained.

“Did you? I hope you had a pleasant journey?” He was fishing for details, but Belle wouldn’t provide them. Instead, she prompted, letting him hear the weariness in her voice, “What can we do for you, Killian?”

But Emma was the one to answer. She came forward with an envelope that she presented to Belle. “We won’t stay. We just wanted to drop this off.”

Her arms full of sleeping baby, Belle couldn’t accept the envelope, so Emma passed it on to Rumple. “It’s an invitation,” Hook explained. “We’ve having a dinner party tomorrow night. Nothing fancy.”

“We’re celebrating 30 days of uninterrupted peace and quiet,” Emma announced. “And our one-month anniversary. We’d like you to come.” There was just a slight hesitation as she touched Gideon’s cheek. Whether it was simple awkwardness around a newborn or whether Emma was remembering what this soul had threatened to do just a month ago, Belle wasn’t sure, but she was sure that in time, relationships would change and people would forgive.

She’d witnessed it just a few minutes ago, in the most miraculous way.

Rumple was reading the invitation intently, as if he had doubt about its veracity. He informed Belle, “It’s addressed to both of us. Six o’clock at Granny’s.” He stared at the invitation again, then peered at Emma, then at Hook, assessing them all.

“We want both of you,” Hook said. His body had tensed, as if he half-expected to get smacked in the head with a cane.

“All three of you,” Emma corrected. “It’s a family thing.”

Seemingly satisfied, Rumple suggested, “I have four bottles of Chianti that would go well with lasagna.”

Belle released a breath. “Rumple!”

“You’ll come, then?” Hook asked.

“For Gideon,” Rumple said softly to Belle. “He’s going to need to be accepted here. And for you, because you deserve a social life.” He lowered his voice even further. “And for me.”

“Because you need friends too,” Belle added.

Carrying a tray holding a bottle and three glasses, Dove elbowed his way out the stained-glass door. “Oh! Sheriff. Captain.” He set the tray down on a small table. “I’ll bring out more glasses, shall I?”

“We can’t stay—” Emma started, but Hook, with a meaningful glance at Rumple, corrected, “We could stay for one glass. If that’s all right.” He offered his hand toward his old rival. “I think it’s time we started to… .” He shrugged, unable to find a word to end his sentence.

“Fix things,” Rumple supplied.

“Yes, fix things, perhaps,” Belle agreed. She scooted over to make room on the swing. “Would you like to hold the baby, Emma?”

“I, ah, okay,” Emma seated herself and gingerly accepted the bundle.

Rumple filled the three available glasses and distributed them to his guests and his wife. As Dove came back with two more glasses, Rumple glanced at Belle, who seemed to understand what he was wondering; she nodded in encouragement. With feigned casualness, Rumple began as Dove poured him a glass of wine, “Belle and I saw Milah today.”

“Milah?!”

“She had a message for you.” Rumple gestured to the top step, inviting Hook to sit, as he seated himself there.

“Milah,” Hook echoed in amazement. “You went to the Underworld then.”

“Yes. Perhaps you’d like to hear about it.”

“I would, yes.” Hook sipped his wine. “I would.”

“I’d like to tell you,” Rumple said. “And, uh, another of the things we could talk about fixing, perhaps, is that hook.”

“You still have my left hand? But the curse on it?” The captain asked.

“That was just a joke,” Rumple admitted. “An impractical joke. Stop by the shop in the morning, if you like.”

“I think I’d like that.”

—————————————————–

“You gave Hook his hand back?” Archie nearly dropped his patient notes. “And you freed Milah, offering your own soul in return? Mr. Gold, I’m, I’m, I don’t know what to say!”

#darcyfarrow2005 #submission #a monthly rumbelling #june

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a-monthly-rumbelling · 7 years

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The Golds' Re-Wedding: Movie Night

Submitted by @darcyfarrow2005

For @a-monthly-rumbelling, may I present a three-story series of fluff, sentiment and comedy. His parents are planning to renew their wedding vows; Gideon is determined the day will go perfectly. Rated K.

Prelude to May 11

“What’s that circle represent?”

“Hmm?” Concentrating on the bell pepper she was slicing, Belle didn’t dare look up, lest her knife slip. She’d had too many kitchen accidents to allow distractions to interfere with safety.

“That one.” Gideon pointed at a red, otherwise unidentified, circle drawn around a date on the calendar. “May 11.” From the corner of his eye, Gid noticed a shy but satisfied smile appear on his father’s lips. He’d come to recognize that smile, over the ten months he’d lived in peace and quiet and steadily growing affection in his parents’ house. Gid had come to call that embarrassed little smile of his father’s “the Belle Grin,” because it popped up whenever Rumple was thinking romantic thoughts (there was another smile, a crooked one that was accompanied by red in the cheeks, that Gid had learned meant it was best to give his parents privacy). Whenever the Belle Grin appeared, Gid could easily prod a story from his father, one that made the three-hundred-year old sorcerer sound like a teenager besotted with his first crush.

“May 11,” his parents said simultaneously, then they flashed quick grins at each other before Belle returned her attention to the pepper and Rumple returned his to the tomato he was chopping.

Gid suggested, “Okay, let’s have it.”

Rumple submerged the Belle Grin long enough to put on the Father Face. “First, did you finish setting the table?”

Gid gave him the Put Upon Son Face. “Yes, Dad.”

“And squeezed the oranges?”

“Yes, Dad.” He held up a hand in a stop sign. “And buttered the toast and cracked the eggs. So: the May 11 story.”

Satisfied that his son’s chores were finished, Rumple began the tale. “May 11 was the day your mother and I married. Ten p.m., Sunday, May 11, 2014, to be precise.”

“Ohhh.” This was going to be a good one. Gid settled onto a barstool and poured himself a glass of orange juice. “Why ten p.m.? Don’t most people get married in the daytime?”

Belle shrugged. “We’re not most people.”

Gid lifted his shoulders in a shrug that mirrored hers. “That goes without saying.”

“I wanted a moonlight ceremony, in the woods. It seemed more romantic. More mysterious.”

“Of course.” Gid had figured that out about his mother, early on: she adored a mystery, whether it was something as trivial as a riddle or as complex as her husband.

“At the well,” Rumple added.

“Yes. We married at the well.” Belle didn’t have to explain what “the well” was: she’d referred to it often enough in other stories. “Archie officiated.”

“Your grandfather walked your mom down the aisle. So to speak.” Rumple tried to be generous whenever he referred or spoke to Moe; Gid had been told enough of their history to understand that it took major effort for either man to express kindness toward the other, and he appreciated the fact that the men were trying, for Gid’s sake.

“We wrote our own vows. I remember every word.” Belle set her knife down and recited her own vows, leaving it to Rumple to recite his.

“Wow.” Gid had to clear his throat. “Wish I could’ve been there to see it.”

“Maybe you could,” Belle said thoughtfully, and Rumple caught on right away: “That’s a good idea, Belle.” He lowered his head, busying himself with scooping tomato bits into a bowl. He was ashamed, Gid realized; he was remembering all the wrongs he’d done, before and after the wedding. Though his family had forgiven him a dozen times over, he was still struggling to put the past behind him. “I’d like to do that,” Rumple said softly. “Give you the wedding you deserve.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” Belle insisted. “We wouldn’t be who we are now.” Gid understood that her reassurance wasn’t about just the wedding; she meant her entire past with Rumple.

They’d come to this same resolution when they’d discussed the possibility of reversing Gid’s age. Though he would have loved to experience a childhood with his parents, Gid had come to the conclusion that he liked the man he’d become, despite the torment the Black Fairy had put him through. Though he could see some disappointment in his mother’s face, and he regretted denying her the chance to hold her newborn, as Nature had granted her the right to, Gid had made the difficult decision to decline his father’s offer to magically regress him to infancy.

“Well, perhaps this time you’d like a cake and punch and a few guests,” Rumple suggested.

Belle considered. “A little music and dancing would be nice. But still, at ten o'clock, at the well.” She waggled her finger at her son. “The pan’s hot enough. Bring the eggs over, Giddy. It’s omelet time.” She cocked her head at Rumple. “You know, I would like to have a maid of honor this time.”

“And a best man.” Rumple winked at Gid. “You look sharp in Armani, my boy.”

“Sure thing, Dad. I’d be honored.” As Gid poured the eggs into the skillet, he made a silent vow to himself and his parents: as best man, he’d made certain their re-wedding day would be perfect. Even if he had to put every troublemaker in town under a sleeping curse.

Though it had been nearly a year, the town remembered the Hooded One full well. They’d come to know him since then as a playful and naive young man, with his mother’s inquisitiveness and his father’s persistence, and whenever he appeared in Granny’s for a hamburger, or the park for a ride on the swing, they’d greet him warmly and ask “How’s it going” as if he’d lived in Storybrooke all his life. But they did remember… .

So when he popped into the sheriff’s office, his hands folded before him, peering steadily at Emma and Hook, and he spoke their names in a quiet but firm tone, Emma shuddered, remembering the Hooded One had once threatened to kill her, and Hook murmured, “By Poseidon’s beard, lad, when you do that you look just like your father. Give or take two feet in height.”

Gid ignored the implied insult. “May 11.”

“What’s May 11?” Emma asked.

“My parents have a celebration planned, a very special celebration. I don’t want it interrupted. So whatever car-upending giants or ice-casting sorceresses or heart-stealing witches appear, you deal with them. You have magic enough, Ms. Jones, to dispatch whatever threats come along, and you know your way around the library well enough to research your own questions, Captain Jones. And if you and your parents can’t handle it alone, call Regina. Leave my parents out of it.”

“Lad’s inherited his father’s bossiness,” Hook muttered.

As the Joneses’ eyebrows drew down, Gid backpedaled, calling to mind the manners Belle had so carefully been teaching him. “Let me start over again. On May 11, my folks are having a special celebration. It would mean a lot to them, and I’d take it as a personal favor, if you’d help me to make sure we’re not interrupted that day. Please.”

The Joneses visibly relaxed. “I’d be glad to help out,” Emma said. “Keeping the peace is what we do. But it just so happens we’re going to be gone for the first two weeks in May.”

“A second honeymoon. We’re going to sail up to Nantucket.” Hook slipped his arm around Emma’s waist. “Just the two of us. Away from the car-upending giants and whatnot.”

“My father will be acting sheriff,” Emma said. “I’ll pass along your request to him.”

“And the-?” Gid waved his hand in the air.

“Oh. If any magic problems pop up-”

“Aren’t they all magic problems?” Hook mused. “When was the last time we issued a traffic ticket or picked up a pickpocket?”

“Regina’s going to take care of it.” Emma finished. “With Zelena as backup. Kinda. Sorta.”

“I see.” Gid caught his breath. He’d known all along he’d have to make his request to the mayor too, but he dreaded it nonetheless. “Thank you for speaking to your father for me.” He decided to work up to Regina by starting with less scary folk. “Bon voyage.” He snapped his fingers and vanished.

Blue had always felt a guilty about her failure to protect him from the Black Fairy, so when he arrived at the convent she ushered him into the kitchen, served him cookies and milk (he refrained from reminding her he was old enough for canapes and scotch) and eagerly asked what she could do for him. But her small smile wavered when he explained the situation. After three centuries of enmity, she was still struggling with the information that Rumplestiltskin had been fated to become a Savior, and it still made her uncomfortable to think of the kind and caring Belle married to the—well, she wasn’t sure whether to call him the “Dark One” any more. But Gideon made the request personal, and she could see nothing wrong in it, nor could she deny him anything. “Of course. The sisters and I will make certain the town is protected and your parents’ wedding is uninterrupted.” She pushed the platter of warm cookies closer to him. “Now, have another cookie, child.”

Granny, though she was quite fond of him personally, never had warmed up to Rumple, so she gave him attitude: “Boy, I wouldn’t trust your father farther than I can throw Tiny, so his ‘special celebration’ is safe from me. If my diner was on fire, I wouldn’t ask him to spit on it to put it out.”

Leroy, likewise, gave him pushback: “Me, ask him for help? There’s always a price with him, even with stuff that doesn’t belong to him. He still won’t give back our beer steins.”

Gideon ignored the snide remarks. He knew what his father had once been, and he knew what his father was now. Most of the town, having learned of Rumple’s past and having observed the changes that he had struggled to make, were willing to give the no-longer-Dark One a second chance—especially when they’d discovered that his light magic was just as potent as the dark had been and that the price for his favors had been marked down.

He decided to meet Regina in her office, where she would feel a little more obligated to accept a citizen’s request. He dressed in one of the (too many) tailored suits his father had bought him and he waited in the lobby as the mayor’s assistant announced him. Belle would have been proud of him, had she known the lengths he’d taken this week to be polite and patient, but he refrained from telling her; protecting the sanctity of her wedding day was part of his gift to her.

“Gideon.” Regina lifted her gaze from a stack of paperwork, but she continued to hold her pen as a signal to him that she wanted this meeting to be kept short. He remained standing as a sign that he would get right to the point. “What can I do for you?”

“Madame Mayor,” he dipped his head in greeting. “Good afternoon. I came to ask-” he almost said favor, but she would take that as his father’s word, and enough stiffness remained between her and Rumple that he’d best steer clear of such reminders. “I came to ask your assistance. As not just the mayor but as one of the most powerful magic wielders in this land. Please.”

The corners of her mouth lifted; she liked being in the power position. “Let’s hear it.”

“On May 11, my parents are going to have a celebration.”

“And they want me to come.” She flipped through the pages of her desk calendar. “What time?”

“Yes, we’d be honored if you could come, but there’s a little more to it. You see, it seems to always happen that just when my parents most need some peace and quiet, that’s when some jerk raises cain, and it’s always some magic user, so the town comes running to Dad and Mom for help.”

Regina nibbled on the top of her pen. “I suppose we have, on occasion, in an emergency… .”

“Well, I’m asking, please, on May 11, if some magic havoc kicks up, would you take care of it? Let my parents have the day to themselves?”

She huffed. “I’ll have you know, Master Gold, we’ve never disturbed your parents’ peace unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“Oh, I understand, and I’m sure they’re grateful for that. It’s just that on this particular day, I was really hoping it wouldn’t be absolutely necessary. You see, they’re reaffirming their wedding vows. It would be the best gift anyone could give them, to have that day go perfect. I may be worried for nothing; we haven’t had a magic invasion here in months. But just in case, would you—keep an eye on things? Nip trouble in the bud? I’ve asked Blue to help too, but I think you’re more alert to everything going on in town.”

“Nothing happens in this town that I don’t know about,” she assured him. “Even a wedding.” As his mouth fell open, she explained, “Nothing magic about that. I overheard Belle ask Ruby to be her maid of honor.”

Gid closed his mouth. It was to the Golds’ advantage that Regina knew all the goings-on.

“As mayor of this town, the safety of our citizens is my first concern, so I’d protect Storybrooke without your asking.” She gave him a genuine smile. “But I’ll do everything I can to make sure your parents’ ceremony goes smoothly. And Gideon, I think it’s considerate of you to look out for them.”

“Thank you, Madame Mayor.”

Buoyed, he visited several other potential rabble-rousers in town. For those who had granted Rumple their forgiveness, Gid offered a deal: “Let my parents have peace and quiet on May 11, and I’ll owe you a favor.” It was a deal too good to pass up, the townsfolk said.

But foresight had never been a talent in this town… .

——————————————————————————-

Movie Night

May prompt: Movie Night. Family Night at the Golds’ becomes something memorable as Gideon offers a special pre-wedding gift. Rated K.

“Eyes closed now. This way. Careful, Mom, you’re about to walk into the dining table. Turn left now. Maybe it would be easier if I just poofed us into the living room.”

“No, no,” Belle broke in. “You know how I feel about the unnecessary use of magic.” She kept walking, her hand clamped firmly over her eyes, her feet shuffling so she wouldn’t stumble over something.

Beside her, Rumple also shuffled with his eyes screwed closed and one hand outstretched for obstacles. “I agree with your mother. Remember, Gid, even the slightest output of magic has a cost. Besides, this is more fun.”

“All right.” One hand on each of his parents’ shoulders, Gideon steered them toward the left. “We’ve got about ten feet to go yet… . A little to your left, Mom… . Okay, here, feel that? That’s the couch behind you. Sit down now.”

“It’s times like these, my cane would handy,” Rumple remarked as he reached out to grab the armrest. He lowered himself gingerly before grasping Belle’s elbow and assisting her down to the cushions. “There, are you comfortable, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine.” Belle sniffed. “But I smell popcorn. Cheddar cheese popcorn.”

“Your favorite.” Gideon set a warm bowl onto her lap. “And there are sodas on the coffee table.”

“Movie Night!” Belle exclaimed. “Did I lose track? Is it Friday already?”

“No, this is a special occasion. You can open your eyes now.” He’d decorated the darkened room with pine cones, fronds, electric candles and gold streamers. A film screen had been erected against the television wall. In the center of the room he’d set up an accent table containing a strange contraption.

“Oh, Gid, it’s lovely,” Belle admired. “And it smells so good.” She stuffed her hand into the popcorn and grabbed a fistful of crunchy clouds. “Mmmm.” She nodded at the coffee table. “You remembered my root beer.”

“And Dad’s Dr. Pepper.” Gideon was proud of himself.

Rumple stood to walk around the accent table to examine the contraption upon it. “So that’s what you wanted that old microscope for. And this looks like the movie projector I had in the backroom. But it was broken and I couldn’t get replacement parts for it.”

“Ebay,” Gid shrugged. “It’s fixed now. I connected the projector with the microscope and added a miniature sound system so I could show you something special.”

“You have a real knack with mechanics.” Rumple leaned in to peer at the colorful square of cloth that stretched between the microscope’s glass slides. “What is this? It looks like a snippet from a tapestry.”

“It is. Have a seat now, Dad. I have a special movie to show you.” Gideon straightened his back in pride. “Dad, Mom, you remember a couple of weeks ago when I spent the night over at Jefferson’s?”

“Yeah.” Belle squinted suspiciously. “You told us he was teaching you some card tricks.”

“Well, he did, I didn’t lie; but there was a little more to it than that. He, uh—don’t get mad, now, Dad; you’re going to love what we did. He made a portal and we took a quick trip to Mount Olympus.”

Belle gasped and even the normally unflappable Rumple sputtered. “You—Olympus-the gods—he took you—how?”

“I know us ordinary folk aren’t allowed there, but we had invitation. See, I found an old, very old, prayer book, and I prayed to Hera.”

“The goddess of marriage,” Rumple explained to Belle.

“Yeah. I told her about your wedding plans, and all the crap you’d been through, and how sucky it was that your marriage didn’t get a fair shake the first time around, and how all of us, the whole town really, need for the rotten stuff to stop. We really just need some rest. And it felt like someone was actually listening so I kept talking, and the whole story spilled out, everything: the Ogres’ War, your mom dying, Mom, your dad acting like a jerk—and I told her the Savior thing and how Fiona robbed you of that—and I wasn’t even halfway into that story when I heard a voice come out of the clouds. It was so clear and sharp, I knew it was real. It said to me, 'Yes.’

"I didn’t know what that meant. I hadn’t asked for anything yet. So I continued with the story, telling her about Hordor and Zoso and Blue and the last portal bean, and she interrupted me again, and she said, 'Yes.’ I guess it was rude of me, but I was confused, so I said, 'What do you mean, "Yes”? “Yes” what?’ And she said, 'Yes, you may come to me.’ So I did. Jefferson and I.“

"You went to Olympus?” Belle breathed.

“Not exactly. It was more like a waystation, I guess. We couldn’t see much; lots of fog. But she was-” he whistled. “She was beautiful. Sitting there on a golden throne. Tall, her hair all piled up on her head, held up with a tiara, white swishy robes and jeweled bracelets on her arms. She looked old and young at the same time. Her voice was like—she sounded just like Lauren Bacall and she looked like Audrey Hepburn. Her eyes were like stars. I felt so small in her presence, I nearly dropped to my knees but I couldn’t budge, I was that petrified. Same with Jefferson. He just stood there gaping like a fish out of water. Anyway, I got mad at myself, that here I had the chance to talk to her and I couldn’t get a word out. But she said, 'Gideon Gold, I know your story. I am the protector of marriage and family. I have no tolerance for those who would put asunder what Fate has joined together. The Black Fairy, the Blue Fairy, Zelena, Cora, and Hook have all interfered with the family that was meant to be. The Fates likewise have no patience with those who tamper with their plans for their selected ones.’

"I just stood there shaking, worried that I’d started something that was going to end awful. She was so stern and stiff, I thought she might throw the book at all of us. But then she surprised me, because she said, 'I am sorry, Gideon, for the wrong that has been done to you, your brother and your parents. I am more the sorry that I cannot reverse any of it. But, angry as the Moirai are with Fiona, they have granted your small request, abnormal though it be. They think that doing so would be a suitable way of thanking your mother for persuading your father to return the Shears of Destiny—unused.’” Gideon knew how close he’d come to having his own fate altered; it had been just one of many apologies the former Dark One had made, and one that Gideon had accepted readily, since Rumple had changed his mind about using the Shears.

Gideon now flicked a switch on his gadget. “This is what she gave me. Courtesy of the Fates, a piece of the original tapestry that was created for us.” A beam of light streamed from the projector onto the screen, and Gideon sat down beside his mother, reaching into her bowl for some popcorn.

The light shone bright white at first, then bounced, and a hazy black-and-white image appeared, off-center. Gid couldn’t make out the contents of the first image, but it soon clarified and filled with color, and then he could see a king-sized bed in a room that he recognized as the master bedroom upstairs. Propped up by pillows (and with a book beside her) lay Belle.Gathered around the bed were Ruby, another woman, a small man and a sweating Rumplestiltskin, his hair matted, his sleeves rolled up, an apron protecting his silk shirt. He was panting in an oddly infectious rhythm; Gid found himself panting along too. “Breathe, Belle, breathe,” he urged as he dabbed at her damp forehead with his handkerchief.

“You’re doing fine,” the small man crooned. “Everything’s normal.”

“That’s Doc Miner,” Belle whispered to Gideon. “He’s the town OB/GYN.”

“One of the dwarfs,” Rumple added.

“That woman with him,” Gid squinted to make the figure out. “That’s your friend Nova, isn’t it?”

“She helps out with deliveries.”

“Ready now, Belle: push!” Doc’s back blocked their view—not that Gid wanted to see the actual delivery anyway. Suddenly Doc straightened, there was a wail, he handed a squirming bundle to Nova, who carried it off, and then he bent down again. “Now the afterbirth. Good job, Belle. You have a healthy baby boy.”

“His name is Gideon.” Belle dropped back into the pillows, her voice cracking.

Rumple nodded. “Gideon Gold.” He stroked Belle’s hair back from her face. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Sore and tired. But excited to begin this new chapter in our lives.”

“Good job, Belle.” Nova carried over the blanketed newborn and lay him in his mom’s arms. “Gideon Gold, meet your mama.”

The picture wavered, then dissolved into another: a shadow, rocking slowly in a chair and turned toward a window through which a soft night breeze wafted. Another figure entered the darkened room and set a hand on the shadow’s back. The quiet was briefly broken by a snuffling as a tiny, sleeping form lifted its head from the shadow’s shoulder. The standing figure patted the little one’s back and the little head dropped down again, forehead pressed to parent’s shoulder.

The scene went hazy, and when the haze cleared, a baby came into view. Poised on his hands and knees, the infant scowled as he began to rock back and forth on the plush carpet. Kneeling above him, his mother and his father traded encouragements: “Go, son, go!” “You can do it, Gid!” “Lift your knee, lift it!” “Come to Papa, Gideon!”

Grunting, the baby rocked furiously but couldn’t seem to catch onto the process. Finally, frustrated, he let himself drop onto his butt and he wailed with frustration. Hands scooped him up and cuddled him against warm, sweet-smelling softness. Something deep in him stirred: this softness represented his first memory of life. He forgot his disappointment and snuggled into his mama’s arms. She chuckled. “It’s okay, sweet boy. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

From far above, a deeper voice pondered the situation. “I think I know what’s wrong.” Knees thumped to the carpet. “Watch this, son. Watch me.” Gid’s eyes widened as his big, strong papa rocked back and forth on his hands and knees, then lifted his right hand from the carpet, then lifted his left knee. Gid gurgled as Papa scooted across the room, stopped at the crib and scooted back, panting. Mama and baby clapped their hands as Papa raised up to accept their applause with a bow. When Papa wheeled about on his knees for a return trip, Gid pushed himself out of Mama’s lap and followed. “He’s doing it, Rumple! Look!”

Papa kept moving but glanced back over his shoulder. “Come on, Gid. We’ve got places to go and people to see, my boy.”

Studiously, Gid raised and planted one knee after the other until he’d caught up with Papa. “So now we know his learning strategy: monkey see, monkey do,” Belle surmised.

Rumple gave a worried smile. “In that case, I think we’re in a lot of trouble, Belle.”

The scene faded into another: Gid, thumping a spoon on the tray of his high chair, as Belle and Rumple skittered around the kitchen, gathering ingredients and utensils. Belle pulled the lid off a soup can, set the lid down on the kitchen table, then swung around to pour the condensed soup into a pan. She was stirring and Rumple was tossing a salad when a wail broke through their conversation. They both spun around and reached for the baby; Belle got there first, detaching him from the high chair and whisking him into her arms. “Gid, Gid, what’s wrong, sweetie? Oh my god, Rumple, he’s bleeding!”

Rumple grabbed his son’s index finger and inspected it. “He must’ve picked up the lid.”

“Fix it, Rumple!” Belle wiggled her fingers to show what she meant.

Rumple held the finger high in the air to slow the bleeding. “Magic? Not the hospital?”

“No time for hospitals. Yes, magic!”

A soft glow of purple light surrounded the wounded finger. Gid instantly stopped crying; with his free hand, he tried to catch the light. In just a moment the light vanished, leaving the finger completely healed, but also leaving Rumple tight-lipped. “That was the first time I ever let him see my magic.”

“It was necessary.” Belle kissed the finger, then stroked her husband’s back. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We were just hoping it would be later.”

“I suppose,” Rumple said thoughtfully, “he needs to know that his papa’s different from the other papas. Which makes him different from the other kids.”

“Different, but not weird. And there are a few others like him; he’s not alone. We’ll teach him, Rumple. We’ll help him find his place in the world.”

Rumple sighed. “At least, if he’s a sorcerer too, we’ve got sixteen or so years before we have to deal with that.”

“It’ll be okay.” Belle kissed the baby’s wet cheek. “Won’t it, sweet boy? You’ll go easy on your papa, won’t you?”

The baby patted his mother’s cheek in reply.

“GIDEON! Gideon Gold, get your little butt down here!”

The frazzled parents stared up into the oak tree, where their child teetered on a limb, reaching out for a robin’s nest. His hand shaking, Rumple sent a fist of magic to clutch the boy’s shirt and lift him, wiggling, to Belle’s arms. Gid made a pouty face and blew a raspberry at his papa, who slumped slowly to the ground. Closing his eyes, Rumple rested his forehead against the tree and moaned.

Belle couldn’t help but get in a little dig. “I thought you said we had sixteen years.”

Rumple ran a hand through his hair and came away with strands of gray. “I’m going bald, Belle. He’s only three years old and he’s got me losing my hair. He’ll have me in a straight jacket by the time he starts school.”

She giggled. “You’re being melodramatic, sweetheart. We’ll find our way. Won’t we, Giddy?”

The kitchen door slammed and feet stomped up the stairs. “You sit right there and think about what you did. No, I said sit. You know the rules, Gideon. Five minutes in the naughty corner.” The door to the nursery was yanked shut.

Belle snapped off her vacuum cleaner and came out into the hallway to join her red-faced husband. “I take it the lesson didn’t go well.”

“Oh, he learned to ride without any difficulty. Then he wanted to go faster, so he-” Rumple waggled his fingers.

“Oh. Did he get hurt?”

“He’s fine, but we’re now the proud owners of the world’s first rocket-driven tricycle.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Keyword: 'proud’?”

“Yeah,” Rumple admitted. “I hate to say it, but that kid’s powers are going to rival mine. So yeah, proud.”

“I’m proud of him too.”

A shadow, rocking slowly in a chair and turned toward a window through which a soft night breeze wafted. Another figure entered the darkened room and set a hand on the shadow’s back. The quiet was briefly broken by the stirring of a small sleeping form perched on the rocker’s lap. The standing figure patted the little one’s back and the little head dropped down again, forehead pressed to parent’s shoulder.

“He’s going to have a pretty good shiner,” observed the standing parent.

“He’s too little to be getting into fights already.” There were tears in the seated parent’s voice.

“At least he didn’t use his magic against the other kid. He’s got a lot of self-control for a six-year-old. You’ve given him that. If he’d inherited my temper… .”

“You’ve been a good example to him, Rumple. A calm, steady and dependable example.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“What are we going to do about this? Should we talk to the teacher?”

“Bae used to get into fights. So did I, until I learned to run fast.” A sigh. “I don’t know, Belle. Maybe we should see if he can work it out for himself before we intervene. Or maybe we should ask the teacher to keep on eye on things. I don’t know. On the one hand, we want him to learn to stand up for himself; adults won’t always be there to protect him.”

“On the other, he is just a little boy. He needs to feel safe. How can he concentrate in school if he has to look over his shoulder all the time?”

“I never figured it out, how to deal with bullies. When I was powerless, I hid from them or ran away. When I had power, I became a bully myself. Where’s the balance? What’s the smart way for a small child to protect himself and his pride?”

“I had my bullies too. Girls can be vicious, even against a duchess. I don’t have the answer either. But we don’t have to figure this out alone.”

“Archie?”

“Why not Archie? We aren’t failures as parents if we ask for advice.”

“Yeah… .I suppose he’d have some advice for me too—how to resist the temptation to dig up my cane and pay that kid’s father a visit.”

“You know, there’s a karate school downstairs from Archie’s office. We could stop off there first… .”

“Papa, I’m eight years old now.”

“There, snuggle down and I’ll adjust your blankets. So what’s this about being eight?”

“Well, Neal’s eight and he doesn’t get tucked in any more. And I’ve got an orange belt in karate.”

“Oh. I see.”

“But Papa, eight’s not too old for bedtime stories, is it?”

“Steady, steady, keep your focus; picture in your mind where you want it to go. Think about how happy you’ll feel when that shirt drops into the laundry hamper.”

“It’s going, it’s going there, Papa! Look, Mom! It’s flying! In the hamper, shirt!”

“It went in! Good job, Giddy!”

“Now, son, close the lid of the hamper. See it in your mind, see it closing, gently now—good. You did it, son.”

“So, Papa—when are you going to teach me fireballs?”

“Mama? Remember your promised me five dollars for every 'A’ on my report card?”

“Certainly. And your parents always keep their promises.”

“Well, there’s a set of drums for sale at Hamlin’s, so… could we make a deal?”

“Drums?!”

“Mom, you know I’m responsible, right?”

“Yes, Gid. You’ve done well with your responsibilities. Why?”

“I mean, I help out at the shop and the library and I do my chores here, and I keep my grades up, and my karate. I’ve got a lot of responsibilities, for a kid my age, but I haven’t screwed up too often, have I?”

“You’ve done well, Giddy. We’re proud of you.”

“Well, here’s the thing: sixteen is the legal age to get a job.”

“Oh. Your allowance—”

“It’s good, Mom. It’s not the money; it's—don’t be hurt, okay? I’d rather not work at the shop and the library any more; I want to get a real job. Where I can be my own man, you know? Not the boss’ kid. Mom? Are you crying?”

“It’s okay, Gid. I’m just crying because I’m proud of you.”

“Well, that doesn’t make sense. The crying part, I mean, not the proud part.”

“Give me a minute, then we’ll break the news to your father.”

“You promised if I passed my test I could start driving alone.”

“Yes. Yes, we did.”

“You’re not going to back out on a deal, are you, Dad?”

“No, son. I’d never do that.”

“I think we’re stuck. Give him the keys, Rumple.”

“Thanks, Dad! I’ll be back in an hour, I promise. I’m just going over Granny’s for a burger.”

As their son clattered down the stairs, the front door banging behind him, Belle speculated, “Rumple, his magic can fix broken tail lights, knocked-down mail boxes, dented fenders—how are we going to know if he gets into an accident?”

“We have to trust him, sweetheart.”

“I do, but… .”

“Besides, we have two secret weapons: traffic cameras—”

“And?”

“My grandson is the sheriff.”

“Mom, can we talk? Privately?”

“Your dad’s at a Chamber meeting. Come on in, Gid. Here, chop these carrots while we talk. What’s up?”

“I have some good news and some bad news.”

“Oh?”

“And I’m going to need some help telling Dad.”

“Oh… .”

“The good news is I got accepted into Stanford.”

“Oh, Gid, that’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you! It’s everything you dreamed of!”

“And after that, if I keep my grades up, MIT!”

“Gid! I’m so happy for you, I’m practically delirious!”

“So, Mom, here’s the bad news: I got into Stanford. How do I tell Dad I’m moving 2700 miles away?”

Belle elbowed her husband, who was whistling shrilly between his teeth. Other parents seated in the bleachers around them turned to glare, snicker and snort at the proud father, who’d risen to his feet. “Honey, you’re embarrassing him. Simple clapping would suffice.”

“I don’t care,” Rumple huffed. “My son just graduated summa cum laude from Stanford-and without the use of magic. I’ve earned the right to cheer.”

“Yes, you have.” Belle stood up beside him, planted her fingers in her mouth and whistled. “Yay, Gideon!”

Rumple winked at her. “He sees us. Look, he’s waving. We did a good job, Belle.”

“We did a very good job, Rumple.”

The images blanked out, leaving an empty white light beaming onto the film screen. Gideon set aside his soda, snapped off the machine and settled back down onto the couch, his arm around his mom’s shaking shoulders. Belle turned her face into his chest and sobbed. As Gideon stroked her hair, Rumple reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Gid.” Rumple had turned pale. “What you could have had, if I hadn’t been so short-sighted, so fixated on magic solutions. To you too, Belle, what I stole from you. If I would have just talked to you, asked them”-he waved toward the street; Gideon realized he was referring to the community-“for help.”

“It was my fault too. I was blinded by self-righteousness.” Belle’s voice grew small. “And wanting them to include me as a hero. You were robbed too, Rumple, because of my pride.”

“Mom, Dad, I’m happy now; that’s what matters. I have a pretty good future to look forward to.” When Belle had regained her poise and accepted a handkerchief from Rumple, Gideon suggested, “It’s not entirely too late.”

“You aren’t saying you want me to—” Rumple summoned a bit of magic to his fingers.

“No. I still feel the same about that: I don’t want to be de-aged. I am who I am because of what I went through. And I’m proud of what I am now. I love the life we have now.” He reached into his jeans pocket and produced a wrinkled sheet of paper, which he gave to Belle. “But it’s not too late for everything. Mom and Dad, I’ve been accepted into Northern Maine Community College for the fall semester.”

“Oh, Gideon!” Belle plastered his face with kisses, until she was pushed forward and crushed against his chest when her husband threw himself at Gideon in a bear hug. “Mmmph! Mm'out!”

“Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t mean to squish you.”

#darcyfarrow2005 #a monthly rumbelling #may #submission

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a-monthly-rumbelling · 7 years

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The Couples' Retreat, Chapter 3: The Truthfulness Exercise

Submitted by @darcyfarrow2005

Archie had a secret. Not a very big one, certainly in comparison to the secrets unacknowledged in this very room, let alone in this town, but just the same, he’d prefer these people didn’t find out. He didn’t want them to lose confidence in him. So he tucked the two legal pads he’d been carrying under his arm, hooked his hands into his jeans pockets to hide the fingernails he’d bitten to the quick just now and plastering on an easy-going smile, he strolled into the game room.

Hook quirked an eyebrow and gave him a bit of a nod, but Emma, scowling at a quintet of playing cards spread out before her, didn’t break her concentration. Archie supposed he couldn’t blame her: judging by the cards facing up, she had a difficult decision to make. He leaned in the entrance, allowing her to make it undisturbed; he hazarded a guess as to what her choice would be. She sucked in a breath and announced her decision: “Hit me.” It was the choice Archie expected: she was an all-in kind of woman.

Hook lay a Jack atop her exposed cards. Groaning, she pushed back from the card table. “That’s three you owe me, love.” Hook winked at her. “I promise not to collect all at once.”

Archie sauntered over to the table and peered down at the game-breaking Jack. “What were the stakes?”

“You don’t want to know.” Emma flicked the air, knocking the topic aside.

Hook shifted a bit in his chair so he could face both his companions at the same time. “Did all go well with my future in-laws, Doctor?”

Emma gave his shoulder a shove. “You know he can’t talk about that. Confidentiality.”

“That’s correct. As agreed, this particular exercise is a private one. And entirely voluntary.” Archie distracted them from his wavering smile by seating himself across from them. He took a moment, seemingly to admire the spacious room with its many entertainment offerings, ranging from the traditional—a chess game set up in the quietest corner, an unfinished jigsaw puzzle taking up a dining table near the entrance, mahjong near the fireplace and pachisi at the windows—to, anachronistically, an X-box at the other end of the room. “It seems Merlin had wide-ranging interests,” he mused, and Hook murmured in the affirmative, but Emma pursed her lips slightly. He’d failed to take her in with his casual act. He supposed there would be no actual harm in revealing to her the reason for his discomfort—as close as mother and daughter had grown, Snow would probably tell Emma all anyway at lunch—but he’d laid down the confidentiality rule at the beginning of this exercise, so he needed to stick to it.

Besides, he expected to have to use it pretty quick.

Hook threw a glance over his shoulder at a miniature grandfather clock on the mantle. “This exercise must be a short one,” he estimated. “You were with David and Snow less than an hour.”

Truthfully, he’d been with David and Snow less than a half-hour, but after that, he’d retired to his bedroom to think—and chew his nails. Not that the exercise had gone badly—quite the opposite. It had turned out far better, he supposed, than he had prepared for. He’d kind of counted on his time with the Nolans as a chance for trial-and-error, to expose in a smaller and less dangerous way whatever bugs there were in the process, so he could fix them before he proceeded to the other two couples. The Nolans’ exercise had taught him something, true, but most likely not something he could apply here.

“Well, then, shall we proceed?” He emboldened his smile.

“We’re not going to get anything out of you about what David and Snow did, are we?” Hook surmised.

“Be glad of it,” Emma tossed at her fiance. “He’ll keep our secrets too.”

Hook shrugged. “I was hoping to have some basis of comparison.”

“So you could figure out how to win this round.”

“It’s not a contest,” Archie reminded them as he pressed a key on his phone. “None of these exercises are. There’s no right answer, no points to be assessed. That said, let’s review the rules. Rule one–”

Emma counted it off on her forefinger. “Everything that happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

Hook supplied the next. “Tell the truth or keep your mouth shut. No pressure to participate.”

“We gotcha, Arch. Let’s hear the details.”

A clattering in the hallway drew their attention. Using this distraction, Archie set the legal pads and a clutch of pencils in front of his clients, then hid his chewed fingernails under the poker table. “Just in time,” Archie stood as Ruby rolled in a chalkboard. “Thank you, Ruby.”

The waitress reached into her apron pocket for a box of chalk. “Here you go, Archie.” The box was unopened; he hadn’t had call to use the chalk during his time with the Nolans. “Lunch is in the oven. Ring me about twenty minutes before you want it served.”

“Sounds good.”

She paused on her way out to inform Emma, “Grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

“Thanks, Rubes.”

After she’d gone, Archie moved over to the chalkboard. “Shall we proceed? Remember, after you hear what this exercise is about, you can say no. I have to admit, it could be risky. And this is only my second go-round with it.”

“Ah ha,” Hook snapped his fingers. “That means the Nolans blew it.”

“Not at all,” Archie snapped. Then he straightened his shoulders and selected a stick of chalk from the box. “The exercise works like this. I’ll be posing a question. Well, an incomplete scenario, really. You’ll fill in the missing dialog. And then we’ll discuss ways that each couple can release those negative feelings and prevent them from returning.”

“An all-day exercise, huh?” Hook wondered. “For most couples.”

“It can certainly feel like it,” Archie admitted. “You’ll be emotionally drained and physically worn out by the end, but I think you’ll sleep very well tonight, with your consciences clear. And we’ll be taking a big step forward for the future.”

Emma smiled at him encouragingly. “It sounds worth a risk.”

“I’m putting up a sentence… a prompt… .I want you to read it, then think about it as it applies to your relationship. Take your time; think it through. In every relationship, no matter how close, no matter how loving, there are situations that never get dealt with. Perceived slights, unintentional insults, ill-phrased remarks that lead to hurt, and if the hurt isn’t dealt with, it can grow into resentment. Bitter feelings that are never brought out to the light and discussed in a calm, healing way can become time bombs that explode when neither of you is equipped to cope.”

Emma nodded, looking down at the pencils. “Sometimes when there’s no chance to say you’re sorry or that you forgive the other person.” Archie suspected she was thinking of Neal.

“That’s what I hope to accomplish here. If there are such time bombs in your relationship, to deal with one of them now, while we can focus on it and not muddle it up with other issues. I hope to teach you tools that you can use when you’re out there, on your own.”

“In the real world,” Emma muttered. “With the Tamaras and the Gregs and the Zelenas that steal people away from you.”

“So: read the sentence, think about it. Take all the time you need. Then on those pads, I want you to write out how you could finish the sentence.” He raised his hands in a halt gesture. There was no hiding his broken nails now, but perhaps they wouldn’t notice once he began to write on the chalkboard. “Again, if you find this becomes too uncomfortable, even painful, you can end the exercise at any time.”

“And then what, Doc?” Hook wondered.

“We’ll talk about something else. Something relevant but less dangerous.” He turned his back to them and began to write. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d start this and see if you can continue.”

The couple read the sentence aloud together: “’You have a lot of nerve saying “Hello” like nothing happened.’”

“Okay, so we’re going to use that as a conversation starter,” Hook affirmed, but his mouth fell open as his fiancee grabbed a pencil, hunched her shoulders and immediately began to write on her yellow pad. “Or, more like an argument starter.”

“Don’t think of it that way.” Archie couldn’t help himself: his thumb flew into his mouth and he began gnawing on the remainder of a fingernail as he too watched Emma scrawl sentence after sentence. “Think of it as a chance to fix things before they get irretrievably broken.”

Hook tore his eyes away from Emma’s flying pencil back to the chalkboard and he silently mouthed the prompt.

A crinkling of paper as Emma flipped to a second page.

With a long sigh, Hook picked up a pencil. He stared at his empty pad. He stared at the board. He stared at Emma again, trying to peer over her shoulder, until Archie cleared his throat in warning and Hook returned his attention to the chalkboard. Eventually he wrote a single word. He stared at it.

“There’s no rush,” Archie whispered to him. “It’s more important that you put a lot of thought in this.”

Hook’s forehead wrinkled as Emma turned another page. “Uh, you did say, just one scenario, right?”

“Just one.”

“I write big,” Emma sniffed.

Hook stared at his single word again. He bit the eraser. His frown smoothed out and his eyes glazed over as he submerged himself in memories. Slowly, a second word appeared on his page, then a third, then a full sentence. His head bowed as he centered himself on the words.

Quietly, Archie wandered away from the chalkboard to look out a window. His heart was pounding in his chest with both hope and dread. Behind him he heard pages crinkling and chairs scraping. At least, this time the exercise was producing some results.

Well, perhaps, the experiment with the Nolans had, too. He’d settled them in the never-used nursery (“Why do you suppose Merlin would want a nursery? He never had any children, did he?” Snow had wondered.), where he thought they’d feel most at home, and with a chalkboard behind them and yellow pads before them to remind Snow of school, he’d explained the project. After fifteen minutes of blank stares, Snow had tossed her pencil aside and David had shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, Arch, I’ve got nothin’.”

“Nothing?” Archie had echoed. He’d imagined all sorts of outcomes, but not this one.

“For me either,” Snow had admitted.

“Something he did that upset you. Something that took a lot of nerve–Something he should have known better—something that he did know better, but he did it anyway,” Archie had urged. “Every couple has them. Violations that, left unspoken, can build into resentments.”

“That’s just it, Arch,” David had volunteered. “Yeah, we have ‘em; of course we do. Small crap like leaving the cap off the toothpaste–”

“Dirty dishes in the sink–”

“Dirty diapers in the kitchen garbage pail–”

“And bigger stuff. Yeah, we’ve been through a hell of a lot of stuff that could’ve broke us up. Sleeping curses. Curses on the town line. Memory loss.”

“Our grandson being kidnapped. Finding out we have a grandson, at age thirty,” Snow had blinked. “Finding out we have a daughter as old as we are.”

“Finding out we belong in another realm. In another life.”

“That we’re the rulers of a kingdom of two thousand people who are waiting for us to figure out what to do. And that we have magical enemies crawling out of the woodwork. Dragons and giants and abominable snowmen.”

“There have no doubt been moments when each of you did something that the other resented–”

“Sure,” David stared at his hands in guilt. “I was a coward with Katherine. I knew what was the right thing to do and I didn’t do it. And I made it a hundred times worse when I didn’t stand up for Mary Margaret against that fake murder charge.” He grasped Snow’s hands. “I was a jerk and a coward and I’m sorry.”

“We talked it out, though. And I know that coward wasn’t really you. And when I went against what we’d decided together about Cora, and I cursed her and killed her, I was wrong and I paid the price for it. I should have listened to you. I’ll never again chase after revenge.”

“Me neither,” David confessed. “I went against your advice and chased after my father’s killer, and look how that turned out. But that was the last time, I promise.”

“It was, Archie,” Snow explained. “We learned our lesson. We’re so much better as a team than we are apart. We make each other better. Keep each other from falling off the edge into the dark. We know that now. We respect what we have together.”

“And we take care of our marriage. We talk things out. We apologize.”

“We forgive and move on. We don’t let resentments grow.” Snow had pushed her legal pad away. “So no, Archie, there’s nothing for me to write.”

David had done the same. “Me neither.”

After a long silence, Archie had gathered up the empty legal pads. “Snow, David, I’m happy to say, you have no need for this exercise. Perhaps all you really need today is just some peace and quiet together.”

Snow had linked her arm through her husband’s. “Do you know what I really want right now? Beyond the garden there, I saw the North Woods. I’d like to go for a long walk.”

“Just us,” David had agreed. They had stood up together. “If you’re through with us, Archie?”

“I think a walk in the woods is exactly the right prescription.”

“We’ll come back when we get hungry.”

“I think we’re finished,” Emma brought Archie back to the present.

He turned to find that while Hook had completed half a page in his small, sharp handwriting, Emma had worn down three pencils and filled her notebook with her large loops.

“Very good.” Archie came away from the window and seated himself at the poker table. “Captain, suppose we start with you.”

Plucking at his beard nervously, Hook read from his notes: “Okay. Now don’t be pissy, Emma, right? We’re uncovering the jetsam. So… . ’You have a lot of nerve saying “Hello” like nothing happened.’ Like you didn’t make me a Dark One and try to hide it from me by taking away my memories–”

Oh yes. Archie folded his hands as he listened, not only to each word, but to each word choice. Yes, there was work to do here.

And that was another of his secrets: Archie needed to be needed.

—————————————————————-

Lunch was three hours late. By the time Archie came round to the library to fetch them, Belle and Gold were both deep into books, hers Undaunted Courage and his Team of Rivals. They were sharing a couch, her bare feet propped in his lap, his hand resting idly on her ankle. When Archie interrupted them, Belle was about to sit up and point out to Gold a quotation in her book. They both looked a bit annoyed initially at the interruption, but their expressions soon softened. With his damp hair clinging to his forehead and the creases lining his eyes, Archie suspected he looked tired. Well, he should: he’d earned it. But he was also holding his chin up in pride (and relief) that his experiment had proven successful: downstairs, in the chandeliered dining room, at the twelve-seat mahogany table, Emma and Hook sat side by side, just as drained as Archie, but still talking to each other. Fortunately, as he led the Golds into the dining room, Hook and Emma weren’t talking about anything intimate or consequential.

Ruby was placing the last of the platters onto the dining table. By her suggestion, they would be eating family style, passing dishes back and forth and serving themselves. This egalitarian approach, along with the hearty American fare, would somewhat counteract the formality of the furniture. “Snow and Charming won’t be joining you,” Ruby said. “They packed a picnic.”

With the Golds on one side of the table and the Swan-Joneses on the other side, Archie felt a bit squeezed in the middle of this huge table, but after some fortification from soup and salad, he felt sufficiently revived to attempt to create a conversation between the opposing forces. “So, Belle, what plans do you have for the library? I heard something about new computers?”

Emma’s ears perked up at this news. “Good idea. Those PCs you have now are no better than Apple II-E’s.”

“I’m planning a fundraiser for the computers. I hope to buy ten for the public, plus one for a catalog and one for the circ desk,” Belle was squirting ketchup onto her sandwich. “So after those arrive, we’ll be starting some basic computer classes for adults, taught by Henry and some kids from the high school. As for the collection, I plan to develop a college and career prep center.”

“With the curse lifted from the town line, our graduates will be wanting to move on to more opportunities in the big city,” Archie remarked. “I’ll be offering career counseling services.”

Emma shot a quick glance at Hook. “Henry. He’ll be graduating in two years.”

Around a mouthful of pickle, Hook suggested, “I’m sure the lad will find all sorts of new adventures out there in big wide world, as I did when I was young.”

Emma fiddled with her spoon. “I’m not sure I want him out there in big world.”

“As nature intended, love. Mothers wish to hold on, but sons must make their mark upon the world.”

Gold objected, “They don’t always have to leave town to do that.” Emma threw him a small smile. “I’m sure we could find plenty of opportunity for him here. But if he chooses to leave, he’ll have all the support he needs. Financial and otherwise.”

“Thank you, Gold.”

Gold looked down into his soup bowl. “It’s what I owe Bae.”

Hesitating slightly, Archie decided that, after his earlier success, he could venture back into risky territory. If a bridge of common interests could be built between Emma and Gold, perhaps the animosity between Gold and Hook could be diminished. “I never really got to know Neal. Mr. Gold, I’m sure you have some stories about his growing up.”

“Oh, yes, he has a thousand of them,” Belle giggled. “Tell them about the time Bae roped the neighbor’s bellwether.” She reached out to touch Emma’s hand. “It’s hilarious. The roots of Bae’s joy riding career.”

Emma’s eyes brightened and fixed on Gold. “I’d like to hear that. If you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” he answered softly. “I’d rather like to tell it. Perhaps, afterward, you could share some of your memories?”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Well, then.” Gold scooted back from the table and settled more comfortably in his chair. “In our village there was a farmer who owned a very large, very ill-tempered ewe… .”

———————————————————

Lunch had ended on laughter. Encouraged, Archie sent Hook and Emma out for an afternoon of recreation, but summoned the Golds back to the library, where he thought they’d be most comfortable. “Saved the best for last, Archie?” Belle teased, but her voice was a little shaky.

Pushing the chalkboard ahead of him, Archie ducked the question, which he recognized as halfway serious. What she needed to hear from him was that in his professional assessment, her relationship with Gold was salvageable. After positioning the board, Archie stood back and brushed his chalk-dusted hands against his trousers. He happened to feel Gold’s eyes upon him, and it made him nervous—Gold’s cold stare always did, even though Archie had come to learn that the coldness was a facade. But to retain their confidence, he had to exude confidence of his own. Quite possibly, he was their last hope. So he steeled his spine and turned his head to look Gold in the eyes, and what he read there—in the eyes, not in the straight line of the mouth or the set of the jaw, but in the creases around the eyes, the slight elevation of the brows, and a certain shine in the pupils that could be burgeoning tears—gave Archie all the confidence he needed.

“We can do this,” he assured them. “We will do this, one step at a time.” He motioned to the couch upon which he’d found them resting earlier; they accepted the implied invitation and sat down, somewhat primly (their posture, he noted, mirrored each other’s). He’d learned from their first session that tea was important to them, a held over social convention from their Enchanted Forest days, a relaxant and a subconscious communication prompt, so he’d had Ruby bring in a fully loaded, formal tray, which was waiting on the coffee table. He scooted a comfortable chair up to the table and leaned forward, his hand on the teapot. “Shall I pour?” He didn’t really need to ask; he always poured. It was part of the routine from their therapy.

“Thank you, Archie,” they both said, accepting the tea he’d prepared precisely how they liked it. He allowed them a few moments to sip, and when they sat back in the cushions, he knew they were ready to begin.

“Resentment is the emotional bacteria that, if not expelled, will infect a relationship, possibly kill it,” Archie began. “I believe that each of you harbors some powerful resentments. The two of you have hurt each other often enough.”

To their credit, neither offered a denial. Belle took the brave first step. “Do you think we’re strong enough to deal with this now? Our relationship, I mean; is it strong enough? Won’t digging up the hurts of the past just drive us apart?”

Surprisingly, it was Gold who answered. “Ignoring the shadows of the past will only make them loom larger in the future.” He stared into his teacup. “A lesson I learned from Milah, but all these years I’ve pretended didn’t apply to me.” So low Archie could barely hear him, he murmured, “Fear of what I might lose caused me to ignore the fact that I was losing everyone I loved.”

“Yes.” Archie leaned back in his chair. “You’re strong enough.” He stood up. “Although, yesterday’s rules still apply: you can refuse to participate, but if you do participate, you’ll tell the whole truth.”

“No twisted words,” Gold promised–in Archie’s mind, unnecessarily. The sorcerer knew what was at stake this time: Gideon’s kidnapping had been the flame that had burned down Gold’s house of fantasy. Archie believed Belle realized that too; it was why she’d picked up the pieces of their marriage.

He distributed the pencils and legal pads, then crossed over to the chalkboard. “You’ll be writing a continuation to a prompt.” Belle’s eyes brightened; they were in her wheelhouse now. “I’ll write a starter sentence on the board; you’ll finish it. The ‘you’ refers to your spouse.” He turned his back long enough to put up the assignment, then he stood aside, giving them time to read it.

“’You have a lot of nerve saying “Hello” like nothing happened.’” Belle cast a hasty glance at her husband, who nodded.

“A greeting I’ve deserved, too many times.” He handed her a pencil. “Go on, Belle.”

“’You have a lot of nerve… .’” Belle stared at the blank page.

“Please,” Gold urged.

Belle pressed the pencil to the paper.

As he had done for the other couples, Archie walked away to give them space. He strolled along the ceiling-high shelves, casually perusing the book titles, until he found one that caught his attention and he brought it down. He read the first paragraph; it kept his interest and he read a second. He’d just settled down in an armchair to begin the second chapter of The Personal Dreams of Carl Jung when Belle called him over. “I’m finished, Archie.”

He set the open book aside with the intention of returning to it at bedtime. A glance at her face prompted him to reach into his vest pocket for the package of Kleenex he always carried, but Gold had already beaten him to it, offering her his handkerchief. Her body language revealed her to be caught between anger and guilt; she needed to cry, but she drew upon her childhood lessons and held herself firm. Without urging, she picked up her notepad and read, “You have a lot of nerve saying ‘Hello’ like nothing happened. I know you love me. I don’t doubt that. I love you too. And I wanted so much to help you, after everything Zelena put you through, and after Bae—after she murdered Bae. When you proposed to me, I thought, this is the beginning of the healing. You’ll realize how much I love you and I’ll never leave you, and you’ll trust me, confide in me, and I can take care of you. But from the beginning the marriage was a lie. You swore your love for me on a fake dagger, so that you could go behind my back and kill Zelena. Did you really think I would never find out? Was the proposal even real? Did you really want to marry me, or was that a manipulation too? And while I was sleeping in ignorant bliss, you got up out of our honeymoon bed to plot how you could get more power. You made a deal, Rumple, a deal that would leave this entire town shattered by madness. You were going to snatch Henry away from his mothers and cart us off to New York, never to return. You would have even lied to us about how they all died, wouldn’t you? You imprisoned the fairies. You made a slave out of Hook. You would’ve stolen Emma’s magic if she’d let you. And all this time you left me sleeping, when all I ever wanted to do was to love you. I could’ve helped you, Rumple, but you wouldn’t let me. You hid yourself from me. None of the torment we’ve been through would’ve happened if your proposal had been real.”

She let the notepad drop to the coffee table.

Archie held his breath. She’d thrown down the gauntlet; they waited for Gold to respond. Gold had three choices: he could deny Belle’s interpretation of events. He could make excuses—lord knows, after all he’d been through, he had a warehouse of valid excuses. But neither of those two choices would be the one to move the couple a step towards closure. Gold had a history of wrong choices, a genealogy of wrong choices; he needed to fight the impulse to try to take the easy way out. If only he could realize that in the long run, the difficult way could prove to be the easy way.

Gold was staring at his hands as if they were foreign objects. Was he thinking about the magic they contained? The magic that had fed him, protected him, kept him alive all these years? Or was he thinking about the Dark voices behind the magic, Nimue’s and Zozo’s and the others, and the black voice of the bullied and twice-abandoned little boy who wanted to lash out in broken-hearted anger?

“I did.” They could barely hear him. He let his hands fall to his knees and looked up at Belle. “I did all those things,” he said more clearly. “I hurt you, I hurt Henry, I hurt Gideon and I dishonored Baelfire’s memory. I was wrong and I regret all the pain I caused you. And I know my promises are meaningless now, but I will fight with my last breath to be truthful with you.”

Archie released his breath. Whatever happened next, whatever choice Belle made, Gold would be better now. Not healed, not good, but better. And with each step his way would be easier.

“I think you have been. I forgive you.” Belle squeezed his hand, then looked to Archie. “It still hurts like hell.”

“It will, for a long time,” Archie said. “But it will get better.”

“I do mean it: I forgive you. But it’s kind of hard to feel it under all the anger and injured pride.”

“This is something we’ll work on,” Archie assured her. To give them a moment to decompress, he refilled their teacups, then he sat back and pointedly looked at Gold’s notepad. “Mr. Gold. You’ve written nothing.”

“I had thought I have nothing to resent.”

“Not even when I exiled you?” Belle pressed.

“It was a just punishment. And you made the town safe from a monster who had grown out of control. But I see now, this isn’t the whole truth.” He raised the legal pad. “It’s true that I was hurt by some of the things you did, but I never blamed you, sweetheart. I thought I deserved it all, and worse. Until… .” The first page of his legal pad suddenly filled with writing in a language neither Belle nor Archie could recognize. Gold lay the notebook onto the coffee table beside hers and took her hands in his. “In the Underworld, when I learned that we were going to be parents, I sincerely tried to change, to be truthful with you. Circumstances conspired against me; my past caught up with me and again I failed repeatedly to make the right decisions, but I was honest with you. As much as I could be, after three hundred years of deception. You wouldn’t listen. I understand why, but when you shut me down, I felt that I was alone again, that saving Gideon was all on my shoulders, and I fell back on lies and deals. It worked, Belle, didn’t it? I freed us from Hades. I couldn’t see why you wouldn’t listen to me, when it seemed my solutions were working. I could have freed Gideon from his fate too. I still think, if I’d used the Shears—but we didn’t discuss it or anything else. You ran away from me when we should have been working together to save our son. And in the end, rather than let me anywhere near him, you sent him away. You sent our son away.”

Archie held his breath again. This was Belle’s test; whether the relationship would take another step forward was up to her now. She was twisting the handkerchief instead of using it to cope with her tears. “I should have known you would never hurt him. I did know; after all you went through to rescue Bae, twice sacrificing yourself to keep him alive. You would have done no less for Gideon.

But I was hurt and angry and full of fear, and I listened to the darkness in me instead of looking into your heart. Please, Rumple, say it. For yourself, as well as our marriage, you need to say it.”

To Archie’s surprise, Gold blurted, “Yes, I’m angry. I’m angry at you, Belle, for sending our son away, and with her. Knowing how I feel about fairies, and why, yet you gave our son to her, to the Ruel Ghorm, and look what happened. We almost lost him forever. And we may never know the full extent of the lasting harm that his time with my mother did to him.” Archie had seen him angry, had seen him confused, had seen him aching, but he’d never seen Gold express such naked pain. “He’s my son too. He needs me too. You can’t shut me out of his life.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“That’s right, you weren’t. You could have easily protected him from everything–the Shears, from my mother, from me–just by driving out of Storybrooke, away from the magic, safe from all this crap. I’m angry, Belle, that you would have taken my son away from me.”

Bravely, she accepted his criticism and Archie could breathe again.“You have a right to be angry. I was wrong. And I will never again forget that Gideon needs you in his life just as much as he needs me.”

It was disconcerting, Archie thought, to see raw hope in the Dark One’s eyes. Few people even recognized the sorcerer as a man, with a heart as vulnerable as their own.“We’ll talk things out, from now on. I’ll let you in and you won’t shut me out. Can we do that, Belle? And if we can’t mend our marriage, at least we can give Gideon his best chance.”

“We have to try.” Belle offered a watery smile. “I want us to give us our best chance too.”

—————————————————

He had no idea where Gold had acquired a cell phone, but in the morning, as he joined the couples for a farewell breakfast, Archie spotted the pawnbroker out in the garden, flagrantly violating the no-phone rule. Ah well. The weekend was over, anyway. Archie walked into the kitchen, paused to sniff at Ruby’s special blend of coffee percolating on the stove, then reached into a cupboard for the box of confiscated electronics. He carried it on his hip back into the dining room.

“Ah, back to modern civilization, I see.” Hook fished his phone out first. “I’ve missed you, Angry Birds.”

Emma distributed the rest and she and David immediately checked their text messages. “Hey, the town survived without us.” She turned her phone around to show her father there were no messages. Then she frowned. “Nothing from Henry. Do you think he–”

“I think he’s been studying for his semester finals, like he was supposed to,” David assured her.

Snow had a finger poised to dial. “Archie, is it okay–”

“It’s okay. Tell them you’ll be home right after breakfast.”

Ruby backed into the dining room, her arms burdened with a fully loaded serving tray. “Doctor, there’s a helicopter coming.”

“A helicopter?” Archie scrambled over to a window to examine the skies. “Nope, I don’t see–”

Ruby set the tray down and tugged at her earlobe. “Yeah, but I hear. The wolf thing, you know. It’s about five miles off.”

The garden door swung open and Gold sauntered in. “That would be Mr. Dove with Gideon.”

David grunted. “You’re taking a helicopter back to Storybrooke? Gold, it’s only five miles.”

Snow finished her phone call. “A little over-anxious to see the baby, are you?”

Belle, with a suitcase in each hand, appeared in the dining room just in time to explain, “We’re not going home yet. We thought we’d extend our holiday and see Boston.” She set the suitcases down and came to her husband’s side, accepting his arm around her waist. “We have some catching up to do.”

Gold informed Archie, “We’ll be back on Thursday in time for our appointment.”

“You’ve got time for breakfast with us, don’t you?” Snow urged. “After Ruby went to all this effort.”

“Of course,” Belle said.

Emma reached across the table to snatch a strip of bacon from the platter. “Sounds like another winner, Doc. Three for three. We’ll have to do this retreat thing again sometime.”

“Maybe when the babies are a little older,” Snow suggested. “Hook, would you pass the toast?”

Archie leaned back as the bowls and plates started making their way around. He gave himself a mental pat on the back as the Golds sat down, side by side, and the sorcerer picked up the platter of pastries. “Bear claw, Ms. Swan?” After Emma had speared one, Gold offered the platter to Hook. “Captain?”

After a moment to recover from his shock, Hook helped himself to a Danish. “Thank you, C—Gold. Some toast?”

“Three for three,” Archie mused. “I do believe so.” The entire group laughed—even Gold chuckled—at a joke David shared, and Archie nodded to himself. “It’s a start. A very good start.”

#darcyfarrow2005 #a monthly rumbelling #april #submission

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a-monthly-rumbelling · 7 years

Text

The Empathy Exercise

Submitted by @darcyfarrow2005

A/N. For #amonthlyrumbelling for March. Part II of “The Couples Retreat.” Rated T. Archie’s next challenge for the couples is to walk a mile in each other’s shoes.

Intermission

It didn’t escape Archie’s notice that immediately following the Communication Exercise, as everyone flopped down on the furniture to rest, seating positions changed: Snow and David huddled in conversation, elbow-to-elbow on the couch; Belle and Rumple had confiscated the love seat and were holding hands, glancing at each other in between watching Archie patiently for further instructions; and, having lost their former seat, Hook and Emma had assumed the wingback chairs. They, like the Golds, were watching him and waiting for more, though Emma’s foot was jiggling and Hook’s eyes were narrowed in thought. Archie relaxed in the desk chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his body language signaling no urgency to move on to the next program. This in itself was a small test, to see who would break the silence first, and how: his money would have been on David—as a leader by nature as well as marriage, he would likely want to move the agenda along—except that jiggling foot of Emma’s suggested either impatience or nervousness, and she was very much her father’s daughter.

But a squeaking floorboard and a rumbling service cart undercut the silence and Ruby, eyes fixed firmly on the sideboard set up near the desk, pushed into the room, and that woke Hook from his reverie. Pulling thoughtfully on his lower lip, he watched Ruby unload a tray from the service cart and arrange the cups, coffee pot and tea pots prettily on the sideboard. As she’d promised Archie, she resolutely avoided eye contact with the couples: she’d been informed in advance how many guests to expect, and who, so that she could provide for their dietary preferences, but she had promised to ignore anything that was said or done in this room, lest she might be tempted to share her observations with her friends or family. This was a bit of test for her too: she’d been struggling to break her gossip habit.

As Ruby and her service cart vacated the room, Hook released his lip and his breath. “All right, Doctor. What’s the right answer?”

Archie raised an eyebrow. “Answer to what, Captain?”

“That exercise you just had us do. The communications exercise.”

“There is no ‘right’ answer,” Archie replied. “Just a chance for each of you to see what works and what doesn’t in how you communicate with each other.”

“Aw, come on,” Emma groaned. “I don’t buy that.”

“Neither do I. Life is a contest. People win, people lose. So what was the right answer?” Hook leaned forward, studying Archie for any indication of surrender.

The psychiatrist shrugged slightly. “There are as many ‘right’ answers as there are ‘right’ relationships. What matters is how you interacted with each other, and how you felt about how your significant other interacted with you.”

“I still think we won, because I had fun.” Hook sat back, as best he could in the straight chair. “How about you, love?”

Emma chuckled. “Yeah, I have to say I did too.”

“I feel pretty good about how ours went,” David commented. “I mean, it took a little persuasion, but Snow gave me the tiara. That shows trust.”

“I’ve trusted you with my life,” Snow reminded him, linking her arm through his. “Many times.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, you have. And my life’s been in your care time and again too.”

“We always find each other.”

Archie spoke gently. “And you, Belle? How do you feel about the outcome of the exercise?”

“Well.” She glanced at Rumple, blushing. “I guess we messed it up. We kind of got distracted.”

“But it still feels as though we won something bigger,” Rumple said, bringing her palm up to his lips to kiss.

Archie nodded, smiling at them, then smiling at the others. “If you’re all happy with the outcome, I’m happy. I will mention, though, a point that seemed to have escaped everyone’s notice. I told three of you to hold an object tight, and the other three were supposed to take that object. That was the extent of the rules. There was nothing to stop the takers from simply asking for the object, and the givers to simply release it.”

“So a ‘please’ would’ve been enough,” Snow surmised.

“Yes.” Archie stood. “A couple has enough to contend with from the outside world. You need not manufacture conflict within the relationship.” He waved a hand toward the sideboard. “Something to think about: marriage is a lot easier if it’s approached as a team sport, not a tug-of-war. Coffee break time.”

He stood aside as he watched the couples react to his small announcement. “Your usual, dear?” David rose from the couch and held a hand out to Snow, helping her up; hand in hand they made their way to the sideboard and he prepared her a cup, first with two teaspoons of cream, then the coffee, and finally a teaspoon of sugar. Meanwhile, as she prepared his cup, though she tried to be stealthy about it, her eyes roamed the room, in search of something. Archie was puzzled at first, but he caught the words “Neal” in their quiet conversation and that tipped him off: Snow wanted a phone so she could call Ariel and check on the baby. But all the couples had agreed there would be no routine phone calls this weekend, or any other distractions from the outside world, and they’d surrendered their cell phones last night with little complaint after he’d reassured them that the babysitters and the deputy dwarfs could reach them through his phone if there were an emergency.

Archie saw David stroke Snow’s arm reassuringly as he handed her her coffee. The father of two was just as nervous as his wife about leaving their six-month-old for the first time, and Archie couldn’t really blame them: after all, their son had been kidnapped less than an hour after his birth. Even with Snow’s former Royal Guard out there patrolling the streets and Regina’s sensors wide open for any magical disturbance, the citizens of Storybrooke had learned the hard way that the worlds were full of power- or revenge-seeking miscreants. The Nolans were right to worry, and in fact since Neal’s kidnapping they’d adjusted their work schedules so that one of them could always be home with the baby.

Which was why this weekend was necessary for them, to give them time together—and time to rest.

Their hands tucked into each other’s back pockets, Emma and Hook strolled over to the coffee service and filled their plates with finger sandwiches and macaroons. Well fortified, they chatted a bit with the Nolans, Hook getting his future in-laws to laugh at some toned-down but still salty jokes. When their plates were empty, they wandered over to the french doors and pushed them open to admire the (magically) blooming garden. A breeze carried their laughter back throughout the deep room.

Archie pursed his lips as he watched them. Emma needed the laughter. She’d carried a tremendous burden on her young shoulders ever since she arrived in Storybrooke. Leaning against the door jamb, Hook appeared, as always, at ease and confident, but Archie knew a different story. Avoidance and denial were Hook’s burdens: responsibilities he’d ducked, guilt he hadn’t yet accepted but needed to, if he were to deal with his past. His charm was a much-needed ice breaker for him and Emma, but they both had a long way to go before they could match the level of trust and understanding that her parents enjoyed.

The doctor shifted his gaze back to the sideboard, where Belle, nibbling nervously on a cucumber sandwich, cast those same searching eyes about the room. Recognizing the look, Snow touched her elbow and spoke lowly; though Archie couldn’t make out what was said between them, he noticed the tension release from Belle’s shoulders. Nodding, the librarian reached for another sandwich. Archie was pleased to see her eat: the spell that had accelerated her pregnancy had taken a toll on her body, and his first prescription for her, when she and Gold came to him for counseling, was to place her on a restorative diet. Though Mr. Dove and his wife (both over 6-foot-2 and trained in three forms of hand-to-hand combat) were babysitting Gideon and Gold had placed impenetrable wards around the pink house (Regina had thrown her worst magic at them to test their strength), Belle felt the same insecurity as the Nolans. Archie had encouraged the two families to spend time together, under the guise of play-dates for their babies: trauma survivors could help each other in ways that no doctor could. He’d expected the reclusive Rumplestiltskin to balk at the recommendation, but surprisingly, he’d put up no resistance. He’d even brought over a bottle of Tenuta San Guido Sassicaia ($200 Archie had learned from an Internet search) to the first meeting, to accompany Snow’s potato salad and David’s fried chicken.

Gold was trying, genuinely trying, even in their counseling sessions, though he had to pull the words from his gut, speaking slowly and precisely. Archie appreciated that and had hope for them. Belle, too, had begun to rebuild her trust in Gold when in their first session,she had learned what his truthfulness cost him, physically; pressing his hand against his temple, Gold had admitted that the Dark voices filling his head sometimes made speaking difficult. Concerned, Archie had applied a blood pressure cuff and reported the result to them both: Gold’s blood pressure had jumped from its normal rate of 120/80 to 140/90. From that point on, Archie began and ended every session with a blood pressure check and steered the conversation onto safer ground when he noticed signs of pain in his client.

And he was trying now. Though he’d long envied David’s youth and muscular good looks, he had gone over to the prince and started what was for him, a casual conversation: something about the best breeds of dogs for a household with small children. Gold even smiled a little as David recalled his own childhood pet.

This was just what Gold needed: plain, ordinary, garden-variety socializing. And maybe, someday, friends.

Archie had hope for all these couples. He had faith in the strength of each of them, regardless of where their relationships might take them: they’d been tested by fire, over and over again, and had come out strong as steel. After five years of mending curse-broken families, he had faith in himself, especially when he felt the power of True Love driving his efforts. And he had confidence in Storybrooke as a nurturer for these families: the community had rebuffed the worst that its enemies could throw at it and had come out wounded but recovering.

Archie clapped his hands. “All right, everyone, let’s resume.”

—————————————————————–

Chapter 2: The Empathy Exercise

“Whatcha got next for us, Doc?” His arm draped around Emma’s shoulders, Hook urged her away from the french doors and back to her wingback chair. He dragged his own chair alongside hers and dropped down, his booted feet stretched out before him. The other couples resumed their seats as well.

“One of the biggest challenges each of you face is that, although you’ve faced down many, many threats together, as couples–”

“Cora,” Snow blurted.

“George,” her husband growled.

“Jeckyl and Hyde,” Hook contributed.

“Zelena,” Belle spat.

Casting a hasty glance at Belle, Emma put in, “Gideon. Sorry, Belle.”

His jaw tightening, Gold corrected, “The Black Fairy.”

Emma nodded. “Yes. She was the real enemy.”

“Although you’ve faced down many threats together, as couples and as a community,” Archie continued, “and that has helped you to forge strong bonds in your relationships, you are, individually, very, very different from each other. Different educational backgrounds, different economic backgrounds, different social ranks, growing up in different lands, even in different generations. We are shaped in large part by those backgrounds, and they influence our world view, shape how we react to situations and how we respond to each other.”

“Are you saying we’d be better off if we’d pick mates that we have stuff in common with?” Emma wondered.

“Not ‘better off,’ Emma; just that for couples that have similar backgrounds, it’s easier to share a point of view. When a couple has more differences between them than similarities, you may have to work a bit harder to understand each other. Over time, as you come to know each other better, you’ll be better able to predict how your spouse will react to certain events; you may even come to know why he reacts the way he does. But to be able to feel what he’s feeling, to truly empathize with him, that will strengthen your bond to the point where it’s unbreakable. As it’s been said,” Archie tilted his head in recognition toward Belle, “’You can’t know what’s in a person’s heart until you truly know them.’ And to do that, you need to walk a mile in his shoes.Unfortunately, we have only our imaginations and our knowledge of our significant other’s lives to go on, and so I have a writing exercise that we’ll try next–“

Emma interrupted, “No, that’s not exactly right. I mean, we have two magic people here, and there is such a thing as, uh, what do you call them, Gold? That spell when Cora made herself look like Archie?”

Gold’s mouth tightened. “Glamour spells.”

Archie shuddered, remembering. “Ah, yes, well… .”

Snow raised an eyebrow. “Emma, are you suggesting that we use magic so we can literally walk in each other’s shoes?”

“I don’t know about that,” David shook his head. “Magic usually causes more problems that it solves.”

Hook rested his hand supportively on his fiancee’s knee. “Well, I for one wouldn’t mind, if it’s just for an afternoon, being Emma. If I must become a woman for a day, I can think of no other I’d rather be than the bravest and loveliest in the land.”

Emma butted her head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Killian.”

“Just what would this entail?” David asked. “I mean, from what I understand, Cora just–” he waved his hand across his body, “made herself look like Archie.”

“And Regina and Henry and who knows how many other people,” Snow muttered.

“She didn’t actually become them. Did she?”

Five heads turned toward Gold for the answer. He squirmed. “It depends on what you mean by ‘become.’ Obviously, the mind and the soul do not change. Nor, in reality does the body change. What the magic changes is solely the outward appearance of the body. It’s a very complicated spell and quite draining for the sorcerer who attempts it.”

“But you have, right?” Emma prodded.

“Yes. Though I prefer not to.” He cast a guilty glance at Belle.

“You’re good at it, right? As good as Cora?”

“I taught her how it’s done. She perfected the skill with much practice.”

“You could do it for us?” Snow asked. “Make me look like David, and him like me?”

“Do you have enough magic to change all six of us?” David asked.

“Or I, like, added some of my power to yours–” Emma volunteered.

“That would not be necessary. But understand, it’s not a transference, simply a mass illusion. A Los Vegas trick that acts on the eye of the beholder. Your thoughts and feelings are still your own. This won’t achieve the empathy Archie is talking about.”

“No.” Archie rubbed his chin. “Clearly not. I doubt if Cora gained any understanding of her victims’ beliefs and emotions by taking on their appearance. But it could be a single step in your spouse’s shoes.”

“How?” David queried.

“If you walked around town, interacted with people who assumed they were talking to the person you appear to be, you could get a sense of what that person goes through. What the community wants from them, what they expect of them.”

“What it’s like to be the savior,” Emma said with a note of bitterness.

Hook snorted, “Or an ex-pirate when nobody wants to believe the ‘ex’ part.”

Snow glanced over at David. “Or a prince who’s expected to fight everyone’s battles for them.”

He smiled a little in sympathy. “Or a queen who’s expected to always have the right words to soothe over every argument.”

Archie raised his eyes directly to Gold’s. “I think it could be especially insightful for those of you who have been marginalized in this community.”

“So you’re on board,” Hook surmised. “Who else is with us?”

David shrugged. “I’m up for it, I guess, as long as it’s just a couple of hours. I’ve always wondered what it feels like, that connection Snow has with birds.”

Snow rolled her eyes. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind either, as long as you can guarantee it’s temporary. It might be fun to be tall and charming for a day.”

“So that’s four,” Emma counted. “What about you, Belle? You haven’t said anything. Would you like to have magic for a day?”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Gold corrected. “Nothing is transferred with this spell. Hook wouldn’t gain your powers, nor would you suddenly know how to pilot a ship or acquire a thirst for rum.”

“Could you give her a little magic, though, so she’d get more of the Rumplestiltskin experience? Like that charm you gave Henry to wear when he was under the sleeping curse. A little magic Belle could draw on.”

“It… might be wise,” Archie said thoughtfully. “Some magic she could summon if she needed protection… .”

“From any of my enemies she might encounter,” Gold spat. “Yes, I suppose it would be wise.”

“Maybe you could put controls on it,” David suggested. “ No accidental magic, like ‘I wish you’d shut up’ and then the other guy’s tongue disappears.”

Snow added, “And a time limit, so any magic she casts would wear off after an hour.”

“It would be a useful aid, since magic is such a big part of who you are,” Archie said.

“We have not yet heard Belle’s opinion on the matter,” Gold pointed out. “I will not cast this spell or any other upon her unless she wishes it.” His voice dropped as he turned to her. “Ever again.”

“Thank you, Rumple.” Belle sat back on the loveseat, her hands folded as she considered the idea. No one pushed her for a hasty answer. At length, she said hesitantly, “Because magic has been a matter of contention between us, and because my son was born with it, it would be helpful, I think, if I could experience it, just temporarily. But, Rumple, will having magic, even for just an hour or two, change me permanently?”

“You mean, will it corrupt you?” He winced.

She bent her head. “When I held the dagger, I was changed. Corrupted. And permanently, I fear.”

“No, Belle.” He leaned forward to take her hands, ignoring the others’ stares. “You’re not corrupted. Your light is just as bright as it’s ever been.”

“But I fell to the temptation.”

“But you picked yourself back up again, and you always will. That’s the difference between you and me. Where I need a crutch, your bravery gives you the fortitude to stand on your own two feet. That’s your protection.”

“You’re fighting the temptation,” she assured him. “And you’re winning.”

“Today, I am,” he answered. “But tomorrow?”

“All we can control is today,” Archie reminded him. “And she’s right; you’re winning. What do you say, Mr. Gold? Four hours to walk around in Belle’s skin, and her in yours?”

Hook snorted. “I’m glad you didn’t say ‘high heels.’ That’s a sight I never want to see: Gold in Lumbertons.”

“Louboutin’s,” Snow corrected.

Gold sighed. “All right. Four hours.” He stood and moved toward the garden doors, away from the furniture; he positioned himself in front of the doors and waited quietly with his hands folded before him—but little sparks of magic flickering off his fingernails. He said nothing but his stance spoke for him: he was ready, albeit something less than willing.

“How should we do this: one at a time or everybody at once?” Archie asked. “What’s easier for you, Mr. Gold?”

Gold’s shoulders lifted slightly in his custom-tailored D & G jacket. “As you wish. It makes no difference to me.”

Emma leaped to her feet. “Let’s do this couple by couple. It’ll be more fun.” Hook took the hint and joined her, an arm’s length away from the master sorcerer. “Ready, Gold.”

Gold dipped his head slightly in agreement. “Very well. You will feel a warm tingling as the magic spreads across your skin. It will last less than a minute, and then the spell will be complete. You will not notice a difference until the people around you react to the change. It will aid the illusion if when you talk you try to use the same speech habits and gestures your partner does. But don’t bother to try to mimic your partner’s voice; the magic will encourage the observer to hear what he expects to hear If you try to fake it, your imitation will come across as exaggerated. Do you wish to continue?”

“Of course,” Hook replied.

Gold didn’t move a muscle, but magic surrounded the young couple just the same, momentarily hiding them from view. In those seconds as the spell took effect, Archie wondered about the reason for Gold’s reluctance. He suspected it had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with a dread of what he might learn from the experiment—or what Belle might learn. Archie opened his mouth, ready to call it off: maybe Gold was right to be worried. Maybe Belle and Gold weren’t the only couple for whom the experiment could be detrimental.

But before he could order a halt, the spell was cast. Emma and Hook had reversed positions: she was now standing on the left, staring at the tip of her ponytail, while Hook was tugging at his black t-shirt.

Gold’s quiet voice broke the silence. “How do you feel, Ms. Swan?” But he was looking at Hook.

Hook patted himself as if making sure all his body parts were still there. “Okay. I don’t feel different, but–” His gaze roamed down his jeans to his boots, then over to his arms. He rubbed the bristle on his chin. He whistled in amazement. “Whoa!”

Snow darted to Emma’s side and grabbed her arm. “Emma?”

“Sorry, Snow. It’s me. Killian.”

As David came up on the other side, Snow released the arm she thought belonged to her daughter and leaned across him to gape at the body that appeared to be Hook’s. “Emma? Are you okay?”

“Fine, Mom.” Emma/Hook grinned cockily. “In fact, I’m devlishly handsome.”

“Indeed.” Hook/Emma smirked back at her. “And I,” he surveyed his new appearance, “am gracefully gorgeous.”

“Thank you, Killian.” Emma/Hook took his hand.

“I suggest you plan your afternoon out on the town,” Gold motioned to the couch. “Over there.”

“Gotcha, Gold,” Hook/Emma slipped his arm across Emma/Hook’s shoulders and winked at her as he led her to the couch. “Just practicing my Emma-isms.” Archie sat down beside them for a brief conversation to assure himself that both still wanted to go forward with the test.

Meanwhile, Gold turned his attention to the Nolans. “Do you wish me to–” He wiggled his fingers.

Exchanging a glance, both Nolans nodded. “It’s just for an afternoon,” Snow confirmed; and David decided, “We’ll probably learn from it. Go ahead, Gold.”

Again, without blinking, Gold wrapped his magic around them, and in less than a minute the illusion—because it couldn’t really be called anything else; no transference or conversion had taken place—had settled around the Nolans. This time the spectators were wiser: Emma and Hook addressed the Nolans correctly as they came up to admire the handiwork.

“Now remember, Emma always folds her arms like this,” David demonstrated, while Snow cocked her head to the side, “And when she smiles at Henry, she kind of does this, like she’s amazed just to see him.”

Belle drew in a deep breath as she joined her husband. “That leaves just us, Rumple.” Her smile asked a question that the confidence in her voice belied.

“Just us,” Gold agreed. As he took her hands in his, the magic enveloped them.

Gold/Belle conjured three floor-length mirrors and invited the couples to closely examine themselves in them. “Get used to your new look so you won’t be startled by the way people look at you. The height difference, for example. You–” he pointed to David–”may feel that they’re staring at the tip of your nose, when to them, they’re looking Snow in the eye.” His eyes twinkled just a little as he turned to Emma. “And don’t be horrified when Granny cautions you that ‘the scruffy look is over’ and offers you a razor.” As Emma chortled, he faded to the back. Only Archie noticed that from the side of his eye, Gold was looking over Belle’s shoulder at his own, seemingly altered reflection. Archie wondered what he saw: did the magic fool him too?

Touching her new face, Belle leaned into the mirror. “Do you know when I first realized I was attracted to you?”

“Not in the Enchanted Forest days, that’s for certain,” Gold snorted.

“Yes, it was,” she insisted, running a finger along the edge of her new ear. “I’d been in your castle about a week. You’d just come in from a rainstorm and you were standing in front of the fireplace, warming up. You turned around and your hair was plastered down, and for the first time I could see your ears.” She smiled into the mirror. “Your sweet, mischievous, pixie ears. And that’s when I started to feel butterflies in my stomach any time you walked into the room.”

“My…ears,” he repeated doubtfully.

“Your ears,” she repeated firmly. She wheeled and slid her arms around his neck, raising on tiptoe to kiss his earlobe. “Your sweet, mischievous, pixie ears.”

Those ears turned bright red. From the corner of his eye, Archie spotted Hook taking close notice of both the compliment and the reaction; the doctor suspected this little affectionate exchange would soon become an ongoing joke.

Archie rescued Pixie Ears. “All right, folks, day’s a-wastin’. Split up, go out onto the streets, in opposite directions, and find out what it’s like to walk in your spouse’s Lumbertons.”

———————————————-

He’d finished updating his notes on the morning’s exercise and was skimming the latest online issue of Journal of Marital and Family Therapy when the first participant returned from his/her adventure. Archie had to give himself a mental shake to remember that the tall, blond young man pushing the parlor doors open was in actually a somewhat-tall brunette young woman. Snow White Nolan appeared lost in thought as she gave the psychiatrist a silent nod of greeting, then beelined for the sideboard to gulp down a cup of chamomile. “Welcome back, Snow.” Archie made a quick, subtle note in his iPad concerning the time of her return and the expression on her face.

“Hi” was her only answer. He didn’t press for more—yet. It was important that her husband be here before she described her experience; this experiment was as much a lesson for the spouse as for the adventurer.

Close on her heels was her daughter, scratching her chin—no, Archie mentally whacked himself: this was the pirate in Swan’s clothing. He flopped onto the couch, propping his long legs one atop the other. Small sounds of frustration escaped him, even as he nodded in reply to Snow’s offer of a cup of tea. “Lot to think about, Doc,” he muttered as he set the cup on the coffee table.

Belle was next to return. The sunny smile she usually had for Archie had been replaced by a chewed bottom lip. Before anyone could strike up small talk with her, she carried her tea to the bay windows that looked out onto the front lawn and white gravel drive, signaling a desire to be left alone with her thoughts.

David bounced in next, head high, steps light and a kiss on the cheek for his wife, who poured him a cup of coffee. “Great exercise, Archie,” he boomed from across the room. “Solved a problem I’ve been mulling over ever since the curse broke.”

A snort from behind the couch wondered, “Which curse? Last I counted, there’ve been five, and that’s just since I got here.”

“Didn’t go so well for you, I take it,” David remarked.

Before the pirate could respond, Emma/Hook ambled in. When she opened her mouth to accept her mother’s offer of hot chocolate, Snow gasped. “Emma! Your tongue and lips are blue! Archie, is the spell backfiring?”

Emma chuckled. “It’s just the coconut and pomegranate Icee I had.” She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, then bared her teeth for inspection. “Better?”

“Better,” Snow confirmed.

Gold slipped in so silently that Archie didn’t hear him until he spoke, in his usual low voice. “I’ll lift the spell now, Dr. Hopper. With your permission?”

David/Snow positioned himself in front of the sorcerer and motioned his family over. “Fire when ready, Gridley.”

As Belle and Hook joined the group, the former queried, “Who’s Gridley?”

“Beats me. Just something I heard in a movie, but I like the sound of it.” Before anyone could say more, a whirl of purple magic swept up from the hardwood floor and momentarily blinded them from each other. But, as usual, Gold’s magic acted efficiently and in less than the draw of a breath, the illusion fell away. The Charmings and Hook moved over to the mirrors to assure themselves of the restoration, but Belle, utterly confident that Rumple could lift such a routine spell, merely helped herself to a macaroon.

“Very good. Thank you, Mr. Gold. And now, if everyone would be seated again?” Archie resumed occupation of his favorite chair as the others drifted into the seating area. “Let’s debrief. Who would like to start?”

David raised his hand. “I will. I want to say thanks for the idea, Archie. Like I said, it cleared up something that had been bothering me for years now.”

“I’m glad it was so productive, David. Please describe where you went and who you saw.”

“Well.” His arm about Snow’s shoulders, David relaxed into the couch. “I started back for the sheriff’s office. Just habit, I guess. But before I got across the parking lot, Max Grimes stopped me.” The deputy explained to Hook, “That’s the principal of the elementary school. Of course he thought I was Snow. He started talking about how low a turnout they’d been getting for the PTA meetings and he wanted to know if I—I mean, Snow—had any suggestions. So we chatted a while about that and I said maybe we should hold the meetings on Saturday afternoons instead of Monday nights. I said—speaking from experience—that on a weeknight, it’s kind of hard for a parent to go out, you know, after a long day at work and rushing home to pick up the kids and get them fed and bathed and in bed.”

“I think you’re onto something. Good idea, David,” Snow praised.

“Grimes thought so too. I’d just gotten done talking to him when a little kid called to me from across the street. He came running up with a sheet of paper in his hands. It was his math homework. He was having trouble multiplying fractions.”

“A fifth grader,” Snow surmised. “Most of them have trouble with fractions.”

“So do I.” David ran a hand through his hair. “I was wishing that we’d done a body swap instead of just a glamour thing, so I could help him. Best I could do was to invite him to come to class a fifteen minutes early on Monday and I—I mean, you—would help him then. Sorry, Snow.”

“Nothing to apologize for. That’s exactly what I would have done.”

“I never did make it into the sheriff’s office. There was a mom who wanted to talk about Snow writing a recommendation letter for her kid to get into BU. And one of the nuns said something about collecting used school uniforms for the poor kids in town. There were a couple of others–” he interrupted himself to squeeze Snow’s shoulders. “Honey, I know that’s nothing out of the ordinary; we get stopped on the street every day, seems like. We just deal with it and go on. But this time it hit me. Snow, do you remember when we were talking about moving back to the Enchanted Forest? I wanted to go and you didn’t. Well, I found out today that people really need you here. More, I think, than in the Forest. This is going to sound odd, but—you were a great queen but you’re one of a kind as a teacher. The kids here need you. You’re the one who teaches them to respect nature. You’re the one who teaches them to respect each other. These kids will be sheriffs and doctors and bridge builders and mayors someday, and you’re the one who’ll prepare them for it.”

Snow borrowed a corner of his sleeve to pat away the moisture collecting in her eyes. “Thank you, David. You say a lot of nice things to me, but that’s just about the sweetest.”

“So you changed your mind, Dad?” Emma brought the conversation back to practicalities. “About going back to the Enchanted Forest?”

David was looking at Snow as he answered. “I did. If that’s okay with your mother, I want to stay here.”

“It’s okay.” Snow sniffled. “More than okay.” She straightened. “Now it’s my turn. I had an educational experience too. I’ve always known, of course, that the people of Storybrooke depend on David for solving all sorts of problems, whether it’s slaying dragons or rescuing cats from trees.” She winked at her husband. “Ms. Shoemaker’s boxer chased one of Ms. Ginger’s tabbies up a tree, by the way. Good thing I still remember from my highwaywoman days how to climb. Anyway, after I got the tabby down—and got repaid for it with claws digging into my arm–”

“Ernestine,” David nodded knowledgeably. “She’s a biter, too. You escaped the worst of her.”

“After Ernestine, I walked over to the park to rest a while, but Sleepy spied me and wanted to know what we’re doing about the protection spell on the coastline. He’s been reading a book about this mythical ghost ship, The Flying Dutchman, and he’s scared to pieces that it’s going to appear at our docks and Cora, Cruella, the Black Fairy, Hyde, Hades and a hundred other villains are going to bomb the town.”

“He’s been having nightmares ever since Dopey got transformed into a tree.”

“Tell him to call my office on Monday,” Archie encouraged.

“Will do,” David acknowledged.

Snow continued, “So I sat with him for over an hour, listening to his dreams. I tried to reassure him that dead is dead, but… .”

“The phrase has lost its meaning of late,” Belle murmured.

“There was a time,” Gold grumbled, “when the rules of magic meant something. Before people like Zelena started disrespecting them.”

Archie noticed that at this remark, Belle lowered her head.

“So then I tried to assure him that Emma and Regina and Blue are all working together to tighten up all the various spells shielding this town from intruders. I don’t think I convinced him—I’m not sure myself that magic is the answer to our problems—but I did calm him down. I reminded him that we have patrols covering the perimeters of the town, night and day. ‘I feel better,’ he said, ‘with you and Snow and Emma on the job.’”

“As do we all,” Archie remarked.

“I found that there are still dragons to be fought, and people still come to their prince to slay them. Even if the dragons come in human form, the people want David to take care of them.” Snow smiled proudly at her husband. “So don’t put your sword away just yet, Charming.”

“I had a similar thing happen,” Hook volunteered. “The man who owns Standard Clocks—we haven’t been introduced, so I don’t know his name—he caught me as I was walking along the docks. He insisted on knowing my—that is, the sheriff’s—plan for getting rid of Zelena, Regina and Gold. He was of the impression that that’s what a savior is meant to do: slay villains. Or at least drive them out of town. I reminded him that banishment seldom sticks around here.”

Gold’s mouth tightened in a thin line and Belle reddened.

“That’s not very reassuring,” Snow said, as David added, “It’s not the kind of thing Emma would say.”

“What else happened, Captain Jones?” Archie nudged the conversation forward.

“Like father, like daughter, as the saying goes. I went into the Crab King for a bite of lunch and I’d no sooner picked up the menu when I was besieged with requests for assistance, much of it of the magical sort—and not all of it ‘requests.’ ‘Demands’ would be a more accurate word. Everything from erecting a stop sign at First Street and Cassidy Lane, to, as one of the nuns expressed it, ‘layering the abandoned mine with fairy dust so we can safely imprison the next magic wielding villain who disturbs our peace.” He gave Emma an apologetic half-smile. “I do apologize, love, for all the times I ‘got pissy,’ as you put it, over citizens interrupting our dates with their petty problems. Between enforcing the law and saving our mangy hides, you carry the weight of this town’s worries on your slender shoulders.”

“She does, indeed,” Snow agreed.

“Always glad to be appreciated,” Emma quipped.

But Archie suspected that her humor, as it so often did, was a cover for other emotions, and a study of Hook’s fingers, tapping on the back of the loveseat, showed him that Hook was covering up too. “What else, Captain? I get the feeling there’s more to your story.”

Emma poked her elbow into Hook’s ribs. “Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but, remember?”

“Well,” Hook sighed. “We need to have a chat, in private. In all the excitement of defeating the Evil Queen and the Black Fairy, not to mention our engagement, it seems we neglected a rather important matter… a question prospective spouses should find agreement on, before the wedding… .”

Emma’s brows drew together. “Go on.”

“Well.” He sat up straighter. “I strolled into the pharmacy for a pack of gum, and mistaking me for you–”

“Which was the point of this exercise,” David reminded them.

“Our eternally sneezing chemist informed me that your prescription was ready.” He reached into his jacket for a small white package and presented it to her.

She peeked inside and shrugged. “My birth control pills. So?”

“He also said that in answer to your earlier question, he’d done some checking and fertility rates do decline after age 35 but your chances of conceiving are still about 78 percent.”

“Oh.” Emma caught on now, and Archie was just a step behind her. “I was asking—I’m going to be 35 when we get married, and I thought–” she shrugged. “With things settling down here, and Henry in high school–”

“I’d assumed that once Henry graduates, we’d be free to travel–” He rested his hand on her knee. “Emma, there’s a big, beautiful world out there, waiting for us to explore. A world free of magic, where you don’t have to save anyone. A baby would tie us down–”

“A baby would give us a future.” Her voice crept up. “A chance for a normal life. A chance to have what you and me both were robbed of.”

“May I suggest we leave this topic for another, private time?” Archie butted in.

“It’s not one you can work out in single conversation,” Snow reminded them.

“Yeah, good idea,” Emma said, and Hook nodded. “A wise decision.”

“Wow,” David breathed. “This really was a major exercise.”

“More than I had anticipated,” Archie admitted. “Let’s move on. Emma, tell us about your experiences as Hook.”

“Well, mostly, it just reinforced what I already knew.” Archie detected a thin line of annoyance under her tone; he made a mental note to talk to her alone this evening, apart from Hook. He wasn’t worried for her, though; her eyes had been opened to the fact that an engaged couple had numerous questions to resolve before they were ready to become a married couple, and Archie was confident that Emma would make certain all those issues were hammered out before she started shopping for china patterns.

Hook smirked. “What? That I’m devilishly handsome?”

“Yeah.” Emma slugged him in the arm. “Emphasis on ‘devilish.’ And irresistible to women and kids. I had a troop of little boys traipsing along behind me everywhere I went, bombarding me with questions and begging for a ride on The Jolly Roger. And a pair of teenage girls that were shopping in Prubeck’s came out to the street to stare at me and giggle, like I was a–”

“Movie star,” Hook finished for her.

“I was going to say, ‘Three-headed hydra,’ but okay, ‘movie star.’ While me and my entourage were standing on the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to change, Frau Trude came up and started pawing at me, messing with my collar and my medallion—when she started inviting me up to her place for a bottle of Cuban rum, I yanked my shirt out her hands and beat it. Escaped into Any Given Sundae. Forgot that the Goose Girl works there on weekends now–”

“She goes by Amanda now,” Snow explained. “She was unanimously voted head cheerleader this year and Most Beautiful Sophomore.”

Emma growled, “Should’ve been voted ‘Girl Most Likely to,’ from what I saw. She pushed the top of her apron down to show a little cleavage, and then she leaned across the counter to serve me samples of ice cream.”

“Ice cream is one of this world’s delights.” Hook licked his lips. “Those little plastic spoons are so cute.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda forgot who I was for a minute there, ‘cause I pushed her hand away and ordered a coconut pomegranate Icee, and she said, ‘But Captain, you hateIcees.’ And I said, ‘Yeah, but Emma, my fiancee, loves them, so I thought I’d better get used to them. So she shrugged and flipped her hair and batted her eyelashes at me while she poured the Icee.” Emma shuddered. “I dunno. I knew from the beginning I’d have to put up with this crap if I got involved with you, but it’s still damned annoying.”

“I’ll try to be a little bit resistible in the future,” Hook promised.

“When she handed me the drink, she grabbed my elbow and ran her fingers along my wrist, like this.” Emma demonstrated with Archie’s arm, causing Hook to scowl and Archie to redden. “When I dug into my jeans for some money, she waved it away. ‘On the house,’ she said. ‘Your money’s no good here.’ That’s when Marcie slammed in from the back. ‘His money’s no good anywhere. It’s fake bullion. Put the charge on Emma’s tab.’ And she stood there glaring at me from behind the counter while Goosie wrote up a bill. ‘As soon as he leaves, you and I are going to have a long talk, Missy.’ So I took the hint and hightailed it out of there, and I finished my Icee on the bench at the bus stop, all those kids standing around me begging for ‘blood-curdling tales of the high seas.’”

Hook managed a blush. “Most people don’t realize how much work it is to be a pirate. He must always keep the image up for his public.”

“I finished my drink and started walking toward the pier, but that proved to be a bad idea, because the kids who were following me started shouting for other kids to come along because they thought I was going to give them a ride on the Roger. So I changed direction and went into Clara’s Crafts and started looking at embroidery needles—thanks, Mom, by the way, for teaching me.”

“Embroidery calms the nerves,” Snow said, then glanced at Archie. “I could teach a class for your patients.”

“We’ll discuss that later. Thank you, Snow,” Archie said.

“My entourage got bored waiting for me and they wandered off. But Clara came over… .” Emma paused, chewing on her lip; Archie recognized this as an indication of uncertainty and he gave her the space to decide whether to continue with her story. After a long moment of deliberation, she proceeded, “Clara came over. She said she’d talked to her husband… .” She shifted in her seat to face Hook. “See, he has an opening at the bank for a security guard, and I thought—it seems like a good gig, pays well, working daytimes.”

“Better than being a part-time bouncer at the Rabbit Hole,” Hook concurred, but his shoulders hunched. He shook his head, shaking off his annoyance, then grinned. “It would certainly improve our social life. Well done, Emma. I suppose I’ll need a uniform and a firearm?”

“Well,” Emma twisted her engagement ring. “The thing is—they, ah, filled the position.”

“With whom?”

“It doesn’t really matter, Killian.”

“With whom, Emma?”

She threw her hands into the air in surrender. “All right. They hired Thumbelina.”

Hook’s voice fell. “I see. Was it–” He raised his left arm. “Because I’m still quite capable of handing myself in a fistfight or a sword fight, as I’ve proven more than once here.”

“No,” Emma assured him. “I know—everyone knows—it’s stupid to pick a fight with Captain Hook.”

David snorted. “Just ask Will Scarlett.”

Hook ran his hand over his chin. “It’s the scruff, then. I’ve noticed people who work in banks and the like have that clean-shaven, button down look.”

Emma laced her fingers and stared at her ring. “It’s not the scruff. Or your clothes. It’s—it’s time. I mean, it’s a matter of time. The town… isn’t used to you yet. It took a while for them to warm up to me too. They’re not used to strangers. You’ve got give them time to get to know you.”

“You mean, they don’t trust me.”

Silence filled the room until Emma finally nodded and added, “But they will. Give them time. You’ve done so much for this town already; they’ve seen that. They just need time for it to sink in.”

“They will come around,” Snow contributed. “Being accepted is still a struggle for Regina, too. But you’ll both get there.”

“I could talk to a few of the guys,” David volunteered.

“Thank you, mate, but I think Emma’s right: I need to prove myself to them. And I will.”

Emma hung her head. “There was something else.” She kept twisting her ring, until at last she lifted her left hand. “This.”

Hook raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, so Emma prompted, “I walked past Joan of Diamonds, and she grabbed me and hauled me inside.”

“Oh.”

Archie interceded, “We can stop there, if you prefer.”

“No, I suppose–” Hook looked at David. “You’re going to find out sooner or later. I owe money on the ring.”

“How much? Maybe I can–” David’s offer was interrupted by a jab from Snow’s elbow.

“Suffice it to say, I’m a bit behind in payments. I, ah, expected to have employment by now. I made a deal with Joan… .” It was his turn to sigh. “You’re right, love, about trust being a problem. Joan wouldn’t make a deal with me until one of her clerks reminded her who it is I’m marrying… and who her parents are. It wasn’t what I would have preferred, but that ring was so perfect for you, and it would take me years working at the cannery to save up for it. So I took advantage—I traded on the Charming name. Merchants may not trust me yet, but they are as certain of the Charming family as they are of the sun rising in the morning.”

With a quick glance at Belle, Gold intervened. “I could make you a loan. Or buy out your loan from Ms. Diamond.”

“Let me guess,” Emma muttered. “She owes you a favor.”

“Thank you, no,” Hook curled his lip at the pawnbroker. “I’m sure a loan from you would cost an arm and a leg.”

“No interest. You and Regina are not the only ones struggling to change,” Gold admitted. “I don’t care what others think of me, but my son and my wife live here too.”

“So,” Emma said slyly, “accepting a loan would kind of being doing you a favor.”

“In a way. I suppose.” Clearly, he wasn’t too pleased about the change in perception of his offer, nor about even making the offer, but when Belle rewarded him by resting her head against his arm, his smile became genuine.

“In that case, I accept.” Hook appeared rather pleased with himself—as well as relieved.

“We’ll find you a good job,” Emma promised before turning back to Archie. “So I learned what it’s like on both sides of the fence: being fawned over by a gaggle of fans and being mistrusted because of your past. Apparently, it’s harder being Captain Hook than anyone would think. End of report, Doc.”

“Very good. Thank you, Emma. And that brings us to the Golds. Who would like to go first?”

To everyone’s surprise, the pawnbroker spoke up. “I would, if it’s all right with you, sweetheart.” At Belle’s nod, he began. “Actually, this lesson taught me nothing about Belle; it merely confirmed what I already knew, that, much as with Mr. and Ms. Nolan, she is well regarded and much needed in this town. Loved, in fact. But that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

Belle blushed, but Archie pressed for details.

“Everywhere I went, I was welcomed.” Gold shook his head in wonder. “I was hugged more in one afternoon than in a lifetime… .” His jaw worked as he fought back emotions. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, remembering that Modern Fashions had called yesterday about a dress that was ready to be picked up, I went there first. The counter clerk–”

“Melanie,” Belle provided.

“Rushed out to the floor to hug me and she promptly invited me to the back for tea with the dressmaker–”

“Amelia.”

“She sat me down at the workbench and I chatted with Amelia as Melanie prepared the tea. She remembered that Belle has been craving peppermint tea, no sugar, ever since Gideon was born.”

Belle grinned. “She always remembers.”

“And she remembered that your birthday is coming up next month, and she asked if we would be doing something special. I told her we have no plans yet, so she and Amelia invited me—that is, you—to lunch that day, if you’re available. They asked after Gideon and were disappointed that I didn’t have my phone with me, so I promised I’d show them photos next time. They said I—Belle–was looking great and seemed to have added a few much-needed pounds. Amelia took my measures to confirm it and said she’d let the dress out a little. It will be ready on Tuesday.”

“Thank you,” Belle said.

Gold ducked his head. “And then they asked after my husband. They seemed to know we’re working on our relationship.”

“Honey, the whole town knows we’re all working on our relationships,” Snow sniffed. “And yours is one of the most interesting.”

Gold raised his eyes to Belle’s. “They wished us well. They said any time you need someone to talk to, just call. They’ve both been through rough times with their spouses.” His eyes widened. “They said they hope we can work it out, because… because we’re good for each other. Both of us, good for each other.”

“They’re sweet women and good friends.” Belle linked her arm through his, then answered his unspoken question. “And they might be right.”

“And, they said, even in infancy, a child needs its father too.” He swallowed hard. “I mentioned that the reverse is true as well. We chatted then about dresses and books, and then I paid for the dress and went on about my way. I checked on the library: Regina was raising cain with the Old Lady in the Shoe about all the books her children have lost. Had the poor woman in tears.”

“I’ll speak to her on Monday. Those children need books.”

“Marco was browsing the cookbooks and kept asking Regina for suggestions, but Madame Mayor just grunted at him. ‘How should I know? Hire a cook, like I do.’ And there was a study group asking for you, five teens who are preparing to take college entrance exams.”

“I’m glad Regina got to see all that,” Belle chuckled. “She’ll think twice about cutting the library’s budget.”

“It’s you, sweetheart, more than the books or the computers. It’s you they need. I went into Granny’s next and as soon as she heard my—your–voice she came out from the kitchen and threw her arms around me. ‘How’s the therapy going?’ I explained that we were on a break for the afternoon but that it was going well. She thrust her fists onto her hips and looked me up and down, and she said I was looking better. She said when you and I first split up, it was a race as to which would bring me down first: lack of sleep or lack of a good meal. She said she doesn’t trust Rumplestiltskin farther than she can throw a dragon, but he does seem to be taking a page from Regina’s book and behaving himself better. Then she offered to loan you her crossbow if I screw up.”

“Granny,” Belle chuckled. “What would this town be without her?”

“I ordered pancakes—Belle, when I went to pay, the ticket was half as much as I expected. She’s been overcharging me all these years. In the hour I was in the diner. I was invited to two birthday parties, a fundraiser for the animal shelter, and a retirement party. I made six book recommendations and agreed to speak to Mr. Hemingway’s tenth grade English class on Friday—about F. Scott Fitzgerald. I was hugged, complimented and kissed, no more or less than to be expected in a typical day for Belle French Gold. I learned nothing new about Belle in all this.”

“But?” Archie prompted.

“But the experiment uncovered a weakness in me. It seems, after all these years, I enjoy hugs. Even from overcharging cafe owners.”

“You’re human, Mr. Gold. Humans need touch as much as they need air,” Archie said.

“Perhaps.” The pawnbroker fell silent and Archie took the hint to end the conversation. They could discuss this further in private.

“That leaves you, Belle.”

She cleared her throat as her expression shifted from worry to—Archie wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw fear. But then she dug her fingernails into the loveseat’s upholstery and her eyes flashed at Snow. “We have to do something about Zelena.”

“What?” The former queen was puzzled.

“You think she’s changed but she hasn’t. Not enough, anyway. She’s still wicked and dangerous, and I fear for my son as long as she’s in this town.”

“Did she threaten Gideon?” Gold barked.

“She’s behaved herself of late,” Snow thought. “Regina’s vouched for her, but… .”

“Did she make threats, Belle? I can arrest her if she did,” Emma said, “but unless she’s actually broken the law in the last six months, the city council voted to give her a second chance and I have to go by that.”

“No. I don’t know.” Belle fought against herself. “She said things–”

Archie crossed the room to kneel beside her, taking her hand, as Gold slid his arm around her shoulders. “Start at the beginning, Belle,” Archie urged. “David, would you bring her a cup of tea?”

Belle drew in a deep breath. “Okay, first I walked along Chatam Street. It’s always quieter than Main Street and Rumple likes to come down to the shop from home that way. There were some kids playing kickball in the empty lot across from the Hotchkiss Dance Studio. When they saw me coming down the sidewalk, they pointed at me and yelled. ‘Run!’ they said. ‘He eats kids! My mom said so.’ Mikey Patterson said that Rumple crawled through his bedroom window and tried to kidnap him last week.”

Gold shook his head.

“And Frankie Patterson said that the Black Fairy is still alive and Rumple’s plotting with her to turn everyone into statues.”

“Kids have wild imaginations,” Snow explained apologetically. “The Patterson boys especially.”

“As I got closer, they turned and ran. I crossed the block and saw Bessie Barwell hanging out her wash. I waved to her, but she—well–” Belle elevated her middle finger.

“Bessie plays the ponies, not successfully. My loan saved her from Danny Devine, but put her in debt to me.”

“As I walked along the street, people closed their window blinds or slammed doors or turned the other way. Except for a few who just stood there and stared.”

“Captain Jones is not the only resident with town trust issues,” Gold admitted. “It played in my favor in the past, but that was before you and Gideon.”

“Most of the town sees you’re changing too, Mr. Gold. They will come around,” Archie said.

“This could not have been a surprise to you, Belle. You did know when we married how the town feels about me. Lord knows, we’ve had enough such streetside encounters.”

"No, it didn’t surprise me, but I felt it. For the first time, I felt it from your perspective. It felt weird, both awful and good at the same time. The way people were reacting to me, I felt powerful and—kind of safe. Like they wouldn’t dare mess with me, you understand, Archie? But then right away I felt conflicted. Not everybody thinks ill of me, I thought, but hardly anyone thinks well. And I worried what Gideon would have to cope with as he grows up.” She glanced over at her spouse. “And I felt bad for myself, because other than Dove, I don’t have anyone I can just sit down with and have coffee, you know? I learned that you never get used to loneliness. Even Rumplestiltskin needs friends.”

“Perhaps so,” Gold allowed.

Belle clenched her fists. “And then I walked up to Second Street. I thought I’d pop in to Ichiro’s. Rumple loves their green tea ice cream. But you know Rapunzel’s Salon is next door, and Zelena was coming out. She saw I was alone and so was she, and I guess she took advantage of that. She sashayed up to me and made some snide comments about a rumor going round that Child Protective Services is planning to take Gideon away unless… .”

“Unless I remove myself from his life and yours,” Gold finished. “I’ve heard those rumors too. Don’t fear them, Belle. It’s just vicious talk.”

"We won’t let them take your kid,” Emma said with some venom. “Not from either of you.”

“While she was railing at me, that’s what I was thinking,” Belle said. “I reminded myself, in this world, Gold is a lawyer with an expertise in family law. He’ll fight tooth and nail to keep his son. But a small voice deep inside cried, ‘Not another one. I can’t lose another child.’ She saw she was getting to me and she laughed.”

“The bitch,” Emma muttered.

Snow stood and with folded hands, addressed the Golds. “Let me assure you, no one will take that baby away from you.”

“Least of all, Zelena,” David’s voice shook as he came to his wife’s side.

“She’s screwing with you, mate,” Hook suggested. “She’s wicked. That’s what she does.”

“I’m going to have a talk with Ms. Green,” Snow decided. “With the mayor present. As a city councilwoman, I’ll let the witch know that we don’t appreciate her shaking up our town with foul rumors. And I’m going to remind her that we don’t cherry pick forgiveness. Those who will work for it will receive it.”

“Right now she doesn’t seem to be doing much work,” Emma sniped.

“You might feel alone in this town, but it doesn’t have to be that way,” David said to Gold.

Archie folded his arms as he surveyed his clients. “You have allies, Mr. Gold, perhaps for the first time, and in time, you may have friends.”

Gold’s eyes traveled from face to face. “Perhaps so.”

“Good exercise, Doc,” Hook clapped the psychiatrist on the back. “We all got something out of it.”

“Smells like there’s more to come,” David sniffed the air. “I’d say Granny’s Yankee pot roast and rosemary rolls.”

Emma sniffed too. “And cherry pie. I know we’re supposed to wait for Ruby to ring for us, but–”

“Yes, we can go in now,” Archie allowed. “We’ve done a lot of important work today and we’ve earned our dinner. Let’s go into the dining room and see if there’s a salad we can start on. A good start, everyone.” He stood back to admire them. “Much more than I could’ve asked for. A very good start.”

#darcyfarrow2005 #a monthly rumbelling #march #submission

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