~: Mr. Gold :~

He couldn't help flexing his hand every few seconds, the gesture done in hopes that it would ignite a spark. A spark of magic, like the one that had scalded through him last night. The trigger was obvious. It had only taken a matter of minutes to think about what it could possibly be that had enacted the magic. The real question was though, how? How come it hadn't worked when Regina had been driving away with her in the back seat with that cretin, and it had worked when the cretin'd been about to hit her?

Mr. Gold's rage flared, clenching his hand into a fist at the thought of anyone hitting Belle.

Mr. Gold sat in his shop, the sign on front reading "Open." He hoped the little prince would come soon. It had been three hours since he had opened his shop, and the boy still had not come. He watched one of his clocks restlessly, eyes flicking to the next one, hoping it would read something different. Nothing was different. The seconds ticked by like minutes, the minutes moved like hours, and the hours? Days.

On the desk in front of him was the cup that he had retrieved from his house this morning after Ms. Swan had dropped him off there. It was her cup, the tea cup that she had broken all those years ago. He fiddled with it as he waited. He wondered what would happen if she saw it. Would she remember?

No- he withdrew his hand from it. He couldn't let her remember. It would be too painful.

The grasshopper would be up at the cabin by now, Mr. Gold realized, as the grandfather clock struck one. Sighing with frustrated annoyance, he wondered what the fool would be asking her. He had seen the admiration in his eyes when he had looked at Belle the day previously when she'd answered his questions with smiles and laughter. Laughter he hadn't been able to hear through the glass window. He didn't like it.

He tapped his finger angrily on the desk.

If the grasshopper fell in love with her it was not going to be his business. Belle was free from him, could love whomever she pleased. If she wanted the insect she could have him. His hand balled again until his knuckles whitened. She could do better than an insect, but then again, she could do much better than Mr. Gold…

How could she possibly love him, Mr. Gold, the darkness of the realm? How could she be in this life, where nothing happy ever happened, only vindictive spite and sadistic smiles guided this dimension? But this reality had proved him wrong once, had shown him that there was hope in this sordid world. Belle was alive. Her smiles were true and there was not an ounce of spite in her body.

But maybe that was only meant to twist him farther into the pit of despair. No, it had to be. Nothing good ever happened to the villain, and the villain was the role that Mr. Gold played. Why had that fact never before bothered him here?

The bell at his door chimed. Mr. Gold looked up to see Henry striding in, his back pack and jacket on, casual as ever. Mr. Gold saw his bike parked outside of the shop before the door closed. Regina obviously had not caught him last night. Still, he had to ask.

"Your mother didn't catch you then?" Mr. Gold inquired, folding his hands, sitting back.

"The Evil Queen? Na, she was gone until four this morning," Henry shrugged, "And she just woke up. I think she was testing out your spell casting."

Mr. Gold immediately flexed his hand, but replied, "I don't possess magic here, Your Highness."

Henry lifted his eyebrows, "Magic words count," he informed Mr. Gold, "By the way she can get onto a lot of your property- just not your house, your shop and your cabin."

This was pertinent information. The boy trusted him. He'd made an ally here. Or, an enemy. He could be lying just to soothe Mr. Gold into false comfort, "How do you know?"

"I listen," Henry grinned smugly. There was so much royal blood in him he probably couldn't help it, Mr. Gold thought. He was telling the truth. He had an ally in a prince. "I think it's because you own the rest of your property you just back through someone else, so it's not really yours."

Mr. Gold had never thought he would see the day that he had a prince as an ally. Especially this particular prince, who knew him better than everyone but her Majesty in this miniscule town. Henry slung his arms up onto the counter, and Mr. Gold couldn't help but be reminded of a western film. "So, do you have what I came here for?"

"You have to watch what you say more carefully. Keep dropping subtle hints like that, little prince, and you'll find yourself missing a book," Mr. Gold threatened easily, watching him blanch. It was true. The prince had been saying poignant things. It had to stop before it got out of hand. Threatening the loss of his precious book again was something that obviously worried him.

"Good thing I memorized it," the boy tried to retort with a nonchalant air. It didn't quite work, his skin was too pale and his eyes betrayed the truth. Some of it was memorized. Other parts were not. He hastily moved on to the more important topic, lifting his chin so he could see, "Now show me the tea cup."

Mr. Gold did so grudgingly, lifted the porcelain cup to the boy's eye level, rotating his wrist so the boy could see the chip in the rim, holding onto it firmly. The little prince was smart, and did not try to touch it, but studied it keenly. "You did keep it. It's just like the picture in the book," Henry smiled fondly, eyes following it.

Mr. Gold put it back on his desk quickly. He'd shared enough. "Satisfied?"

"Yep," Henry grinned. His smile faded quickly though, his face turning to ponder something, before he spoke aloud, "So… how are you going to convince Belle to stay at your house? I was thinking-."

Mr. Gold was taken aback at the boy's blatancy. "I'm not."

"You're not?" Henry stopped, his idea that had been running through his head pausing, to reel in what Mr. Gold had said, "But, you've got to! How else is she supposed to fall in love with you again?"

Mr. Gold's eyes narrowed, looking away from Henry to start into the cluttered corners of his dark shop, "She never will," he spoke bitterly.

"But- Rumpelstiltskin," the prince was truly distraught now, his palms flat on the countertop, "how are we going to break the curse if you don't share-."

"Your Highness," Mr. Gold interrupted, "I don't need reminding of how to break my own curse." He felt his jaw tighten. "It won't happen…"

"But – and she won't be safe unless she's with you- you know that!" Henry was shouting, trying to get a better view of him over the counter, "The Evil Queen could take her again! You have to do something to win her back before she goes and lives with her dad!"

Her dad… the boy didn't know what had happened there, it was obvious. He didn't need to explain that even if she didn't remember she would still loathe him. Her Majesty would not be a threat either. The Evil Queen would not take her away when she learned Mr. Gold had no intention of falling in love with her again. Even though he had never fallen out of love with her… He would leave her alone… And her Majesty would listen, because he would force her to stay away. He found the proper words a long time ago to keep her Majesty from harming Belle. It had been that first night that she had been ill in her bed. It was a pity he had forgotten it in that moment of crisis.

"You can't say that she doesn't care for you anymore, Mr. Gold!" Henry pounded the counter. Mr. Gold felt his temper flare, but Henry wasn't done. "She loves you- I can tell. Kiss her! Make her remember!"

"It's not that simple," Mr. Gold hissed.

"You don't need to regret it anymore!" Henry exclaimed, "She's here, alive. In the book you regretted-," the boy stopped, and something sinister seeped into his young tone, "Or is it that you're a coward still?" Mr. Gold froze. You're a coward, Rumpelstiltskin. He closed his eyes in agony. Henry withdrew, his small face sour with anger, "I always thought that maybe the stories were wrong about you Rumpelstiltskin, but they're right, aren't they? You're just too afraid to let anyone in."

Mr. Gold said nothing, thought nothing, tried to feel nothing. Henry, seeing that Mr. Gold was not going to retaliate in self defense, began to leave, making his way to the door. Mr. Gold hadn't moved as Henry pulled on the handle, making the bell overhead chime. He paused there, in the doorway, looking back at him.

"You're hurting her too you know," he said, his young voice sounding older than his years, "She'll have an empty heart too. All she's missing is the chipped cup."

The door closed behind him, the bell chiming again, leaving Mr. Gold alone in his dark, lonely cave, clutching his cane until the skin over his joints ached.

~: Isabelle :~

Doctor Archie Hopper hadn't had as many questions for her today. She was glad however. The questions took her away from the thoughts that were unfolding in her mind. The Black Knight was connected to the Evil Queen, and the Evil Queen was the same person as Regina Mills, Henry's adopted mother. The worlds were different, but the people were the same. They had all just forgotten. How had they all forgotten?

Doctor Archie Hopper had stayed though, stayed to help with the dinner. His company was kind, and thoughtful, and he was enjoying teaching her about things like the microwave, and the coffee maker Emma had brought up.

"And it produces something to drink?" Isabelle inquired, watching the black substance pour into a pitcher.

"Yeah," Emma said, fiddling with a machine at the kitchen table with a tool. "It takes my edge off." That was Isabelle's next question when she had a taste of a drink. What was a video camera?

Doctor Archie Hopper pulled out the coffee pitcher, and gave Isabelle a mug full of the stuff.

"Be careful," Mary Margret said, slicing vegetables. "It's strong stuff."

Isabelle nodded, and took a sip. It was hot, scalding her tongue, and tasted too raw. She coughed on it.

"Maybe we should add some milk?" Doctor Archie Hopper grinned. Isabelle nodded her consent, letting the man pour milk into her mug.

It was less hot, but still the taste was still bitter. She didn't like it even after swallowing half the mug. She put it down, and smiled weakly at the red head who nodded in understanding. "Can I just have a glass of milk?"

"Sure thing," he replied. She gulped it down, trying to get the taste out of her mouth.

"You should have put sugar in it," Mary Margret realized, "It tastes better that way."

"Oh, no thank you," Isabelle said politely over her glass. She didn't think she could handle any more of that coffee stuff. Her heart was already racing as it was, and she was shaking. It had been the same stuff she'd had last night, the same stuff that made her jittery- but that drink had been cool and sweet. This one was hot and harsh.

The memories started before she could sit down.

She was little, and her mama was reading her a story, her favorite story, where a brave woman rescued her town. She loved her mama, she wanted to be just like her someday. She reached up and fiddled with her mama's necklace she always wore when she was being put to bed. Her mama smiled, kissed her goodnight, and left with her papa who held her close.

Another memory: She was older now, her mama was gone. She and her papa stood at her grave in black robes and all she could think was, "Please mama, please come back." She never did. Her papa gave her Mama's favorite necklace, a small diamond on a chain. She wore it always, reminding her that her mama was gone, but that her mama loved her still.

She poured over books in a small library as a young woman, for the tenth time searching for a new story to captivate her while hiding away from her hobbyduke. When she couldn't find a fresh story she settled on rereading her favorite, full of daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise, and curled up for the fifteenth reading.

She was much older now, her nineteenth year, almost twenty. Her papa sat her down sternly, and instead of scolding her about helping around the kitchens again, was telling that she was going to be engaged to a wealthy knight. The kingdom needed the money, and the alliance, and he couldn't afford the war that was coming. Yes, the Ogre War had finally reached their lands. She knew the knight, couldn't help but let the tears swell in her eyes. The knight was so wrong for her, so superficial. She wondered if he could even read books without pictures in them. She could never love him, not truly. But her papa told her sternly that this was her duty. She had to obey. She would obey. She would be that brave woman that rescued her town. Even if it meant a loveless marriage.

She smacked her head, and snapping her back into reality, and then the world faded into dreams.

~: Mr. Gold :~

He'd said something to Prince Charming once. Love, is like a delicate flame, and once it's gone, it's gone forever.

He would lose her forever again. The thought hit him harder than it had before, made reality by the child's words. She loves you – I can tell.

He had closed his shop, had returned the tea cup to his house, and had been reminded that if he wanted to see her again he would have to drive up himself. The Sheriff had told him as much when she had dropped him off. His leg ached at the mere idea.

He had a few more errands to run before he went up to her though. Only a few. He sighed as he stared at the task before him. He didn't know what was compelling him to do this. If she was going to be gone before the end of the week, then what was the point?

To see her smile, he supposed.

He looked at the entrance of the building, taking a breath before entering the building.

The receptionist nodded at him politely over a book when he limped up to her. "How can I help you?"

The problem was he didn't know how the receptionist could help him. He didn't know what she wanted, and that was the reason he was here. He supposed he would get one of everything, just to test it out, just to see what she would like it and what she wouldn't.

"Can I help you pick out a genre?" the lady asked, trying to sound kind but was obviously trying to hurry him up.

He straightened a little, "No, actually, but I think I'm going to need one of those cards you use."

~: Emma :~

Isabelle had woken up quickly after her collapse. There was no damage done in the fall. She'd been well enough to ask what video cameras were within five minutes of what had happened, so Emma sent her on her merry way.

Isabelle and Mary Margret were now discussing what they were planning for dessert.

"I have a good recipe for apple pie," Isabelle tried. Yes, Isabelle was remembering things. Lots of things. She was remembering her birthday, and how her mother had died, but everything she said was edited, as though she was afraid of something. Of them, almost. Archie had thought so too, though he was positive she wasn't insane. All she had was amnesia, and he was going to prescribe weekly sessions for her. Poor Archie, worn out by helping deep clean the house and helping to cook, was taking a much needed nap on the couch. Emma was so glad he was staying for dinner. It meant that she didn't have to be fifth wheel at this dinner party.

"I've never really liked apple pie," Mary Margret was slow to say. No, Emma thought, she didn't. She hated anything to do with apples, which was surprising for a teacher. Didn't kids normally give teachers apples and the teachers were supposed to eat them? Cliché, Emma shook her head, and kept working. She'd almost finished up the camera displays. There were only three, because that's all that the station could afford, but she had set them up at just the right angle. The next time the Mayor decided to bust in, she would have her with perfect proof, and finally would nail her-

"What's your favorite dessert, Emma?" Isabelle asked kindly, interrupting her brutal train of thought.

"Oh, um, I like brownies," Emma shrugged, and went back to fiddling with the computer. She liked brownies, but they weren't her favorite- Emma had just bought a brownie mix for them, because they had gone WAY overboard on this endeavor. Emma didn't know how they were going to pay rent if they were going to keep this kind of cooking up.

Emma, in her defense, had tried to help. But she'd let the rolls burn. The rolls they'd made from scratch. She'd excused herself as they worked to make more dough, and had gone back to her task of setting up a perimeter. She'd never really been the homemaking type.

"What are brownies?"

"Isabelle," Mary Margret said, eyes wide, taking Isabelle's hands in hers. "You've never had brownies?"

"No," Isabelle looked surprised, and curious. Geez that girl was always curious. "No I haven't."

"Well, you're in for a treat," Mary Margret beamed, "Lets clean up some of this mess and we'll get right to it."

"Alright," Isabelle grinned and they set to work.

"There's a box in the cupboard," Emma pointed without looking up from her computer screen.

"Got it!" Mary Margret said, reaching up on the shelf for it.

Mary Margret had been cheering Isabelle up all day. They had cleaned together, had cooked together, Mary Margret had even helped her pick out an outfit. An outfit, like this was a date with her and Mr. Gold. Emma shuddered at the thought. He was just so… creepy.

But Isabelle liked him. Liked him a lot. It was weird. With a guy like David in the house- ok, well, Emma could tell Isabelle wasn't stupid. David and Mary Margret went together like peanut butter and jelly. But even Archie was better than Mr. Gold, Emma thought, making a face. She didn't get it. And they hadn't even spent that much time together- this had to do with something that Mr. Gold had mentioned- that they had known each other before Isabelle had been diagnosed with whatever lie Regina had come up with. But that had been when Isabelle was fifteen – fifteen. It would have been statutory rape, according to Maine's laws of consent. They couldn't have been in love then, could they? Emma shook her head.

She just didn't get it.

And plus, the fact that he was going to tell her that he beat up her dad. He obviously didn't want this to go anywhere. He was looking to end it quickly, sever all ties. He'd just felt obligated to look out for her or something…

Emma knew that was a lie before the thought had even finished.

She sighed in frustration, and watched as Isabelle checked the clock again. It was 4:39. The seconds were not going to go by faster if she kept looking. Emma knew that she wasn't checking to see if the food was done. What was the deal here? Why did Isabelle like him so much? She'd heard of love at first sight but knew that that was absolutely ridiculous. There had been a history there that she didn't know yet.

"So Isabelle," she said over the washing of dish pans, grabbing the girl's attention. "How did you know Mr. Gold, you know, before, this?"

Mary Margret turned to make a dismayed face at Emma. She knew when her questioning police tone was on. Emma ignored her.

"Well, I don't remember yet," Isabelle put the pan down that she was drying, "But I assure you I soon will."

"Will you let me know? When you do? Without that whole editing thing that you keep doing?" Emma gestured to her.

Isabelle bit her lip. A sure sign of an honest girl who disliked lying. Not that Emma needed her tell. Emma knew when people were lying to her and when they weren't. "I will try." She nodded at Emma. "I really will try."

Emma didn't like that, but before she could say anything someone knocked on the door. Emma immediately looked to the screen of her computer to see who was at the entrance. The third camera was still glitching out, but the one at the front door was fine. It was David. With flowers.

"Got it," Emma said dryly, standing up and answering the door.

"Hey," David said. The guy was nice, but his eyes wandered over her, looking for, "Is Mary Margret here?"

"Yes!" Mary Margret called, running right up to him, "You got off work early."

"I had to see you," David smiled, looking into her eyes.

And this is where Emma left them, listening to Mary Margret's gasp at the discovery of his bouquet he had brought her. Isabelle smiled fondly at them as Emma past with a look on her face. Weird romance stories all over the place, and they Emma left wondering where August W. Booth was.

Weirder and weirder thoughts, Emma grimaced to herself. She put her computer and the extra gadgets attached to it away from the table, figuring that they were probably going to set it soon, and grabbed a spare vase from the cupboard. It was weird some of the stuff Mr. Gold had in this old place, the silver vase, the dried rose in it. She removed the dried rose and tossed it into the trash can, before holding out the vase. Mary Margret took it as she waltzed by with her flowers, humming to herself. David came in, leaning against a wall, watching Mary Margret fill the vase with water and looking like a fool all the while.

"What are you doing?" he asked, inhaling the scent of the rather delicious smelling dinner, but he was really looking at Mary Margret. Mary Margret was wearing something fancier than normal, almost a party dress, but she'd added a few accessories to keep it simple. Emma was glad he noticed. Mary Margret had bitten her thumb nails off worrying over it.

"Making dinner," Mary Margret smiled over her shoulder. "We still have to set the table- Emma could you?"

"Not a problem," Emma nodded, taking out plates and began setting the table for six. She watched as Isabelle glanced at the clock again. 4:46.

"We need to start on the brownies," Mary Margret reminded herself. "Isabelle, could you get the eggs out of the fridge?"

"Yes." Isabelle also got the vegetable oil and the measuring cups, like it said on the back of the box. The girl learned quickly. That or she had done a lot of baking before she had gone off to the psychiatric ward.

Which Emma had decided she was going to do a full scale investigation on when Archie declared Isabelle sane. There was no way that Isabelle was crazy. Confused, but certainly not worth locking up like that in a padded cell. What other people did Regina keep in that basement of hers?

~: Isabelle :~

It was 5:23.

He was not there yet.

Everyone was sitting on the sofas or standing, waiting for him to show up. Everyone else was talking, or listening, and no one else seemed as like they were in that big of a hurry to start, so they weren't upset by his being late…

Isabelle was upset though.

She looked down at the dress that Mary Margret had let her borrow. It was yellow, with a beautiful design on the fringes. A sundress, Mary Margret had called it. It showed her knees though, and some of her thigh, which made her tug it down a lot. She really liked the way it ruffled though. The cardigan she wore she liked, especially the way it came only to her elbow. She was also wearing slippers, flats, Mary Margret had corrected. It was odd to wear shoes after so many days of being barefoot.

"We're getting you a haircut as soon as we get you into town," Mary Margret had told her as they had combed out her hair after washing it. Mary Margret had let it curl on its own though, instead of applying the hot iron she used on her own hair. A dab of what Mary Margret called "make-up" but what Isabelle remembered as "face paint" made her eyes stand out.

She had gotten excited about seeing him again, expecting him promptly at 5, but, for some reason, she knew he was going to be late. He always had been, but then it had just been to keep her on her toes-.

She fixed that thought into her memory. Another clue to her and Mr. Gold's past.

Doctor Archie Hopper called her name, "Isabelle?"

She blinked, and smiled at him automatically, "Sorry, what was that?" realizing that he'd been speaking to her earlier.

"Nothing," he grinned at her. "I was just saying that you look lovely."

"Thank you." He was so kind to her, she thought. She wondered about him. He had told her earlier that she could just call him Archie. "Archie," she added. He nodded at her approvingly.

Just then the door opened. Isabelle stood up.

Mr. Gold came in, pain obvious on his face, and looked at the kitchen, startled to find the state of his dinner table, laden with food and a vase of flowers, along with two candle sticks Isabelle had found in cleaning the cabin earlier.

He looked back, closing the door, and his eyes found Isabelle, who folded her hands nervously in front of her.

"What's all this?" he wondered aloud, his eyes lighting on her.

She felt so nervous all the sudden, as though every second of waiting had started winding up her insides until it was all just a jumbled ball of nerves and butterflies. "We made dinner. Well, Mary Margret did."

"No I didn't," Mary Margret interjected quickly, "I mean, I just helped."

Isabelle made to correct her, but Emma stopped her, clapping her hands on her knees, "Well, I'm starved. I've been sitting around this house all day just smelling the stuff. Let's eat!"

Mr. Gold waited as Emma and the others past, still looking at Isabelle.

"Now what brought this on, dearest?" he asked her quietly.

"Well, you weren't here today, and there wasn't much to do besides make a list of names I haven't guessed yet and sitting around, so Mary Margret decided we should make dinner," Isabelle smiled shyly.

"Ah," he acknowledged, "You cleaned too- thank you," he told her, "The place was filthy."

"It- wasn't a problem," she told him honestly, still bashful.

"Well, shall we?" he asked, gesturing broadly to the table, half bowing as he did so.

She curtseyed back, even though Emma had explained to her that people didn't normally do so.

As he walked behind her, she noticed he was carrying a heavy bag. Curious, she made to peer closer but stopped when his hand lightly touched her back, guiding her forward. Ever so slightly, but, enough that she forgot to breathe.

Mary Margret sat across from her, while Archie to her right. Mr. Gold and Emma sat on the ends of the table, and David sat in between Emma and Mary Margret across from Archie. Mary Margret had lit the candles and had turned out the light, except the one over the kitchen sink, so the ambiance was beautiful, and hushed.

Isabelle glanced at Mr. Gold as Mary Margret started passing the food around, and telling everyone to take something. He looked at her, and she at him, smiling. His smile was small, but his eyes were alight, dancing. She loved it when his eyes danced. She almost liked this shade of his eyes better. It was more, natural, that way.

~: Mr. Gold :~

She was dressed in a sunshine color, not quite yellow and not quite gold. It reminded him of the first time they had met. He'd always liked her in yellow, but then again, he'd always liked her in blue. Sky colors. She was made for sky colors. She looked absolutely beautiful tonight, radiant, and yet shy, though expectant. She'd been excited that he had come home. It had been plainer than the nose on her face.

He had dropped off the bag in her room, just reaching it around the doorframe so it wasn't out in the open. He hoped that she would like them.

The food was delicious. She had learned about ovens, microwaves, and crock pots today, obviously, though she didn't speak much about it. She didn't say much of anything throughout the three course meal. Yes. Courses. There had been a soup first, something vaguely Italian. Then they had moved on a roast, with potatoes and other such foods- she had been proud when he'd complimented the meal, but it had been Mary Margret that had explained it.

Now they were finishing with dessert, and Isabelle and Mary Margret had begun to clean up. Archie followed, helping take dishes to the sink, and speaking to Isabelle more than he needed to. Mr. Gold scowled at the grasshopper, before moving back to the bag he had discarded earlier. Swiftly, he agilely removed the bag, and gently placed the finishing touch on top.

It was too unlike him, he thought to himself. Too sentimental- but… he only had six days… he wanted to regret nothing this time. He wanted to make her happy now, even if it harrowed his soul later. He stepped out of the room before anyone noticed he had been away, folding the bag as he did so. Emma was still explaining the new system to David, who wasn't interested in anything but trying to help Mary Margret while balancing listening to Emma. Isabelle was drying, but she glanced at him, and he glanced away, rocking back on his heels.

His leg hurt from driving. It was a stupid wound, so inhibiting. He flexed his hand again, hoping that magic would shoot through it, but of course nothing happened. It was vexing to be tempted by something he'd never thought he'd have again, only to have it disappear moments later… He smiled grimly at the thought. Not that he wasn't going to experience that when Belle left…

"Mr. Gold?" Isabelle smiled at him, expectant. He hadn't even noticed her come up to him.

"Belle," he said, startled, "Yes-? My dear?"

"What are your plans for tomorrow?" she asked him, biting her lip, "Mary Margret has work tomorrow, and so does Emma and David for part of it… so if you have to go into town again, I was wondering if I could join you."

"I'm not going into town again tomorrow, dearest. I shall be here all day if you wish it."

"So does that mean I can ask my lists for today and tomorrow tomorrow?" she grinned expectantly. Her eyes were so bright, the candlelight flickering over her face.

"Of course," he smiled back. Tomorrow. His smile turned mischievous. "Just, don't stay up too late."

He moved away from her before she could ask what he meant.