Mr. Gold sauntered through town on his way to another business meeting, choosing to take a shortcut behind Madame Mayor's garden. It would save him time and besides his arrogance his knee was bothering him again. He lived for the deal, but today he was content with existing in his own mind and not bothering with the people of Storybrook or their problems. Maybe that's what made him do it, made him stop and stare at the young woman tending to the opulent flower garden, her hair tied back into a loose bun that seemed ready to fall loose at any moment and curl about her shoulders and the white tank top she wore. She was smeared with dirt and humming contentedly as she planted what appeared to be lavender and anemones by the porch.

Something seemed so familiar about the image, her kneeling there, her dark hair tied back, a sheen of sweat making her skin glitter in the firelight. Gold shook the memory free, but he must have murmured her name because she looked up and, oh- those eyes, those clear blue eyes bore right into him and she smiled, the sight nearly breaking the heart he no longer thought he had.

Lifting the basket she'd been collecting flowers in, Belle strode towards him, brushing her hair out of her face with the back of her wrist, smearing more dirt across her forehead, but she was still beautiful.

"Hello," she said, laughter in her eyes, a summer breeze playing with her hair.

Gold smiled tightly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Is this your garden?" he managed.

Belle shook her head, another curl slipping loose to brush against her cheek and curl at the base of her throat. Gold had to fight the urge to slip the curl back behind her ear and looked away. "No, I just take care of it," she explained.

Gold's eyes ran over the collection of flowers that were blooming everywhere, mentally cataloging them; Adonis vernalis, clematis, apocynum, marigolds, sunflowers, rhododendron, peony's and petunias, and many others growing on top of one another in a kind of controlled chaos that was strangely beautiful. To anyone else the garden would have been captivating, but he only saw anger and bitterness in the flowers she had chosen to display.

Belle tilted her head to the side and riffled through her basket until she found a flower and handed it to him. "Would you like a flower?" she offered.

It was a yellow carnation and Gold's heart twisted as he stared at it. Rejection, his mind whispered. Disdain, disappointment. He wondered if she knew just what the little flower meant, what all of them meant, but as he saw the smile on her face he didn't care.

"You're very kind," he whispered, taking the flower gently from her hand, careful not to let their fingers touch and tucked it into his lapel. He wore the flower as a brand, declaring to all who saw, whether they knew it or not, that he had let her down, that he deserved her anger. He had earned this, even if she didn't know what the flower meant. Maybe it was just coincidence; but maybe it wasn't.

"Rose?" Regina stepped out onto the porch, a coy smile playing across her lips as she took in the scene. "Is everything all right?" she called.

"Everything's fine," Belle called, smiling sweetly. She turned back to Gold and offered him an apologetic smile. "I have to go." She turned, heading back to the porch, to Regina and Gold's heart twisted.

"Belle…" She stopped and for a second he allowed himself to hope, hope that she remembered him, that she still loved him, but her shoulders were tense and she held a death grip on the basket.

"Don't, call me that." She glared at him, rage burning behind her eyes as she looked back at him. "That's not my name." She ground her teeth around the words. "Not anymore."

So she did remember, just not in the way he'd wanted her to. "Why are you doing this? Why are you working for her?" he hissed, glancing over her shoulder at Regina who stood triumphantly behind her on the porch.

"Because she's the only one who didn't turn me away when I needed her." Her voice was agonized with the memories of two lifetimes full of regret and pain, pain he'd caused. "Because my own father had me locked away in an asylum for years because he thought I was crazy," she hissed, stepping closer. "Because all of my friends left me. Anyone who knew me before I went in won't even look at me now." Her voice trembled, tight and intense with rage and where he'd expected tears he found her eyes dry, anger having long ago burned away her sorrow. She advanced on the fence that stood between them, controlled fury in her every step.

"You could have come back."

Belle laugh, actually laughed, and it was a mirror image of his own twisted laughter from some time long ago half forgotten in the monotony of this life and it was so very, very broken.

"Right. And what would you have had me do? Come sniveling back to your door, begging for help?" She stepped closer, pressing up against the fence. She looked ready to strike him. He would have let her.

"I can't save you Rumpelstiltskin," she hissed. "I tried once and I won't make that mistake again." She sneered at him and stepped back, the basket clutched firmly in her hands.

"You have to save yourself."