Awakening to Dream

By: Jecir

Chapter Three: Whatever It Takes

It was storming outside. The violent pelting of the rain against his new yet old home was oddly soothing to Rumplestiltskin's—no, he corrected himself; it was Mr. Gold now—ears. He laid in silence, listening to nature's lament and watching his beautiful Belle as she slept, finally at peace. She had cried for so long and laid longer in his arms, unable to cope with the knowledge tearing at her mind. Thus, he had waited, patiently, grateful to just simply hold her. He had thought he would never have this chance again. Why now? Why here in this godforsaken land? He did not know, but, for the first time in so very long, he did not care. She was here. She was alive. And she was, again, his.

He watched her sleep, marveling at her face, her hair, and her closed eyes. The curse had altered her so little. Or perhaps it was his intervention that had spared her. He closed his eyes, remembering so clearly those moments that should, by magical law, have blurred into nothingness. He had been sitting in his horrid cell, waiting patiently for the consuming might of his curse enacted. He had smirked, laughed even, as the initially shockwaves trembled across the land. And, he had closed his eyes in anticipation when the dark clouds billowed through his prison walls to whisk him away to a new and strange land.

Yet, unlike the others, the dark magic retreated swiftly from his mind, leaving it unaltered. His body changed; his story was presented to him for his acceptance or rejection. The magic knew its true master, thus it left him fairly unscathed; allowing him the delight of seeing his enemies succumb to their fate. He drank it all in—the small town rising around him upon the land he now owned; the unspoken and misunderstood sadness that settled upon each and every soul that would inhabit this prison; and the dark glee of knowing he had retained the one thing left to him: his power. Yes, it was the closest thing his frozen heart had come to feeling pleasure in a long, long time.

Then, he heard her call his name, and the false joy shattered before her reality.

She was running toward him. He could see the tendrils of the curse fighting to trap her, to take her, and to wash her from existence, but the magic snapped back as she screamed for him. Her eyes were full of fear. Her soul was trembling under the assault. And yet, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on him and ran.

And he stared, trapped by the vision of her face. All his wit, all his clever trickery, and all his elation at this new world with different and intriguing magics to conquer died, leaving only stunned silence. He could not comprehend what it was he was seeing. How could she be here?

Then, she was in his arms and she was crying and begging and he knew the magic would not recoil upon his command for she was not him. Nor was she his. His new false identity spoke truth to that fact. His new life held no memory of her.

But the curse was not complete. It had not finished its task. He could still save her. He could still keep her…if he hurried.

He found sanctuary in his shop, and there, his mind acted swiftly, knowing of so little magics that could counter the level of animosity and pain he had used to forge the revenge of now. The darkness followed them in to latch onto her again. He would need to act quickly.

Thunder rolled overhead, bringing Mr. Gold back to the present. Lightening followed, heralding another loud clasp. In the brief flash of blue and violet, he gazed at his hand—his left hand; his left hand that he had slit with the only other possession left to him in the confines of this new curse. He had felt the dagger containing his name hidden underneath his new clothes and had used it out of desperation, not knowing if there would be consequences nor having the time to fear.

He ran his thumb over the half-healed cut, remembering the power of the covenant he had formed between them. He would have to explain to her what he had done, how he had used the second most powerful magic in all lands to bind their memories, their lives, and their fates together into the protection of names. He had had her speak his name as he spoke hers, forging the bonds that tethered their pasts to this unmoving present.

However, he would never tell her that it failed. He would never tell her that the covenant had begun to fracture under the power of the curse and that she had nearly been lost.

Above all, he would never tell her what he had done to alter that fate.

True love's kiss…He smirked; the thought containing only a slim measure of malice. He refused to acknowledge what he felt stirring in him as he remembered giving in to the last ditch effort of a desperate soul. That kiss had forced the curse to conform; creating new false memories that promised the loss of happily ever after—as was the dictates of the original curse—yet bound them together, and, for that, he was grateful.

Gold sighed heavily, feeling not for the first time since his arrival the weight of his humanity. Regina may have granted him power and wealth, but, upon the completion of the curse, she had stripped him of his magic and the protection that darkness had offered, leaving behind a scarred and frozen old man trying to fix a past and prepare for a future that were both so uncertain. All that was certain to him, in this moment, was that, when faced with the choice of his pride or her life, he had chosen her, and, more importantly and far more frightening, was the love he felt rising in his heart. It was growing stronger with each second he gazed at her; each breath that filled his lungs with her scent; and each stroke of his hand across her face. It was as if each touch proved again that she was real.

And he was terrified. All at once, he wanted to hold her close and push her away; promise her shelter and protection and curse her until she ran from him. She was his weakness, and if Regina ever found out, she would try to use Belle against him in any way possible. Anger swelled in his chest. He felt the beast raising its head at the anxious threat, and he knew, he knew that he would never allow Regina to take his wife away. He would fight. He would kill. He would do whatever it took to keep Belle here with him. Forever.

Belle moaned in her sleep and reached for him. He drew her close, allowing her to settle into his arms and against his chest. She sighed, content, and slipped back into her sleep. In that moment, Gold allowed himself to relax. There was still so much for him to do, prepare, and plan, but, for now, he granted himself a right to be selfish. He would enjoy holding her. A true, untainted smile teased his lips as he pulled the plush comforter high over them and settled in for what would be the best night sleep he had had in a very long time.

THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE! THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE! THIS IS A BREAK IN THE SCENE!

Sunlight poured over sleepy Storybrooke, Maine, bringing wonderful color in the wake of the previous night's storms. Sydney Glass reported that it was the first of many and that all residents should prepare for a rough spring ahead. Fresh baked goods could be smelled three blocks away from Granny's, promising a hot meal to anyone who entered. Sheriff Graham was completing his morning rounds before going to meet Mayor Mills for his daily report. Life in Storybrooke was moving forward as it always had and always will.

And, in the largest house on the lane, Mr. Gold was coming downstairs for breakfast. He was immaculately dressed in one of his black, hand cut suits accented with a red waistcoat and tie. His cane tapped against the hardwood floor, announcing his arrival. Steam drifted through the open walkway leading into the dining room; the lingering evidence of a freshly prepared meal waiting for him. His fake life told him that this was merely routine; his true self felt a rush of warmth at the prospect of hot food prepared by her for him. It was a treasure he thought never to own again. Fighting to keep his face neutral as was the ways of Mr. Gold, he walked into the dining room to meet his wife.

Belle sat at the small yet ornately expensive dining table, a mug of hot tea warming her hands and an empty plate pushed to the side. She said nothing as he entered; he said nothing as he sat. The meal was simple: eggs, toast, and bacon. But then, his eyes landed on something more, and the smile he had fought to banish returned with a vengeance. He sat back in his chair, the air of contentment, as he lifted his morning tea served…in a chipped china cup.

"I found it in the cupboard," she said absently.

"Aye." His voice was thick with emotion. He allowed himself to savor the weakness, if only for a second, before Mr. Gold took control. He sipped his tea and set the cup down, saying dismissively, "As is its place." He picked up his fork and began eating.

Belle watched him over the rim of her cup. "You're wearing a suit," she commented in both a question and a resignation.

Gold swallowed a mouthful of deliciousness, washed it back with tea, and then answered, "Yes."

"I don't like it."

Gold paused, a fresh forkful of food halfway to his lips and the wheels of his mind calculating his response. "I did not suspect you would."

"And that's why you wear them," Belle concluded, looking out the dining room window. "Because everyone knows that Mr. Gold does not listen to what his wife has to say regarding his clothes."

Her comment—spoken in such cold derision lined with deep bitterness—caused him to start. He looked up at her, concern and alarm and even a twinge of fear peeking through his gaze. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind, making him doubt and question the last few hours. Had he failed? Had the magic not settled in? Had the curse emerged in the night? Had—

Then, she was laughing. It was not bitter or cynical or cold as the laugh of an imprisoned trophy wife would think to sound. No, it was music and peace and light breaking through the dark haze settling over his mind. Belle beamed at him, took in his confused expression, and laughed harder. "We're—" She tried between bouts of humor. "We're married!" she said in joyous disbelief.

Mr. Gold did not see how this was funny.

Belle shook her head once, looked up at him again, and waggled her finger at him, saying slowly and deliberately, "I am your trophy wife." The mirth became tainted with an emergence of last night's doubts and sorrows, but Belle, his brave Belle, refused to give it place. She took a deep breath, held it, and then released all of her lingering negativity in a violent rush of air. "Trophy wife," she said again. "I guess that makes sense."

"Belle," he began.

"I thought I was supposed to be clinically insane," she said thoughtfully, propping her chin in one hand and raising a thoughtful eyebrow at him. "That is what I recall being forced upon me when this…" She waved her hand over her head. "Whatever this is happened."

"Curse."

"Pardon?"

Gold took his time wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I am afraid we have been cursed, my dear."

"A curse," Belle whispered with a slow nod of understanding. Her head lulled in her hand, tilting to the side and gazing up at him with childlike interest. "What kind of curse?"

Gold's eyes leveled on her as he said, "The worst kind."

Belle sat up, her innocent persona dropping to reveal the powerful princess he had chosen as his price oh so long ago. Back straightening, she folded her hands before her and commanded him to "Explain."

And he did.

She listened with great patience and surprising understanding as he depicted their new fate—how everything she had every known and loved was now trapped in a time-frozen wasteland void of happiness and magic. When he finished, she closed her eyes and took another deep breath. "And this?" she asked, flashing her wounded hand.

"The only way to save you," he confessed but left it at that.

Belle cradled her hand, rubbing the length of the cut while thinking through all he had told her. "So, my memories of this place are false," she reiterated. "And my memories of home are true."

"Correct," Gold said.

"And these false memories," she mused while picking up her cup and swirling the dredges of her tea. "They are meant to trap us?"

"No one fights a curse from which they are unaware," Gold explained.

"Hn." Belle sighed heavily, feeling the weight of it all on her already tired shoulders. "You are right. That is the worst." An exasperated smile marred her face. "I traded one prison for another."

"You…what?"

Belle met his dark eyes—both loving the new color and missing the old—to give her confession. "I escaped the Queen's dungeon right before the curse fell. I…" She looked down for a moment, gathered her courage, and boldly faced him. "I was coming to find you."

Gold sank back into his chair. Black anger burned in his eyes; he turned away, refusing to ever make her the target of his darkness again. His teeth clenched as he hissed, "She lied to me."

"I know."

"She told me you were dead!" Gold snapped.

Belle leaned forward to take his hand in hers. She waited, her wound pressing into his, reconfirming the sacrifice he made to protect her, until he looked at her. His eyes simmered with hate and rage caged behind the cool exterior of this new Mr. Gold. Yet, though wrapped in different skin, she could see him—her beast. He was still her monstrous, temperamental, and greatly misunderstood love. And she could still calm his soul with a touch of her hand and a smile on her face. Gazing deep into his eyes, she said, "I know. I watched her do it."

"I will destroy her," Gold swore.

"Well," Belle said as she stood, his hand still captive in hers, and moved to the seat next to him. "You have an eternity to do it," she offered.

"No," Gold said. "Only twenty eight years."

"Twenty eight years?" Belle asked, sitting back in shock.

"Aye," Gold growled. "The curse will be lifted in twenty eight years. That is not enough time."

"Rum," she coaxed, touching his face and drawing his mind away from thoughts of revenge to the news he had just delivered. "The curse, how is it going to be lifted?"

He blinked, as if having forgotten she was there, and then, his anger dissipated, making room for a familiar teasing humor that both taunted and caressed. He folded her hands in his as a chuckle passed his lips. "You cannot play the hero this time, my dear. None of us can."

"But, you said—"

"I did," he agreed, cutting her off before the hope in her eyes grew into reckless determination. He had just gotten her back; he was not going to lose her to a flight of heroic fancy. He would cut that at the root with the truth. "The daughter of Snow White and her Prince Charming," he sneered, and she giggled. "Escaped the curse. She will return, and she will lift the curse." He leaned forward until they were almost touching and said, "No one else."

Belle scowled. "That is not very fair."

"Curses never are, dearie."

Belle sat back in her chair in a rare display of indignation. "And what are we supposed to do for twenty eight years, Rumple—"

"Ah ah," he said, waggling his finger as he used to do once upon a time. "None of that, dearie. We are in a new world now. You must use my new name."

Belle's lips twisted with increasing displeasure. "Fine." She sat up. "What are we supposed to do for twenty eight years, Mr. Gold."

Gold smiled, searched out her left hand with his, and laced their fingers together; palm to palm, cut to cut, and ring to ring. His eyes danced with mirth as he said, "We wait, Mrs. Gold."

AN: Well, there it is. I try my best to resist the siren call of "Reactionary Fics" born out of hyper emotions that often ignore past and future plot development; however, Rumplestiltskin and Belle got so under my skin that i could not even think about my current projects until I got this on paper. And this one was the safest of the many ideas flooding my mind as it toyed with the idea of Regina never having the chance to lock Storybrooke Belle away and what may have happened because of it. I hope you all enjoyed it. I may continue in a drabble form that dances through the many "what if's" of the married life of the Golds. Prompts are welcome!

Love to all!

Jecir